No life
Naked ambition
Jeremy Clarke
The same week that I finally went to see the doctor about my depression, I took off all my clothes and went naked, out- doors, in public. I thought it might do me good.
There's a nudist beach and small carpark just below the village, at the foot of the cliffs. Before now I've tended to avoid the place in summer when the nudists are out in force. For one thing, I was getting tired of being chatted up by airline stewards on their days off. For another, I've always thought that naturism is neither as whole- some nor as innocent as they keep telling us it is.
In my experience, public nudity is usually a prelude to mental illness. When I was employed to keep order in a psychiatric hospital, it was always the ones without any clothes on that you had to watch. And I have a long-standing friend who takes all his clothes off when he's had too much to drink. There's just no stopping him. In fact, the last time I saw Pat we were strolling in Kensington Gardens in the golden light of a midsummer dawn. I was wearing a din- ner-suit and bow tie, and all Patrick had on was one sock.
But one day last week I got so utterly sick of listening to the same old boring, negative thoughts that revolve continually around what passes for my mind that I went off my head a bit myself. I marched down to the nudist beach and tore off all my clothes in an act of surrender, contri- tion and utter desperation.
In his final years my father had a sum- mer job as the carpark attendant at this nudist beach. He'd left home by then, but I'd see him down there sometimes when I Blasted stairs are out of order, so I had to use the lift.' was out with the dog. No matter how hot it was, my father would always be impeccably turned out in the full council uniform: blue jacket, blue shirt, black tie, epaulettes, peaked cap. Being over-dressed among nudists was his idea of a joke, I think.
He was very popular with the regulars, some of whom used to give him small gifts. One I remember was a torch for the car with a flashing light facility in case he broke down on the hard shoulder at night (batter- ies not included). I can see my father now, leaning against the side of his but with his cap on, making the nudists laugh as they trooped past him with their rolled-up wind- breaks under their arms. My father would never have gone naked in public. I never even saw him naked in his own home.
One night his but was burned down by vandals. I heard about it and went down to have a look. It was remarkable how little there was left of it — just a blackened rec- tangle around the concrete base, the two concrete steps and a padlock. My father told the policeman who came out to have a look that he believed the arson attack was the work of a splinter group of hardline nudists who had been offended by his uni- form. It was a stinking hot day and the policeman's cap, jacket and tie were off; but my dad's were on and straight, and he continued to issue tickets from the charred remains of his but — which, I think, was another of his ongoing deadpan jokes.
My father died soon afterwards and was replaced almost immediately by a ticket machine. It was stuck in the concrete base of his hut, on the exact spot where he used to sit. Some people have interpreted this as my father's final joke for the benefit of his regulars. We still get the odd Christmas card coming to him from one of his ex-cus- tomers. The last one had a picture of a snowman on the front. Inside it said, 'Roil on summer, love from Irene and Reg'.
On the way down to the nudist beach I passed the remains of my Dad's hut. From there I ran down the rocky little path that comes out at the foot of the cliff. There used to be a fishing village around here but it was washed away by the Great Storm of 1797. Incredibly, garden flowers and apple trees still flourish there among the elder and bracken. The nudists usually congre- gate where the fishermen used to lay out and mend their nets. That day there was perhaps a battalion of them sunbathing beside their striped windbreaks.
I didn't pick a spot to undress. I tore off my clothes one by one and flung them away from me as I marched across the beach towards the sea. At the water's edge I paused for a moment. For the first time in my life I felt a sea breeze playing on my privates. I can recommend it. Then I swam out further than I'd ever swum before, until the nudists were just dots on the beach, and the beach was just a pale thin line. And I stayed out there for quite some time, floating on my back, and looking back towards the land.
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