Day 46 (30 June 2011) - Look for the bare necessities...

...the simple bare necessities.'
Now before I begin, I need to make an announcement:
'THIS POST CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF A GRAPHIC NATURE.  ANYONE OF A NERVOUS DISPOSITION SHOULD LOOK AWAY NOW'

This week, I've been on my holibobs. But due to potential flat-buying situation - and the cost of all this travel you've recommended - I'm having a stay-cation (get me with the lingo!)  So, the plan was to have some lovely, cheap days out with a bit of Carpe Diem thrown in, to keep my 'challengeing year' going.

With Sunday being such a scorcher and Monday promising to be even hotter, I decided to pack my bucket and spade and head to Brighton.  The last time I went was c.12 years ago when Iain lived down there.  That night turned out to be a spectacularly unsuccessful pulling night, when early in the evening, I bit a huge chunk out of my tongue and spent the rest of the evening with loo paper round my mouth trying to stem the flow of blood. 

Brighton is a charming place.  The Lanes (a section of small, mazy...erm...lanes) is full of charming, independent shops and cafes.  The people seem ridiculously chilled-out and happy and it's become super-trendy, often now referred to as London-on-Sea.  So, off I popped on Monday morning, armed with a couple of paperbacks and my Ipod ready for a relaxing day. 

I had an awesome day, mooching around, drinking coffee, trying not to buy all sorts of interesting stuff (was very disciplined) and chilling out on the beach. 

You may remember that the inspiration for this year was the Baz Luhrmann song 'Everybody's free to wear Sunscreen'  You do?  Good!  I should add at this point that I slapped the Factor 30 on all day.  In my opening post I mentioned the fact that, like a true Brit, I'm incredibly body conscious.  Yes, my face and hands resemble both Des O'Connor and a leather handbag, but my body is practically vampirish, having not seen the sun since 1962.  In short, I've never been at all comfortable with getting my flabby bits out in public.

I tend to try to keep myself fit, but a combination of bad food choices; bad drink choices and a lack of portion control have taken their toll over the years.  However, I've been making conscious efforts to try to resolve this - well, certainly on the food front, if not the alcohol.  As a result, on Monday morning, for the first time in ten years, I got on the scales and was greeted with a sub-10 stone clocking.  Granted, I had just been on the treadmill for an hour, so was ridiculously dehydrated and hadn't eaten that morning, but hey, the scales don't lie.  Truth be told, I felt pretty pleased.

I was still feeling pleased lying on the beach in my duffle coat and balaclava, trying not to pass out from heat exhaustion, when I started thinking about this blog and my aim to push my boundaries and become more spontaneous.  This was an opportunity for a challenge, to get my body out on the beach...

...all of it. 

Brighton very famously has a nudist beach.  I've barely ever taken my shirt off, let alone exposed the Fordham heirlooms to the world.  Iain and I were chatting about this in Barcelona earlier this year when we inadvertently stumbled across their nudist beach.  We were terribly British about it, becoming quite flustered when we realised we were surrounded by nakedness, uncertain of quite where to look (I soon worked out exactly where to look!  Ahem).  When Iain asked if I'd ever got my kit off in public, he may well have asked me whether I'd ever married a goat; such was the look of horror and bewilderment that crossed my face.  But, this was my moment to conquer another fear.  Would I have balls (?!) to do so.

It would help, of course, if the nudist beach wasn't in Cornwall.  It certainly felt that way as I walked the 811 miles to find it.  When I did so, I was expecting a large fenced-off area with the only thing visible being several volleyball nets (what is it about nudists and volleyball?).  Instead, I only realised I'd found it when the average age of the clientele on the beach suddenly up and the number of brightly coloured items of clothing fell through the floor.  With growing trepidation (and no, that's not a euphemism) I selected a spot near the water (for emergency evacuation, you understand) and began to disrobe.  Seconds later there I was in broad daylight, surrounded by lots of people, as naked as the day I was born.  And nobody batted an eyelid.  To be honest I wasn't exactly expecting Len Goodman and the rest of the Strictly judges to pop up to give me marks out of ten, but it was all so boringly bland that it made me realise once again how so many hang ups that we allow to drive us, our only in our heads and, ultimately, totally in our control.

Now, I should warn anyone thinking of trying this, that you should only do so in controlled naturist environments.  Abandoning your clothing in the middle of the Bentalls Shopping Centre frankly isn't on. 

...I should also advise you that if you ever go naked on a beach, to ensure you apply sun cream to all areas.  To my cost, I realised later that day that I'd missed a rather large patch on my left buttock, which three days on is still giving me some issues.

Would I do it again?  Who knows?  I didn't really get the sense of freedom and 'at one-ness' with nature' that people bang on about and, I'd imagine, on a sandy beach (for Brighton's is pebbly) you'd be picking grains out of all sorts of places for days, but right now I'm not ruling anything out.

Until next time...