The last chunk of bread sits abandoned in the middle of the table – we may be naked but good old British dining etiquette still applies.
It’s not often I find myself completely starkers by the arches on a Tuesday evening, but surrounded by people all similarly unclothed with the tantalising scent of wood-fired pizza wafting in the air, it’s starting to feel like there could be far worse places to be.
Wind back about 15 minutes and the situation was a whole lot more uncomfortable.
Only the polythene bags ready for clothes to be deposited in set the scene apart from any normal post-work do.
Fighting a strong urge to turn and flee, I did what any self-respecting English woman would do and made a beeline for the bar. Complimentary glass of bubbly in hand, I scan the room for a friendly face and soon strike up a conversation with a nearby man.
He has travelled over from South Wales specially for the occasion and is something of a seasoned naturist as talk soon turns to traffic.
Original publication 21 February, 2018
Posted on NatCorn 9th April 2020
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