If we manage to get away to the sun this year, which means abroad, we are heading to the naturist beaches. This is not, as it would have been with me 20 years ago, to ogle naked female flesh at close quarters but because naturist beaches are the best beaches to visit after the lethargy and excess of lockdown has had its inevitable effect on one’s body. On a naturist beach, no one cares what you look like because everyone looks pretty grim.
This is very much not how regular beaches feel to those of us who don’t exactly look like Daniel Craig emerging from the sea. In truth, many of us fear going on the beach these days because Greenpeace might turn up and throw us straight into the sea.
As a mere man, and I know I could be a little biased here, I tend to think men look pretty grim in anything other than clothes. Not just some men but all of us.
However, I do not want to make friends on the naturist beach. I’m not quite ready for that. “Hello. My name’s Rick. Where do you come from? What do you do?” This sort of stuff is for the bar when your eyes are not accidentally honing in on a female Brazilian look or some bloke who’s been circumcised. Being in the altogether can have its distractions. I want clothes on for that stuff.
True, the sand gets everywhere and, yes, the cold sea waters are occasionally welcome (let’s not get into specific detail here) but the naturist beach has its place. Not for the beautiful bodies – they remain covered up, even on the regular beaches – but the normal ones. And mine.
