Nature’s call
Irish people have become very health-conscious over the past decade or so. Where once we lived on a diet of fags and sausages, we’re now a gym-obsessed, smoothie-slugging, calorie-counting nation of Adonises and Aphrodites, determined to treat our bodies like the temples they are.
“It’s ever so important to rehydrate after some punishing cardio,” we intone as we swig back our isotonic electrolytes, the sweat glistening off our abs, off our quads, off whatever part of our amazing body you dare feast your eyes upon.
Because that’s the real reason we’ve become health-conscious. No-one really cares about increased lung capacity, preventing heart disease, or their general wellbeing, it’s all about looking good. Do you think anyone would spend an hour on a treadmill if it just boosted their immune system? Power their way through a spin class if its sole benefit was improving their sleep patterns? They would in their eye. Sure, the health benefits are welcome, but it’s the pursuit of physical perfection that keeps us coming back for more.
Whether it’s a middle-aged runner trying to tone up, or a testosterone-fuelled twenty-something cultivating mass, the goal is to become the best version of yourself possible.
And then, having done so, to share the results with the entire world.
Because without social media this sudden rise in self-care would have never occurred, the narcissism engendered by Facebook et al feeding into our desire to be as hunky as Hardy, as ravishing as Ratajkowski, and so on. But while some may be accused of ‘over-sharing’, of being a slave to likes and shares, most choose to flaunt their bodies in the online sphere only.
That’s, of course, because of our weather, where stripping off is likely to lead to hypothermia, even in August. A few clouds, the threat of drizzle, isn’t enough to deter everyone though. There are some people who’ll happily parade their naked selves no matter the elements. And, unlike the body beauties who populate Snapchat, this lot have absolutely nothing to be proud of, nothing at all.
Nudists. Those strange middle-aged people who saunter around in the nip. You might think they only exist on the continent, but we’ve got them here too. And, following discussions with local councillors, the Irish Naturist Association (INA) has successfully petitioned to make Hawk Cliff in Dalkey, Co. Dublin the country’s first signposted nudist beach.
There’s always been beaches in Ireland where naturists have strutted their stuff, notably in Kilkee, but this will be the first time that signs are erected notifying the public of potential nudist bathers in the vicinity. Predictability, local councillors have been inundated with complaints from concerned residents, but a spokesperson for Dublin County Council has stressed that Hawk Cliff is not a nudist beach, just a beach where nudists are permitted to hang loose.
But now that it’s received this validation will non-nudists go anywhere near it? Will parents bring their children there? Will couples go for romantic walks along the seaside? I very much doubt it.
Indeed, the only reason a non-nudist might now visit Hawk Cliff is for a bit of a gawk. Hopeful males might venture down for a flash of cleavage, a pert posterior, before returning home, ashen-faced and afraid. More fool they. Because, as everyone knows, most nudists are male and of a certain vintage. If you are lucky enough to see a female one, chances are she’ll be about as far removed from the tanned, topless totty you saw in Greece as is humanely possible. So therefore, the only other visitors to this beach will be young miscreants, local ne’er do wells out for a bit of mischief, for a few laughs at the nudists’ expense.
Because, no matter how much they try to say otherwise, naturists are an oddity, they are a peculiarity which some, including myself, argue have no place in our society.
I’ve heard all the arguments, how they’re harmless, how they only want to live as nature intended in the company of like-minded others, but I really don’t see why they should be given a public area in which to carry out their pastime. I’m no prude and I don’t object to public nudity, not on an individual level anyway, but once you designate a location for these people to live out their fantasies you risk them coming into contact with those who might object, and furthermore, with those who have no business seeing naked people, of any age.
In many ways naturism feels like a throwback to another era, to simpler times when we were all that little bit more innocent, that bit more naïve. But now, given how the world has changed, how ‘woke’ we’ve become, is it not time to consign this slightly creepy leisure activity to the history books?
Maybe I just don’t get it, maybe I’m the pervert here. But for me, the notion of walking around bollock naked will always have sexual connotations, how can it possibly not? Naturists will argue otherwise, contend that it’s a state of mind, a lifestyle choice, but I’m not buying it. Think of how taboo it is to shed one’s clothes in public, how risqué, how downright naughty it is? There must be some form of gratification involved, a level of excitement which, if not equating directly to sexual pleasure, forms at least part of the thrill.
And why are they all so old? So male? Is it a case of reaching a certain age, losing your inhibitions, and deciding to inflict your flabby hind-quarters to an unsuspecting public? Or is there something more sinister at play? In any other walk of life, groups of elderly men walking around in the nude would be cause for serious alarm. I’m not suggesting that naturists partake in devious behaviour, that they are a risk beyond temporary blindness, but why should they get a free pass, why should their proclivity be indulged while everywhere else, fully-clothed men, of all ages, are under scrutiny like never before.
Ultimately it comes down to choice, and I choose not to condone naturism. It’s strange, weird, and unseemly. Perhaps if everyone did it, if the young, the beautiful, and the desired, took to Lahinch, to Hawk Cliff and beyond, it’d feel a bit more normal. But they don’t – maybe on holidays, but certainly not here, where someone might see them. Instead it’s left to their parents, to their uncles and aunts, and mostly to their grandparents.To their wizened, out-of-shape nannies and Grandads, to the type of people that should never be naked in public, no matter what the signs say.
An egg a day is okay
I bought an Easter Egg the other day. Nothing surprising there. Except I bought it for myself and then ate the whole thing in one glorious sitting.
That’s one of the great things about being an adult, you can do stuff like that and no-one can tell you off. Children, on the other hand, must do what their parents tell them.
And most self-respecting parents will have informed their offspring that they must wait till Sunday to eat their eggs – even if they do have two dozen of them in the press just waiting to be demolished. Because kids get way more eggs these days, don’t they? They’re so cheap and plentiful that even the most brazen of brats will spend the first half of Easter Sunday stuffing their face and the second half vowing never to touch chocolate again.
It’s estimated that our children will chomp their way through 5 million eggs this year, but, according to an expert on obesity, they should each only be given one medium-sized egg to eat on the day. With some of the bigger eggs containing as much as 1200 calories, Dr Donal O’Shea is urging parents to be vigilant this weekend and to limit their child’s intake.
All of which is great news for us, the adults. Because, if we’re lucky, we’ll only get one egg. It might end up being a decent one, but it’ll be well gone by Sunday night. However, fear not, thanks to Dr O’Shea the little ones will be on strict rations. They’ll be trying to keep up, working their way through the pile as best they can, but we all know they’re going to need a little help.
And sure if you can’t help your kids during times of trouble what kind of a parent are you at all?
