Gloria arrived in Brighton today - hurrah! Waterlogged country no obstacle to our dedication! And other such gung ho exclamations on the part of two over-excited girls.
To celebrate her safe arrival, we did something neither of us had ever quite dared to do before - walked down along the sea-front, past the crazy golf and a precarious looking flat in the arches, into Kemptown... and the nudist beach.
We were the only women there, but it was remarkably un-threatening; it's a certain kind of person that takes of their clothes in public in such patchy weather. I'm not sure it would be me again - novelty is one thing, routine nudity another. G didn't like the look of the waves, and didn't swim. I didn't think they were any bigger than at Tidemills on the seventh, and gave it a shot. The breakers, however, came in at a strange diagonal, and had a very strong pull; as soon as I'd got in and splashed around a little, I thought better of staying in any longer. I didn't want to try and fight them when I was tired.
I am trying to get my head around John Berger's line, "To be nude is never to be naked". The nude is aware that they are watched; at once vulnerable and powerful? There is a dishonesty, I think, in the intimacy of the nude. I think they should be called "nakedist" beaches.
Later on, we went out on a trip-launch fundraising expedition! In about an hour and a half, and two of my local boozers, we made about £35 (just under) for the cause. A special shout out to Lewie and Patrick for their generosity.
One final thought:
WE'REGOINGTOMORROWWE'REGOINGTOMORROWWE'REGOINGTOMORROW! And, In the immortal words of dear Thomas, "I'm so pumped!"