Day 11 of photography101… “Pop of Colour”
Golden fields rolled across the valleys, spitting up amber dust into the air whenever the wind blowed.
To the left of me a man peeled the last of his clothing from his tough tanned skin and stretched as though he’d been hankering for this freedom his entire life. To my right sat a group of women in their 60’s, ordering drinks and leaning over tables of tapas, skimming the food with unclad body parts that gravity had got the better of.
Gill told us the nudist beach existed just past the painted cliff face. The one that was brandished with a no swimwear sign. The one that we weren’t planning on passing. Apparently the nudists had spread their wings and decided their sandy quarters needed to stretch further afield.
Whilst sipping on my tinto de verano I noticed I wasn’t the only one in need of some refreshment, and that’s when I first noticed a perplexing point about nudists…
Being perhaps an ignoramus in thought, I had assumed that with the removal of one’s clothes in public came a certain adaptation in relation to one’s bodily movements. I was proved wrong when I noticed a beachgoer rummaging through his cooler box for quite some time, facing away from where I sat, bent from the waist up…
Nudism, you have not won me over.
A sunny Sunday of penguins, Cotswolds countryside, rum&raisin, dead fish and birds both winged and womanly. The cherry on my weekend cake came disguised as a duo of mischievous parrots that are forever trapped in a toxic world of green gloop beneath a drinking cup, all courtesy of my little cherub playmate for the day. I will grant them a good abode. #100happydays #day94