A number of comments on the last post suggested that the teenagers probably captured my naked incident on video. They are probably uploading to YouTube right this minute. Fame could well be knocking on my door. It is just unfortunate that the pool was so cold...
All this talk of nudity reminds me of a scene at Brighton's nudist beach a couple of summers back. As a compulsive anecodotalist I can't help but tell the tale.
When we lived in central Brighton one of our favourite walks as down to the seafront and along the promenade to the Marina, where we would stop for a drink (coffee in the winter, beer in the summer) before taking the cliff walk to Rottingdean, a village with an incredible fish and chip shop. Bellies full of fish and chips, we'd then stumble to the bus stop and get a ride home.
The promenade takes you past the nudist beach. The nudist beach is essentially a raised beach on the beach, a kind of three-sided fort of stones (the fourth side is the sea). I assume this is to protect the public's eyes, rather than to protect the nudists' privacy.
I mean let's face it, there's not really much point in protecting a nudist's privacy is there? They kind of signed that away when they took their clothes off...
Having said that I expect that if the nudists were not protected by a fort there would be a few hundred thugs lined up on the promenade, hurling eggs and tomatoes.
Anyway, the promenade is pretty high up, but all you can see is a mound of stones. Every few yards there are signs saying:
It would be funnier if it said:
Nekkid People Loafing About
No photos please
[If I was a bad man I would alter the signs to say exactly this]
It was a hot summer's day. Mrs Stoneskin and I were walking along the promenade past the nudist beach. Down below we could see a young family clambering up the stony slope onto the nudist beach. Mum, dad, and three little sprogs.
A better man would have tried to get their attention, tried to warn them. But a spectacle like this doesn't often present itself. What a fantastic opportunity to stay quiet and watch.
How long before they realise?, the missus asked.
Well it's peak season, I replied, there could be masses of them on the beach, butt-nekkid, a fleshy fest of nekkid glory. I'll give them 30 seconds.
The young family disappeared over the bank. Seconds later they emerged, running, literally pegging it, the panick-stricken stampede of a family that a minute ago were leisurely rambling up a bank of stones, and have now found themselves surrounded by a butt-nekkid army.
I looked at my watch.
That was 5 seconds, I said, 5 seconds flat.
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