Feeling that the dog deserved a very long walk, I decided go to Lowestoft Ness and head off in a northerly direction. The plan was to continue in this mode until (a) I got bored of throwing the ball for Lyttelton or (b) I ran out of beach. In the event, (b) won, with my amblings being curtailed by a 'Danger - Keep Out - Construction Site' sign and, further ahead, some fences and barbed wire, just in case I thought that whoever had placed the 'Danger' signs there was merely flying a kite.. However, before I got that far, I had stumbled upon one of Lowestoft's best-kept secrets, its naturist beach.

As it was 5pm and the day's best weather was in the past tense, I wasn't expecting to find anyone there communing with naturism, but no. Dressed only in a beanie hat and a pair of shoes, a lone, middle-aged, male bather was in attendance, his clothes beside him in a pair of carrier bags. Curiously, despite the fact that he had the whole 200 yards or so of naturist beach to himself, the lone bather chose to sit just the right side of the signs indicating that it is permissible to let it all hang out past this point. Was he hoping to entice passers-by or frighten them off? Whatever his motivation, the latter seemed to be doing better trade than the former.

I've never been all that struck by naturism. My own experience of it consists of a childhood visit to Studland Bay in Dorset, while on a Boys' Brigade camp in Swanage. Being 10 years old, I thought that it was very funny to stroll up to people who had forsaken even their watches and ask them the time. Since then, my knowledge has run to reading the odd copy of Health and Efficiency and nothing more. However, today, when I had got a little past the lone bather, I found myself looking longingly at the sea and becoming desperate for a swim. Realising that I was in the only place in town where I didn't need my trunks, I was disrobed and in the water quicker than you can say 'Reggie Perrin', with the dog sitting loyally on the pile of clothes I had left. I splashed about for a few minutes and then returned to dry land. Once there, on the 'in for a penny, in for a pound' principle, I decided to continue my constitutional in the nude, at least as far as Waveney District Council would permit me, as I needed to get dry, but had no towel. So, it was up to the danger sign and then double back.

Pausing to get dressed as I approached the 'Clothes must be worn past this point' sign, I found myself 20 feet away from the lone bather. We exchanged pleasantries about the weather. What I really wanted to know, though, was whether my presence had been a welcome act of solidarity or whether he'd been hoping that I'd just piss off and let him become the master of all he surveyed (or at least the bit between the signs) once again. Being well brought-up, though, I didn't ask him. I'm not used to making enquiries of complete strangers when you're both stark bollock naked.

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