Yesterday’s perfect weather saw me trailing merrily along the path to my favourite (nude) beach, Sandy Bay. Always a contentious issue when I bring it up, the first question people ask is:
“Do you go nude?!”
And then they say:
“But are there lots of… dicks?”
It really amuses me. Yes, there are many. Legions of phalluses. In all shapes and sizes, but not many you’d like to spend time looking at, and thankfully, the majority of their owners respect your personal space, making for a pleasant and languid beach day away from the crowds. There was an unfortunate incident with a rubenesque (this is a modest estimation) man who did not observe the personal space mantra, and set up camp two metres away from me. He had a bottle of baby oil in his possession and he put it, unabashedly, to good use. Being the only single girl on the beach clearly goes unrecommended. Despite this case of misfortune, I had a really great day, but my pursuit of that first Summer tan was a little ambitious, because I am now positively cerise. Fok.
Tan lines, or rather, burn lines, are so ugly we might as well as just go a’beaching in the nude, but if you’re attached to your bather, then choosing your seasonal bikini (or full piece) is an important and exciting process. Well, for me it is. This is the single most indispensible Summer item, the flimsy frill of fabric that will see you through balmy afternoons, cool water wading, and sundowners with a view. I prefer a Bond girl-esque style, but am currently wearing a leopard print JBS bikini with a Bardot-slant to it. I had a browse for some swimwear inspiration in the wake of my personal sizzle.