Go to any Southern European holiday spot this summer and try to spot the Brits. It isn’t hard

It’s holiday season. Time for Brits to abandon the UK for more exotic parts of the world, where we can indulge in the tropical climate, sip on Mojitos beneath palm trees and bask in our ugliness.

Colin Dunne gave an excellent and accurate description in The Mail last week of the bare legs of an adult British male being like “uncooked pork sausages”, or “stringy calves and sunken thighs all coated in what looks like goat’s hair”.

But his observation only tackled a small aspect of the phenomenon that is Ugly Britain.

It isn’t only old men in shorts that are the issue. It’s the entire British race when it comes to going abroad, when our pink skin, excess flab and large limbs are laid bare against the beautifully sculpted natives.

There’s no denying it. We don’t stand a chance at looking good when we’re up against petite, bronzed Spaniards, dark, slender Greeks or the preened, graceful French.

Granted, throughout most of the year, in the humdrum of British life, we don’t notice the lack of good looks in our country.

It isn’t until we go to sunny holiday destinations South of the UK and find ourselves in amongst the sun-kissed locals that the painful truth becomes clear, and we see that the standard of beauty in Britain is about as low as a tub of Flora.

Go to any Southern European holiday spot this summer and try to spot the Brits. It isn’t hard.

Lofty men with scrappy body hair as though it’s been sporadically stuck on; a fuzzy beard they think looks macho but would make any French woman grimace.

A bod either like a beanpole or swelling with oversized muscle wrapped in tragic tattoos, which only serves to reveal their gym bitch status and make them look like some sort of caricature with Popeye arms and a pea-sized head.

Pink women lying gracelessly on deckchairs, stubbly hairs beginning to show on their legs because they still haven’t learned the art of waxing or epilating, faces pale and blotchy because every other day of the year they smother it in make-up.

And even when the British do soak up some proper sun, no full-bred Brit can master the tan as a Spaniard or Italian does. In fact, most fail completely.

We glance at the sun cream bottle, foolishly decide: “Fuck that, I want a tan”, and leave it unopened. We lie back, close our eyes and slowly fry.

Later we see ourselves in the hotel bathroom mirror. Red raw. The lobster look is out again, and the rest of the holiday is spent smothering on After Sun and walking around branding the ‘I’m a British twat’ look.

As night falls, British men and women alike prepare for a “mad one”, ready to grace the strip with their scarlet presence.

Hot pants that reveal more crimson bum cheek than anyone wants to see, Primark tank tops showing “dench” arms that look like undercooked chicken drumsticks.

The locals look on with a combination of pity and amusement as we loudly jaunt around, glugging on overpriced fish bowls, either unaware or without a care that we are by far the worst-looking in the vicinity.

But why is it? Why are we so ugly compared to our European counterparts?

There’s no doubt that the climate plays a big role. Because of the shitty weather Britain has most of the year, we rarely manage to achieve that sun-kissed look.

Instead, we leave our pasty limbs covered (except on nights out, when girls lather on the fake tan and hide nothing despite the freezing temperatures).

The lack of tropical climate here also means that we simply haven’t mastered the art of looking good in hot weather.

Rarely do women walk out in a bikini in the UK, so it’s only when it comes to being on holiday that we realise how out of shape we’ve been since Christmas.

And yet, when it comes to holiday outfits we can’t seem to resist baring as much flesh as possible. While the local chicks look goddess-like in flowing, modest garments, British babes treat their hol like a competition to see who can have the most skin on show.

Meanwhile men get overexcited and whack on the tank tops and short shorts, failing to realise that continental Europeans wouldn’t be seen dead in that neon number, and that those above-the-knee shorts only accentuate their bony knees and off-white goat-like ankles.

The butters-ness is also down to the British way of living. A fatty, high-alcohol diet, an excessive work ethic, and a general lack of respect for our physical condition all amount to a pretty ugly sight.

The employed work like dogs while the unemployed sit like logs, and in both cases the traditional concept of proper mealtimes has gone out of the window.

So as you head to the likes of Malia and KOS this summer, just prepare for the dreaded realisation that you aren’t as hot in that bikini or those shorts as you thought you looked in your bedroom mirror.

When you come across the young, bronzed locals you’re going to feel ugly. And that’s because, my British friend, you are.

The solution? We could start eating better, dressing better and looking after ourselves better. Maybe then our levels of attraction would rise.

But the favourable option, and the one most of us go for, is to hit that strip, slurp down our fish bowls and not give a shit.