Oh that this too, too solid flesh would melt' is engraved on my heart at this time of year, as I take my first quivering steps toward swimming in the sea.

My madness is always shortlived - so shortlived that the moment my big toe hits the briny, I tend to set a new Olympic record for the hundred yards dash and I lie down until the madness passes.

But before we ever get to the toe dipping there is the business of buying a new costume since the moths appear to have been dining out on the more salubrious portions of my last year's model.

A sports shop might be a good place to start. Ask about swimming costumes for ladies of the Third Age, not to mention of the Third Dimension, the shop assistant looks embarrassed.

Since what is on offer appears to be geared to a racing sardine in size and style, a hasty retreat seems like a sensible idea.

What about one of the big department stores? Surely they will have a good selection, both in size and shape.

Shape is a matter for the material of which the costume is made and how well the carpentry department has dealt with the basic structure.

Think about David and Goliath and the strength of the slingshot and you get some rough idea of what you will be battling as you fight the Lycra to shovel your rebelling body into a shape which does not appear to have any resemblance to your body mass. (Believe me, I use the word advisedly!)

It doesn't seem to matter how large a size you try, it does not appear to want to cover the essentials. But you are now in a state of undress and ready to do battle with anything remotely suitable.

That is the moment when every assistant goes for their tea break, leaving you with the option of struggling back into your clothes and starting all over again or doing as I did and throwing in the towel.

So let's try another store and this time no chickening out. However my worst fears were realised when I discovered that the particular store I had chosen for my onslaught only had that horror of all horrors, the communal changing room.

No hiding your personal speed humps here! No wearing your reinforced bra under the stretching costume and pretending you are a teenager again, or asking the beanpole of an assistant to shovel the spare bits outside the costume into whatever piece of costume seems to be having a rest at that moment.

And all this in full view of an admiring public, not one of whom appears to have had the slightest difficulty fitting into any number of delightful costumes.

Colour could be important, so back to the racks once again to try a few more. White made me look like the 'Fat white woman whom nobody loves,' made famous by John Betjeman.

Red made me look as though I was doubling for a fire engine and a black two piece reminded me of a black pudding which had gone wrong in the cooking.

By now I had almost decided that I would give up swimming for Lent next year and forget to go back to it once the season of enforced abstinence had passed.

But I like swimming and I didn't want to give up too easily so there was one last assault for anything remotely wearable and I would call it a day.

Success at last! It was hardly a thing of beauty but it was wearable and it fitted - well most of it did. I took it home with a feeling of smug satisfaction and decided to give myself a twirl in front of the mirror.

It looked okay until I noticed a small tag hanging down one side. It said: "This material is transparent when wet."