Drifting round in the pool at our Tuscan villa is without doubt my happy place.

Bought as a reward for a lot of hard work running a successful production company with my husband George, it’s the perfect place to unwind and host friends and family. Except for one thing – George’s penchant for stripping off.

For while the views here include rolling hills, vineyards and gorgeous medieval towns, they also feature my other half’s bare backside.

Over the years I have cringed as I’ve seen every part of him bobbing about on a lilo. I have to warn guests that those of a delicate disposition probably shouldn’t come, because not only will George be naked, he’ll encourage them to go au naturel, too.

The first summer we had guests was a learning curve.

One of my best friends had a crying fit after he greeted her at the front door in the nude.

The anonymous wife recalls a few barmy occasions when her friends joined in with her husband’s brazen nudity (picture posed by model)

Afterwards (when she’d calmed down) she wondered if he had early-onset Alzheimer’s, because Tuscan George was behaving so differently to London George, who is more of a striped pyjamas sort of man.

I explain that here, he likes to leave not just the stresses and strains of the media world behind him – but his inhibitions, too. He says feeling the sun and breeze all over makes him feel a lightness he never experiences in the chaos of city life.

Needless to say, I have tried to talk to George about wearing clothes around guests who might be offended.

But he laughs it off, saying there are far worse things in the world than the odd bottom on display, and turns the tables on me for being too ‘conventional’.

I’ve been called a prude more than I care to mention, when I’m really not – I just have an appreciation of what a gracious host should, or shouldn’t, share with his house guests.

Perhaps our friends might have been more forgiving of his behaviour in his younger, fitter days. Doubtless in his mind George is still all sinewy muscles and coppery tan. Yet, now in his 60s, the reality is more an oily Ray Winstone.

Ironically given the trouble it has caused, one of the things I’ve always loved about George is how comfortable he is in his own skin. We met in the early 1990s. I fell in love with his confidence, humour and intelligence. I didn’t realise ‘likes to strip off in front of friends in the sunshine’ would be a problem years down the line.

With hindsight, I was warned (sort of) on our first holiday – a last-minute deal to Ibiza. George was keen to head to the nudist section of the beach, and was among the other young men who got naked in a nightclub foam party.

She puts his behaviour down to high jinks in the sunshine and a lack of inhibitions from his years at a boys’ boarding school

I put it down to high jinks in the sunshine and a lack of inhibitions from his years at a boys’ boarding school.

By our late 30s we’d done well enough to buy that Tuscan villa. George was in heaven, and the longer we spent there over the years once our kids had grown up and left home, the fewer clothes he wore.

He’s always been very complimentary about my body, and encouraged me to ditch my kaftan, too. In his defence, our home is private and secluded, and there’s no greater feeling than skinny-dipping under the stars, so why not when we’re alone together? (Though now I’m approaching my 60s I’m far less keen than I was in my 30s).

But we had always intended to use our holiday home as a place for loved ones to stay – and that’s when the trouble started. As well as shocked faces and comments about his sanity, I have lost friends over George’s behaviour.

Before Covid, a girlfriend just out of a divorce came to stay with us. But she just couldn’t cope with George’s, ahem, free and easy lifestyle. She retired to her room for most of the stay, and while George didn’t seem to notice, I certainly did.

Driving her back to the airport she let me have it, saying George’s nakedness had ruined her holiday. The last I saw of her was her flight taking off from Pisa airport, and we’ve not spoken since.

None of our guests has seriously confronted him, though I put that down to politeness over us giving them a free holiday – and that these days I’ve given fair warning of what they’re in for beforehand.

Goodness knows what they say about us once they’re home – though some have been happy enough to shed their own clothes.

While it can be excruciatingly embarrassing, his cavalier attitude to nudity has never actually caused serious problems in our marriage. I know if I ever got truly distraught about it he wouldn’t be so dismissive.

And though I know some people may assume otherwise, in 30 years of marriage he has never been unfaithful or crossed the line with another woman. He’s not a sexual predator, just a raging exhibitionist. He might seem like a relic from the Carry On films, but I really do love him.

And George is getting a lot bigger these days. It’s actually quite difficult to see much beneath his tummy now.

I should encourage him to think about weight loss, but his love of pasta is doing me – and everyone else – a favour.