Yoga with some differences

Yoga's inescapable these days. I used to do a fair bit a few years ago, when it was more of a niche thing, but nowadays it seems to have become an Industry, complete with a uniform. I've got a stack of yoga books, including an excellent runner-oriented one (distance runners' hamstrings get short and tight, which you will notice in down-dog).

Never liked uniforms, as you know. Aha, what's this popping up on the ever-keen-to-interest-you Meetup? Naked Yoga in South London! It seems legit, and not a front for a muscle-boys' knocking shop (they have an app for that), so let's join. After a few weeks on lurking in the group, I register for a class.

It's run by Doria, whose site has got a few references to her naked yoga sideline (or it might be her core offer, I don't know), complete with press coverage and some nice studio shots of her. And were some of the images from a warm evening at Burning Man, I wonder, as it looks like some artistic structures/contraptions in the background on the sand?

Naked Yoga means practicing yoga without the contraints of clothing. There is a sense of freedom practising yoga naked: freedom from negative feelings about your body, and deeper connection with yourself and the world around you. While many equate being naked with sex, this couldn't be further from the truth in a naked yoga class. Naked Yoga is about being comfortable in your own skin and the amazing confidence that comes with it. It's about knowing, accepting and loving yourself at your core.

http://www.doriayoga.com/naked-yoga/

The studio is tucked away in XXXX road, a block or two away from where the A3 whizzes through on its way to Clapham Common. Shoes off at the foyer - good sign, and then up some little stairs to the studio proper. The building is a former warehouse? Small factory? Dunno, anyway it's converted light industrial about 150 years old with nice high rafters and a lovely weathered looking wooden floor. The floor's lovely and clean, thanks to the shoes-off arrangement.

I'm about the 3rd guest there. Doria's still putting mats out in a U, so I take time to admire the 6ft long model sailboat, which looks like the sort of thing that people used to race on ponds. Not sure what to do now ..., er, um. Aha, someone has taken their kit off and sat on his mat. I'll do that. People, mostly chaps, arrive as we do so, and go through their stretches. I improvise. Not sure I've got a pre-session Routine, so I find where the tension is and stretch those things. Shoulders mostly. Numbers are building up now, and finally we have 6 or 7 men and 2 women, plus instructor.

The added ingredients are : music (Doria's got a cute but effective Bluetooth speaker), lots of heat, and for me, a Vinyasa oriented approach. Removed ingredients are: clothes, light (just the red of the heaters, and some other very minor light sources, and presumably any inhibitions. I'm perfectly fine with the nudity : more concerned about the intensity of the practice.

I shouldn't have worried. Although there is some pretty strong work in the middle of the session, we start gently in corpse, then visualisation and intention-setting, before waking up the breath. There's a core routine in the Vinayasa sequence around which variations are built. Plank, Up-dog (or is it Cobra?), Down-Dog, Forward Bend. Tonight we are working within Warrior 1, Warrior 2 and Triangle. I spend a bit of time thinking "really?, there?" but I'm not bothered by my inadequacies. Doria gives numerous Option 1's for the less flexible to work on, so we don't need to gauge ourselves by the Option 3 crew. I do a lot of sweating!

Practicing without clothes is good. No scrunching or tightening of fabric anywhere at all. Heat can evaporate immediately, no damp patches. Having a glance at fellow practitioners is instructive too and makes more sense when nude. Not that I'm competing or ogling, but I feel I can get a sense of the intended pose by viewing a few examples. The anatomy is easier to read without interfering material.

The high energy aspects of the class then fade, and there's a lovely warm down sequence. Again we are in a corpse-like pose. Our teacher gets us into this state of active repose and then moves amongst the group. A fragrant energising oil, warmed by her palms, is offered to the temples as we rest, which seems to unite/vibrate/connect Heart-Throat-Forehead. We consider the effects of this, and of the practice, reflecting on our intention, and our (unfortunate?) need to re-enter the world and then we finish.

Swim summary: not as summery as before

I will do sincere penance to the data integrity gods for failing to keep these posts In Their Proper Order. I posted about Swim 12 (or non-swim, as it turned out) having left you with only a data fragment from #8. Bad monkey!

Now where were we? Swims 9-11 could be characterised by quiet seasonal changes, and taking opportunities as they present themselves.

Swim 9 was from the Secret Spot with L, on an intermediately cloudy Friday morning a couple of weeks ago. The water was cool (14º?), but didn't perturb us too much. This time no dope-smokers on the sluice-gate (all back at school going over the learning objectives for the year).  Some sunshine broke through here and there as we pottered upstream, reaching about 1 km from the start. And swooshed back down again, being regarded at one of the corners by the Big Brown Cow. Ducks and herons otherwise. Couple of submerged branches to contend with, which seemed to favour my (heavy?) legs rather than L's. A couple with a baby en papoose regarded us with a semi-interested expression as we clambered out. Until I fully emerged that is, and then they're off! Nothing like a naked ginger guy to disperse people, I find ;-).

Swim 10. The following week. Solo, from the Weir at 4pm. Bit earlier deliberately, to keep the sunset out of the equation. Weekday, so not much chance of muggles. Sunny, so there were a few. Get in without fuss, and puss along in the cool substance. Push the muscles along to generate some heat. The sun adopts a low position, and scatters its rays all around my grubby goggles. Floating apples, along with leafy debris, bump my nose, like Atlantic growlers along the hull of the craft. They give off yeasty, cider-like smells to warn of their approach.

I keep largely to breaststroke but insert some crappy bursts of what could pass for front crawl, keeping the breathing rate quite high. It occurs to me that I could improve my stroke given time and dedication. I seem to have got it to a basic level of competence now, with some ideas of what's going on within the cycle. I wonder if I will bother to adopt this as a project, or even cram in any pool swimming at all over the winter.

I do my usual mile, turning round at Trower's Bridge (28:16 upstream leg, 19:31 down).  Water a comparatively toasty 17ºC. The air temp was a few notches higher. The previous day even more, which had helped.

Swim 11. Earlier this week. Someone I vaguely knew popped up on one of the Facebook outdoor swim groups asking if there were any takers for a swim further up the Wey, at Thundry Meadows.

This spot is in the meadowy meandering territory west of here, in the Elstead region. Having parked up on a tiny lay-by, and wandered through a slightly marshy approach (duckboards provided) I meet with B. How's it going man, have you seen X lately, done any more Y? 

The river is guarded by a corral of electric fence, which is there to keep the herd of youthful black and white bullocks (Belted Galloway I believe) from getting stuck over the quite steep bank.  Cattle like river banks as we know. We walk up to the entry point he's found, beyond a gate. He's got this fancy IR non-contact thermometer, and takes a reading in the low teens (12º?). In we go and down we paddle with the fairly brisk flow. The water is clearer too, and combed by snakey weeds. Hardly any floating leaf fall, in contrast to the Godalming reaches. The sun catches what look like floating sand crystals, but are actually resting insects. The meanders and various trees being half-in half-out mean that although the swimming isn't hard work, navigation is actively required. I think we do that for no more than 20 minutes, maybe less, escorted for some of the way by a fleet of nearly grown up ducks. The only other spectator is one of the bullocks who's found an easy beach to slurp the river from. He's up to his knees (or ankles, I'm not well up on bovine anatomy) with a dirty face. He stops his slurping to regard us going by. There is sunshine on every other twist, but it feels like a stolen margin of summer rather than the legitimate article.

B's been using the river for weeks it transpires. He tells me the spot was, over the high summer, frequented by a tiny amount of people, a few walkers and even some (female) skinny dippers (so we are not the only ones). An angler, the owner of the third vehicle in "our" lay-by, casts and draws, or whatever the fly-fishing term is, around 500 m downstream. When the ducks are quiet we can just about hear his ratchet whirring. The trees whisper whatever they whisper about. Cars whizz by on the road behind the trees, charging back home to Farnham after their day's work.

The exit is fun. Up the steep bank onto the lawn-like margin. Then under the electric fence, propping it up with a forked stick B has found/made. He hides that in a wood pile and we walk back to the start where I've left all my clobber. I'm thankful for the lush grass that the Galloways are happily munching, having left the usual Crocs back at home. It's nice to walk along with nothing on, being warmed by the sun, but when it goes behind a tree I'm reminded that it's nearly October, and lingering is out of the question. Thanks too for the Thermos. I will also bless the gods of nothingness, for keeping the vacuum that kept my tea warm.

Life Modelling 2

More about the Spirited Bodies group life modelling project, as mentioned previously on Repulsive Monnkey.

To SB's Christmas event in Mortlake, London. A day out doing art, but not drawing. On the train there, I sneakily sketched two ladies on the train. A thought crossed my mind - are these two going to what I'm going to? I'm not a subscriber to theories of type, but, well, they looked the type. They also had the spare bags containing what could have been bathrobes, just like my spare bag. And there was something arty about them ... Maybe not as they turned left out of the station where I went right.

Arrived mega early (a dilapidated church hall) and helped Esther shift chairs and make signs. Then brought in the mulled wine apparatus from Lucy's car. More people arrived in dribs and drabs, some artists, but mostly other people modelling. 

A couple I knew from the workshop in November, including Richard Moon, who is a regular model. Really keen on life modelling he say, and busy with it, especially for the older gent. Artists love us, he says, we are so much more interesting to look at than the 20-year olds. As we were talking, and setting up easels, in walk the two from the train! Aha you! Aha you back! Turned out they'd popped to the pub. 

When enough of us had gathered (~12 models), Esther took us through the posing plan. After a few quickies, we were to do Dance, followed by Raft of the Medusa, then the Last Supper, then whatever comes to mind. Esther positioned us like mannequins in rough alignment (printout in hand), talked through the logic of the poses and scattered sheets and cushions. We giggled and ummed and ahhed and wondered where our hands, feet, etc were going to land with respect to other models' faces, chests, legs etc.  We were advised about sightlines, holding of poses, taking rests and such. Rehearsals done,  bouncy Richard led us through a bit of a warmup. Note to self: get a lightweight yukata or something, as my fluffy bathrobe is too warm for warmups.

By this time, there were loads of artists getting set up (40 altogether), and we were nearing the kick-off time, or should that be strip-off time.

I've read other accounts of first-time modelling nerves (or naturist beach going nerves, equivalently), and of the dreaded first five minutes. There's an account of this emotion in this (deep breath) Daily Mail piece written by the journalist Lydia Slater who "braved" a previous SB event. 

Not with me so much!  First 50 milli-seconds more like. After that I'm basically doing the work.  I know full well that the artists are just getting on with their jobs, and the pro models (of which one of my morning sketch targets was one) are doing theirs so I'm mainly thinking about whether the quick poses have anything to draw in them. As advised, I keep going around the clock face so that the artists get a change of scene. We run through our little repertoire of 1, 2, 3, 4 minute poses. Some of the younger people throw some wild shapes. I basically stand or stretch, and knowing full well that my bum looks big in this, try and shape my tum (abs, what are abs?) without appearing to be bothered by the process.

The models are 6 guys, with Richard, 67 at one end of the demographic and I guess Rui (another regular life model) at the other (25?).  Me, along with two other 40's blokes, in the middle. Womankind is represented by a clutch of students of various ages and dimensions but all basically young, a yoga teacher in her 20's (incredibly lithe/slim, probably an elf actually), and my two friends from the 11:54 from Clapham Junction, who are 50-something and maybe more.

For the first dance-based pose, Julie (of the train) and I pose together.  Julie life models fairly frequently (as well as keeping beautifully fit). She's quite sceptical, in a warm advisory way, of me holding my hand up for the entire pose (1 hour).  She's got a neat trick of resting her elbow on her hip.  Sure enough, my arm gets fairly tired, but it's manageable.  Here's the tai chi bit : I make sure there's plenty of peng jin, and that my back is full and the arm shape rounded.  I don't see what the others are doing, though a ballet bar comes in handy for some.  The artists all scratch and scribble, and Miles Davis poops away quietly in the background.  Lucy and Esther (the gaffers) wander around beaming at us and admiring the developing artwork.

Here's one of Julie, I'm the pile of twigs in the background, asking her if she'd like to do a twirl.

Then we regroup and form the dreaded Raft of the Medusa. There is no Hope! We're all going to Die!  I've elected to play the part of Man-who-encourages-the-damned-to-take-heart-for-there-is-a-distant-sail. Again, a foolish arm-in-air pose.  Others flop and lie around. The lucky ones sit or prop on the footstool, and bold Richard "waves" (in reality he gets the pole to rest a hand on).  This is very challenging, but a unique way to spend an hour.  

I can imagine the conversations:  So what did you do when you were in London my dear?  Well father, I and another dozen people, mostly strangers, went to a church, but not to pray, but we all took off our clothes and piled together in the middle of the room at odd angles on a heap of old cushions.  Another group of people paid money to watch, and to record the scene. 

The tableau is clearly appreciated by the artists, and we models took pride in the posing. Esther is delighted and takes a few photos (these have not been cleared yet, so you'll have to imagine them). As predicted, my flying arm gets upset.  The first 20 minutes were bad, maybe it's the ambient music, but no, my arm complains about being still, and bearing its own weight. The second twenty minutes was a battle of will between my and my nervous system. The ambient music doesn't go anywhere. Then it started to hurt.  Aggh!  Wobble!!  The prone models didn't seem much happier, and at least I had space to move and re-adjust, so maybe my pose wasn't so foolish.

The break was very festive, and a chance to catch up on the artwork, mulled wine and stollen.  Re-robed for the walk-around (seems to be the etiquette) I met someone I knew from ULU drawing (which I hadn't been to lately, so we chatted about that).  It's plausible that this (dark pink paper) is her drawing, I'll have to check.

Next one-hour pose was the Last Supper.  Heavily modified to work in 360 degrees, as well as taking some liberties with, say, the gender of our Saviour.  This was much more fun, as Esther brought the mulled wine around and placed in the model's hands.  Excellent!

That's me on the end, before the wine cup got drawn in.  The full frontal, next, of the table shows more or less how this tableau related to the famous picture.

And finally we rounded off with a half-hour anything you want pose.  By this time all the models were very friendly.  Well, imagine a bunch of 12 mates had piled in for a sleepover in the front room, but sans pajamas.  You would be fairly friendly wouldn't you?

I mentioned all of this to one of my students at work (a fairly grownup one), in answer to the standard "did you have a nice weekend" type question.

"Ohh, really, life modelling, ohh ? I suppose it's quite liberating?"

"Well, it depends, probably for the target audience. Me, my shoulder's a bit stiff now".

PS, if you like the sound of this and want to know more, do get in touch with the Spirited Bodies people via their website or Facebook page.  They are looking to build up to charitable status, and are looking for supporters/sponsors, use of venues and other such things. Maybe some IKEA bags would come in handy for the cushions.

Life Modelling

EDIT: recursive link from Spirited Bodies.
http://spiritedbodies.com/2012/11/21/developing-in-the-workshop/

In a life drawing class a few weeks ago, the model announced that she was part of a group called Spirited Bodies, and that they were on the lookout for more models and artists. The aim of SB is a "Community encouraging people to love their bodies as they are, in particular finding body confidence and inner peace via life modelling in a group", its mission to "empower people to have a positive body image, and focus more within" and it runs "Multi-Life Modelling Events where people may recast their body consciousness". 

I think, and I could well be wrong about this, the target person is someone who feels that because they don't fit a Barbie/Ken sterotype there is something wrong with them and they shouldn't be seen in public, let alone with no clothes on. Those who know me would not associate me with lack of body confidence I'm sure, but I'm certainly not a standard issue action man either. Because the sessions involve lots of models I thought this was a low pressure route into life modelling, so I duly put myself forward. 

Tonight, I participated in a preparatory workshop in Clapham, involving two of the organisers, 8 models and 4 artists. It was Ve-ry In-ter-esting ... 

Bit of strange space (computer training room with a vaguely open area in the middle), and a tentative start, but then it settled down. Unlike a normal life class, there was lots of stopping and starting and a bit of talking. People took in turns to pose, given various directions "two minutes, convey a strong emotion" and the rest drew. Pointers of a practical nature were offered and discussed. Various small groups were formed and switched. Doodles/sketches shown at the end. Friendships formed.

So there we are, I now have nearly 20 minutes experience as a life model! Woo!

Aside from standing in one place not talking for minutes at a time, I found the idea of generating the pose the hardest work. I thought "righto I'll try THIS". It might be good, or boring, or hard to hold, and being a noob consists of a lot of trial and error, it seems. Unlike doing a presentation, once the pose is set, there's no playing around with it. If if doesn't work you just have to lump it and do different next time. It's also a bit of challenge working In The Round (I'm so used to rectangular spaces, with me up at one end). I can see why SB place emphasis on the workshops! 

Having a Tai Chi background definitely helped. Not only in standing practice, but also in having a repertoire of ready dynamic poses ready to roll. The main event is later in the year, when there will be dozens of models and even more artists. More reflections to come in the fullness of time.

Don't care about your gender, but may I just say ...

Quite an interesting naturist swim night at Alton (previously on Repulsive Monkey).

Because I don't go that often, and knowing that traditional naturist functions might be on the decline, I do sometimes worry that the session won't be there especially if not enough people go. I guess the leisure centre think it's worthwhile. I got there about mid way, and there were noticeably more people there.   At least given the number of shoes in the changing room. The leisure centre open up the two (M and F) group changing rooms, but naturist couples tend to go to either as a couple (why get shy about stripping off separately for two minutes, only to rejoin unclothed?) so I saw a few female shoes amongst the clumpy male ones.

Once in the pool, it's possible to see what the turnout is like. About the same gender ratio as usual: about 5 women to the 30 men, and the same sort of demographics.

They appeared to me to be the regulars (I'm a semi-regular at best), but a few newbies, including, gasp! some youngish people.  One slightly younger person, to whom I'd spoken casually before (I think I'd said something about a tattoo some months ago) now looked a bit different. The tattoo project had come along nicely (a sinuous floral design around the side and back, not too dense, subtle colours), but also something about her body had changed. Hair, legs, breasts all the same, but hang on ... no more penis. 

Flashback to about a year ago, doing the same sort of who's in tonight mental survey: Man, Man, Man, Woman, Man, Man, Woman ... no hang on, a Bit of Both!  So my first live in the flesh transgender person then. I guessed that for this person, or indeed any person who might feel uncomfortable in a conformist situation, swimming is easier in a naturist environment, which nominally at least is based on liberalism of the body's actual condition, as opposed to having it conform to an ideal (especially an unseen ideal).  I had no idea initially if this was a she becoming a he, or the other way, or neither, and nor did I feel it proper to enquire. Over subsequent swims (several weeks/months, including chatting about body decs), it appeared likely that whatever the story, the trajectory was towards female.

... and Back to the other night.

I had to ask: had it taken a long time/trouble etc? I don't think I was being prurient, and maybe I was motivated by a desire to empathise.  Apparently not: lots of counselling, and hormones, but the actual operation wasn't a big thing for her, just a bit of "donor organ" that she didn't need. I put forward my little theory that a naturist environment is quite a bit more accepting of, shall we say, unconventional physical configurations.  She agreed, though not wholeheartedly. Not that this was the reason for coming to naturist swimming nights (i.e. as the only stare-free option available for someone who might not be accepted in either changing room), as her parents were naturists of old so it was all quite normal.

I also talked to another woman, who turned out to know quite a few people and places I know from my work life, so physicists and hangers-on of various sorts. This all started from one of those weather-type conversations:  "in my day our computers 'ad beige keyboards, terrible they were", "luxury! we 'ad to work on steam-powered teletypes", etc etc conversations.  I didn't expect to be talking about computing architectures, the scientific end of the civil service, EXAFS and other forms of spectroscopy, but there you go. Small world.

Visit to Abbey House Gardens

I had a very enjoyable afternoon getting naked in someone else's garden last weekend. Here's a trip report.

Readers in the UK may be familiar with Abbey House Gardens in Malmesbury, Wiltshire. It's a quite a well-known ornamental garden, er, what's that ghastly word, attraction, that happens also to have several clothing-optional days each year. The owners are themselves naturists, who some time ago they thought to start an experiment, thinking that it would be interesting to see how naturists and clothed visitors might interact. These is somewhat different from when a naturist club takes over a regular venue for a designated period. On such occasions the only visitors are those who know about it in advance. Alton Towers, for example. has annual downtime on its rides though their leisure pool remains open, and so there's a BN-organised visit to the site that weekend. At AHG, however, they take the perhaps bold view that there's no need to close the site to everyone, merely to place enough notices at the entrance and on the website to "warn" the clothed constituency.

So how does it go? Quite well, as it happens. The existence of these days is pretty well-known in the naturist scene, so I've been planning to go along for at least a couple of years. Usually, there's been some sort of excuse not to go, apart from laziness, like poor weather or a family do. Last weekend was bright and warm (hot even), and D was wrapped up in OU work, so off I went. We'd visited the gardens once before after a WOMAD festival, so even if the place was going to be full of weirdos, I knew it wasn't going to be dreadful afternoon.

Having driven along a very warm M4, I park at the town pay and display (very full), and yomp up the steps to the old town and Abbey. What's this? Through the not-very-opaque fence/screen on the garden boundary, one can just see naked men and women ... Past the special signs, pause at the ticket hut to pay (I was expecting a "you do know it's nudie day" spiel but no comment was offered), and I go in. It all looks normal; lots of formal hedges, topiary and sculpture, with interesting planting distributed artfully, all looking in excellent order.  The first visitors I see, in the first of the garden areas, is a family sat around a table looking a bit glum as if their favourite team's just been relegated. Perhaps they all take mood cues from their two teenagers, who look especially non-plussed. And on then through a leafy arch into the bit where the tea shop is, and here we are in a swirl of nudity! About 30 people milling around in the buff. There are some people wearing clothes, but not many. Perhaps the Glums were not impressed, and had retreated to consider their options.

Changing, or rather unclothing, is done in what is usually the (covered) restaurant section off from the tea garden. Carrier bags containing visitor's clothes are spread around, each numbered with a ticket. Ian himself sits numbering bags. I got number 389 (don't know if they started with 001). It reminds me of the kit area at a road race, there are that many bags. The teashop, with a least three staff, is working furiously to keep up with demand. Clearly, there's no problem with visitor numbers!

Having de-clothed, I have a more extensive look around. The main gardens have various areas, and the two lawns are both full of people, walking around (there is so much planting and sculpture to see and admire), or lying or sitting on towels, some having picnic lunches. There must be more than 150 visitors just by a quick count, probably more. Amongst them are perhaps a dozen people wearing any clothes at all, several of whom are with their naturist partners. It seems an ideal environment for the "mixed" couple or family. As you might expect, there is a bit of a male bias, but there are plenty of couples and groups, and even a couple of families with young children.

The atmosphere is very convivial and chatty, more like a garden party than a standard open garden, certainly at the upper level of the site, where the formal aspects are more developed. Behind the Abbey house, the ground falls down to river (Avon?) level, by means of a series of labyrinthine zig-zag paths and steps. This is the area that's vaguely glimpsed from the nearby footpaths. There are many things to see down here, both living and man-made, and the feel is not so formal, more loose and free.

Eventually I reach the river level.  There's a natural theme to the garden here, with the river being crossed by a footbridge, a little hut/pagoda on an island, and some water features. The planting is also beautiful (and labelled by species).

Again, there are chatty visitors walking around alone or in small groups, a couple of families with younger children, and a score of people lying on the lawn. Clothing is very unusual to see. It's hard to find a free spot, but I do find a space to sit, where I draw some of the grounds, especially the art, but also the people.

Drawing is a nice way to get talking to people, being fairly unintrusive, and people like to be drawn or to talk about their own supposed lack of skill. "I wish I could draw, but I really can't".  I have to dispute this, in the nicest possible way: "There's no big secret to it (though there are some tricks). Just draw what you see, hundreds of times, and be prepared to do it better next time".

Some discussion ensues about the suitability of the river for swimming. Certainly the hundreds of tiny fish seem to like it. It looks shallow, clear, and not too fast, so in I go. The bottom is soft and squishy with alluvium but once I'm in properly it's extremely nice. I do a couple of lengths (not knowing where it goes after the footbridge!) turn around and hop out. No messing about with cossies or towels, just jump in and out, and let the sun do the drying.

That's the essence of naturism for me: no fuss, no membership card, no elaborate rituals. It's simple enjoyment of the elements, the body and its senses, and friendly company.

Clover Spa Review

To Birmingham for a trade show, so instead of the usual boxy hotel I opted for a night at Clover Spa.

This is a small hotel with attached spa (also on the pocket size).  The main thing about it is that it's naturist. I'd heard about over the last couple of years through the naturist press and on forums and such like. It's been running for a couple of years now, but I hadn't got organised enough to go.

As you might imagine, naturists tend towards the German way of doing things when it comes to spa etiquette. That is, the view that getting all the kit off leads to a much better experience than squirming about in shorts or towels. So the usual discourse is usually along the lines of "why can't UK facilities (e.g. steam rooms and saunas) be as comfortably textilfrei as the Germans'" and "why do the massage staff at Spa X insist on messing about with a stupid modesty-towel - why don't they just get on with it". It's presumably this audience that Clover Spa is going for, but at the same time it's promoting itself along luxury lines, so as to attract a general clientele.

So off we go. Physically, it's basically a guest house in a quietish suburban district (within Erdington, I think), with a few other such properties along the same road. There's a generous amount of parking, if you have to drive... though I found the nearby Chester Road railway station a comfy walk. This is served several times an hour from Birmingham New Street.

Inside, Tim the gaffer showed me around. There are 7 rooms of varying dimensions, and all the spa facilities are laid out downstairs. From the reception, a changing area (unisex) allows guests to grab a robe, towel and spa slippers. This leads on the lounge and bar. The far end is used as a dining area for staying guests to take their breakfasts. This area is of a super standard. The behind-bar area serves as a kitchen for light bites and sandwiches. It isn't licensed, so soft drinks only.

The spa is at least as good, if not better, than you'd find at typical UK hotel spas. They have: a big steam room, an equally generous (and properly hot) sauna seating at least a dozen (with a bonus window to the garden), a little one-person plunge bath, heated tiled relaxation seats and showers. Also, plenty of places to hang a robe or towel. Standard places tend to forget this crucial feature, because it's assumed you'll want to stay robed. Just outside, there's a generous hot tub. This would easily take 6 or even 8. There's a garden with sun loungers beyond the patio. This is screened by shrubs and trees, so there's going to be no problem with nosy neighbours. The only thing lacking is a swimming pool.

During my visit, there's was a film crew hanging around (Hotel Inspector, to be broadcast in July - is this a sign of less-than-ideal bookings?), so apparently because of this the usual numbers were down. Usually, Tuesdays and Thursdays are the designated social nights. In the evening there were about 4 other day spa guests and no other overnight guests. Poor things, they were prepping up for a garden party later in the week, but the weather wasn't looking that good.

A variety of beauty treatments are on offer, and I tried a "Swedish", i.e. no tricks, massage. This was delivered enjoyably and competently by a nice therapist. I could have done with a slightly more vigourous working, but this is a very minor quibble. She does other jobs too (including making teas and serving sandwiches at Clover), but prefers this spa (clients at her other gigs are apparently not as pleasant). When Clover first started, the therapists were also nude, but there's been a change (I think the local council want to draw a clear line between places like this - if there are any others - and those which are a front for other shenanigans). This was all to the good as far as my masseuse was concerned, e.g. as otherwise she wouldn't be comfortable working there. I know some principled naturists are sniffy about asymmetric nudity in massage, but I'm not especially dogmatic about this. Speaking to Mrs Monkey, its quite likely that most people find that having nude staff seems like a signal of something funny.

After the treatment, I lounged and enjoyed a simple meal. The other visitors went on their way, leaving me to enjoy the ambience and my Kindle.  There's plenty of TV in the lounge and bedrooms, if you like that sort of thing. The advantage of digital TV is that it can be turned into a radio with a few pokes of the remote.

My room upstairs had all the facilities you'd expect. Everything was modern, clean and tasteful. Not a big wardrobe though, though that doesn't seem odd somehow! I had a smaller room, maybe that's why.

Anyway this review is starting to drift, so I'll quickly wrap up.  I was impressed, so I'll definitely be back, with company.  It's a great little hotel, and the spa is a big big plus for me

Location: convenient for Birmingham, though not too much going on in the district.
Accommodation and general hotel facilities: great.
Therapy: very good range and quality.
Spa: Fantastic, would have to travel to a spa hotel to get as good, and to Germany or Austria to find one as naturist-friendly.

Skin

To the Wellcome exhibition "Skin", guided by Andrew Welch of British Naturism.

An unusual event this, maybe unprecedented in London (though not elsewhere). The Wellcome had invited BN to guide one of their Perspectives evenings, and it was their suggestion to have it clothing optional. The musuem is just around the corner for me, and their (medicine-themed) exhibitions are always excellent.

Participants were sent an info sheet which advised bringing a robe in case of emergency exit, but on the night almost everyone left theirs in the changing room. That's it really, naturists aren't going to be at all bothered if they have to stand on the Euston road while the emergency services arrived. I think we would have been more worried about our Oyster cards melting inside the building.

The tour was fully booked, and had 25+ punters, of whom at least 20 took the clothing optional option. Mostly older men, it has to be said.

Andrew Welch was entertaining enough, though I would have preferred slightly more on the relationship of the position of naturism to the exhibits gathered, rather than a general manifesto. As the show of hands poll indicated, almost all of the group didn't need convincing of the benefits of social nudity.

Another guide, Malcolm if memory serves, posed a slightly more rebellious view. He's the sort that goes for (naked) walks in the Dales on his tod rather than pile in to (BN-publicised : bit of a dig there?) mass nude weekends at Alton Towers.

There's maybe a debate, or perhaps a spectrum of positions here. Naturism-as-hobby vs nude as the manner of doing something else (with or without other naked people).

With social nudity potentially of the brink of acceptance, there are fewer and fewer reasons to "DO" naturism as a hobby, and perhaps in succeeding in its campaigning, BN is eventually going to make itself redundant. Still, some London swims would be a definite advance, so for now it's got plenty to be getting on with.

Wild Swimming

I've been an armchair fan of the idea of wild swimming for a while, encouraged a bit by the recent movement (Kate Rew, Daniel Start, Waterlog, OSS etc).

Therefore delighted to see mention in a recent OSS mailing of a spontaneous swim in my local river. Somewhere I've had a small splash in the past.

I therfore hooked up with the three or so participants on Facebook (strangers before today!) and a time and place was arranged. A time starting with a zero it has to be emphasised!

I had an experimental plunge in the very same stretch of water during last weekend's long run, and rather than getting out as soon as I felt cold, persisted for a few minutes. It felt better after a while, and I was in for about 10 minutes. Certainly more endurable than last time. Got spotted by a few people on the bank who may or may not have noticed my lack of trunks. Certainly got spotted just as I jumped out, right in front of a couple of walkers! No discernable change of expression, so hard to say if they were Disgusted of Surrey, or uncaring.

Back to the case in point. I was concerned about three or so things:

• Not getting up in time.
• Horrifying people with my nude swimming, especially potential friends.
  
• Swimming slowly, falling behind (someone had mentioned a route that seemed to be about a mile and half, and back!).
• Getting freezing cold, and having to get out.

Having mulled things over, I decided to mitigate the risks of the last two by practicing an extended period of swimming in the pool on Sunday (mostly crawl for a change - not my favourite stroke) and packing a nice cup of cocoa. I decided not to care about the second one, and set the alarm to counter the first risk.

The others seemed very nice on meeting (one bloke and two women, all my age, ish). Locked the bike, and took bag of stuff down to the water. Suggested a slightly more discreet entry point, away from the boat house. Mounted the cycle bag on the fence. Others left towels, put on their neoprene shoes and got in. Hmm, the nude angle, do I or don't I. Pretended to get "changed", whilst the others (in various degrees of wetsuits or swimming costumes) were already in. That is, I took what I had on, off, and boldly got in.

"Ahh - we've got a NATURIST!"

"Oh, excellent!"

"ooh er"

These were the initial comments, all in a very, I thought, friendly style. Either they really didn't mind, or were just being nice.

One of the women, let's say C, then started talking about did I know Charlie somebody. I said I didn't know many people in the naturist scene, being more of a free range nudie. Between mouthfuls of cold water.

We settled down and swam along, at less than walking pace downstream. It got less cold after a few minutes, and positively enjoyable after 10 more minutes. Ducks regarded us suspiciously. There were occassional walkers and cyclists, but no other river users. It started raining after a bit, which was fine. Conversation was mostly about swimming, lidos, next weekend's Big Jump. The bloke, A, moaned about his wetsuit vest, and I said that my costume was just fine.

C explained to me properly, that in the past she'd worked as a model, and had done work for Charlie Simonds, he of naturist publishing reknown, if not actual fame.

We turned back after 20 or so minutes in the water, and headed back upstream. Although the current was light (harldy any rain for weeks) the going was harder this way, and more determined swimming was required. It turned out we'd covered about 1000 m altogether.

Jumped out near the entry point, and walked back to the clothes. To various titters. And a friendly good morning to a passing cyclist.

Discussion sort of turned to my naturism. C said that in warm conditions, she actually preferred a zero costume. Woman J mentioned seeing the latest London WNBR, with some amusement I think. We briefly discussed, inter alia, the laws regarding nudity. That is, to my understanding BEING naked isn't an offence, but ACTING offensively can be. Which is as it should be, to my mind, since how can anyone be culpable for being anything? Whereas doing something implies some act of will.

We went our ways back to the unreal world. I promised to wear my blue comedy wig for the next outing, probably in a week's time. I'm also encouraged to note that my FB friend requests to the swimmers haven't been rejected.

WNBR Brighton

I was considering going along to the London WNBR, but given the route change (linear - boo!), decided to go for the Brighton one instead. Much better idea! The vibe was a lot more relaxed, art-studenty, and well, gay. All to the good.

Not many pictures from me this time, but loads all over the usual Flickr groups. Great route, crowd support etc, and nice to see the usually fairly drab naturist beach get a huge influx of cheerful users.

Here's some from Brighton photog, Heather Buckley.

Here's the Flickr group for Brighton WNBR. Or one of them, Flickr groups being an uncontrolled mess as they are.

So far, I've found myself in this one (blue hat, waving). Yaay!

EDIT: oh look, here I am too. Whoo!

Outdoor swimming

Inspired by Kate Rew's book (Wild Swim, which is VG by the way) arriving from Amazon, I ploshed bodily into the local river today. It's broken my UK outdoor swimming duck this year. Here's that diary entry in full.

Cycled to sinuous bend in the Wey, just downstream of Godalming. Recce'd the scene at first : bright, sunny, nice breeze, occasional towpath users and the odd boat. Various fowl splashing about, cows on opposite bank being cows. Checked out the getting in and out place. Got down to shorts and read the paper for a bit, to gauge traffic, and to see how hot it was (quite, but not summer of 76 exactly). Stowed all keys, phones and things of economic significance away from casual fingers.

Waited for a quiet gap. Sunnies off. Hat off. Kit off. Walked in. It! Was! Cold!

Did a length or two. Didn't feel like dunking the head, given the (perfectly natural) detritus on the surface. Fingers gettting numbbbb. Quick get out.

Back to the towel. Sit there for a bit. Dried off. Waved to passing boats : oh look, a shivering naked person, titter titter. Cycled home.

Out for a ride

Ouch! I banged my toe at Liam's wedding, on the dance floor.



It was great to see Jon and Liam in particular, but also Joe. Remember, we did the Three Peaks together, couple of years back.

Joe must have been keeping up with some of my recent escapades on Flickr, because his girlfriend came straight out with:

She: So, Matt, are you actually a naturist then?
Me: Well, yes, I suppose so, in a free range sort of way.

Anyway, that's not the point (though it was a rather amusing conversation, and as usual led to all sorts of confessions and philosophical ramblings), I banged it again in Oxford, and my nice hemp and recycled rubber loafers couldn't cushion it enough to stop me swearing at the top my voice and throwing my hat at strangers (the floppy peak stopped me from seeing the kerb). I got a new hat, and a very bruised toe.

A week later, I don't think I'll be losing the nail, but I did notice soreness after running. So instead of a long run today I went round the block (12 miles, via some nice hills) on the old tourer, trying out some new clipless shoes. btw, new folder now has clipless pedals, which are to bikes as indoor plumbing or electricity is to houses. As in, essential if you want to get anywhere without messing about.

Cycling in London

I've been waiting for ages for my folding bike to arrive. At last, here it is:



I'm really pleased with this. It can be folded in under a minute, and I can carry it round the block without my fingers going numb. The purpose of this is to whizz up from my mainline station in town to where I work. This could be a 25 minute tube journey or a fairly random amount of time on the bus. It's 10-15 minutes on the new toy.

I've found cycling in London perversely a lot easier than in Surrey. There are more paths and stop areas, and most drivers have by now seen a cyclist, and understand why we sometimes do odd things. We like to keep moving, and out of harm's way, so we don't always keep to the left where we can get squashed. So the taxis and buses all nod me through. Contrast this to leafy Surrey, where the 4x4 crowd think they have every right to blare their horns if I so much as think about using the road creatively.

And now for something completely different ...

Although Mayor Bozza is (was?) a cyclist, I fear that we have to fight for our space. So I was up there again for the weekend's naked bike ride, as reported in Londonist. This is partly a pro-cycle jamboree, but also somewhat an anti-petrol patrol and a little bit plain old naturist party. At least a couple of my hobbies represented then.



I took a small number of photos, but not as much as the gleeful spectators or some of the other riders. Have a look at the other Flickr WNBR groups (e.g. here and here) if you want confirmation of just how beautiful and funny the human race can be when it gets naked on a bike!

Obvious warning: depictions of nudity, blah, blah.

Gym card useful at last

Two visits to local exercise facilities this weekend, but no running, and only reading about tai chi rather than doing it.

Along with doing fiddly painting jobs around the house, and sporadic bass-playing (both good for knotting up muscles) I managed to get two uses out of my scandalously expensive gym membership card.

To the local leisure centre for some weights/rowing/treadmill on Saturday. Pretty good, but no heroic achievements.

Yesterday evening, I went along to Alton Leisure centre's weekly naturist swim (handy for sauna, steam room and jacuzzi too). (Every Sunday, 730 - 930 pm, GU34 1ST, Tel: 01420 540040). Both these leisure centres are run by the same company, so I got a little discount on entry to Alton, which offset the travel costs.

I've been meaning to go along to this session for some time. To date, I've been a naturist on beaches (UK and foreign) and open spaces only, and haven't been to clubs or swims. I'm glad I did, but regret not being able to persuade Mrs. Monkey on this occasion. It was relatively quiet by all accounts, less than twenty users I'd guess, and only a couple of women. Because it was uncrowded, and people seemed to know each other, there was a nice village pump vibe.

In my ideal world, every swimming pool would be clothing optional, all the time, not to mention all the beaches. As it is, it's increasingly hard, i.e. they are being discontinued, to find an open (not club-based) session in the UK (Netherlands, Germany, Austria are more like the ideal) so this session is worth supporting.

I put in about half an hour of solid swimming, and a few iterations of the hot stuff. Result: Mentally energised by the occasion of being an official UK naturist facility user for the first time, and bodily de-knotted.

Look back at the summer

The Castle Acre workshop was a great success. We weren't, after all, overwhelmed by the expertise of the others – a bit of a worry for this monkey's mate, but, truth be told, for me too – since there were all sorts of skills and styles within the group.

There are a few pictures at the head of my Norfolk holiday set which I hope demonstrate how nice the surroundings were.

We worked on a lot of qi gong, a good base of silk reeling every day, a fair amount of Chen short form and only a little push hands. We started to go into the lao jia yi lu, the old [Chen] first form, and I also took part in sword exercises, including two-person parrying and thrusting.

All very stimulating and enjoyable, and the surroundings and people were wonderful too.