I’ve never really been into swimming that much. I’m not a great swimmer and unlike other activities I’ve never had any desire to improve. I can do a couple of lengths if I put my mind to it but I’ve always found that swimming takes a lot of effort for little reward. I don’t mind splashing around in a pool though. Indeed, some of the best holidays we have had have been where we have rented a villa with a pool. The thing is though that when you are in warm climes even a tepid pool can be a bit of a shock to get into and the worst bit is when the swimming costume got wet and started clinging to your sensitive regions. A few years ago we had a villa that was quite secluded and the pool afforded us some privacy. Hmmm, I thought, it is worth a try. I removed my swim shorts and climbed in. Ooh, that’s better I thought. In fact the whole thing was a bit of a revelation. Skinny dipping appeared to be much more fun than swimming with your bits all trussed up. Not that Elaine was overly impressed with the sight and neither was she persuaded to take up the challenge herself. I, however, took a number of dips in the scud that holiday and just hoped to god that the villa owner didn’t have a hidden webcam somewhere. If he did I doubt he made much money by selling the video to the special interest websites.
A few months ago I came across an article about the Arilngton Baths Club in Glasgow. It is a private health club that is situated in an original Victorian baths in Glasgow’s West End. It is quite an interesting place. Founded in 1870, it houses a 21 metre pool, a Turkish suite, saunas, steam rooms, a fully equipped gym, rooms for yoga and other classes and a rather splendid member’s lounge. Strangely, the pool has a trapeze and a set of travelling rings suspended above it from the impressive wooden beamed ceiling. All in all it is a very nice, interesting and unique place which you can enjoy for the reasonable fee of £616 per year or £1000 for a couple. It has been featured in Glasgow’s Open Doors weekend in the past and should it do so again it would be worth going and having a look. But, I hear you ask, what has it got to do with the first paragraph? Surely the members don’t all swim in the nuddy? Well, no they don’t. On a Sunday evening, however, the building is given over to a group called The Sunday Swim. For just a ten pound joining fee and another ten pounds each time you go, you can enjoy all the facilities that Arlington Baths has to offer without forking out for full membership. The catch? It’s a naturist club.
A few weeks ago I had a free Sunday evening. The hockey season was over, Elaine was away for the weekend, and watching Countryfile on the telly wasn’t appealing. Having dipped my toes (literally) in the waters of swimming sans cossie on those earlier holidays I must admit I was quite interested in trying The Sunday Swim out. I am aware, however, that having lived for 57 years in Britain, nudity remains a case of ‘ooer missus’ and Barbara Windsor’s bra flying off in Carry On Camping. I was a little nervous and even driving up there I wasn’t sure if I would go through with it. I parked up, wandered through the door and entered the lounge where the Sunday Swimmers congregated before being allowed access to the facilities. Somebody was sat at a desk.
“Hello” I said. “I’m a newbie, what’s the routine?”
That was it. Any potential embarrassment about getting naked with a lot of strangers was well and truly trumped by the embarrassment I would have felt admitting to them I didn’t feel like it after all and chickening out. I filled in some forms, handed over a tenner for the membership, had my photo taken (clothed before you ask) and was told that once the Swim got underway there would be a short induction held for the newbies which consisted of me and a couple who were up in Glasgow on holiday. Another tenner was paid to the Arlington Baths staff – yes, the employees of the Arlington Baths Club, mainly young folk, remain on duty for The Sunday Swim, clothed – and we met up with the chap who showed us around. The regulars had quickly got into the mood. It shouldn’t be but it is quite difficult to concentrate on what’s being said when you first enter a room full of naked people. The chap doing the induction was very good though and we were fully briefed, which is more than can be said for the other members, (sorry, Carry On style joke, I’m ashamed of myself) with how things work, the dos and don’ts of the club and, importantly, where you HAD to be naked (in the pool) could choose to be naked (just about everywhere else) and HAD to be clothed (in the gym). There was a naked yoga session at 7pm if we were interested (good god, no) and we were informed about the etiquette of the club. Basically this meant no intimacy with anyone, even if you knew them. This was a club for naturists and naturism is not about sex. Swingers were not welcome. Well, apart from those who chose to use the trapeze and travelling rings perhaps.
With that we were pointed in the direction of the changing rooms. Naturally there are two, one for the ladies and another for the chaps. For the Sunday Swim you could choose either. I chose the men’s changing room as I just couldn’t make the leap of faith and enter the ladies’. In there I found a vacant peg and, well, took my clothes off. I, along with every participant, had been given a towel for drying off at the end and what was basically a bed sheet. This was to accompany you wherever you went and to be used as a barrier between you and whatever you chose to sit on. Naked bottoms on chairs, loungers and so on is understandably frowned upon and a thin layer of cotton is considered to be a sufficient barrier. Clutching said sheet I emerged from a changing room containing naked people into the pool area which was full of naked people. It wasn’t much of a threshold but it was something of an achievement to cross it. OK, I thought, let’s get in the pool. This meant walking past a young female lifeguard who was fully clothed. I felt very awkward and at the same time a bit sorry for her. Not that she was the slightest bit bothered of course. I descended the ladder into the pool which was a degree or two cooler than I’d expected but, as previously mentioned, this was less of a problem than it might have been had I been wearing swim shorts. I decided to do a couple of lengths. Just after I turned and was heading back to the shallow end I witnessed the rather bizarre sight of a naked lady swinging along above my head on the travelling rings. I have to say I was impressed with her athleticism but at the same time my weekend had just got a bit weirder.
My next port of call was the Turkish Bath. This was a large room, decorated on a Moorish fashion, where it was quite warm. A number of wooden slatted loungers were arranged in a symmetrical manner around the room. The idea was to sit or lie on one of the loungers and enjoy the serenity. In for a penny I thought. I carefully laid the sheet on the one free lounger and lay on it. The peace and calm was quite relaxing at first, even though I was surrounded by naked bodies, but after approximately two minutes the wooden slats were proving to be rather uncomfortable. Perhaps I should have used the towel as well as the sheet. Whatever, I left the room to those who found laying on uncomfortable furniture and doing precisely nothing ( I think one guy might have been doing a crossword) relaxing and continued my exploration. I found the showers. I think I should have maybe found them before I went in the pool but I had a lot going through my mind at that time. Amongst the showers was a curious contraption which basically meant standing within an almost complete circle of several concentric pipes. These shot out water like pin pricks which, strange as it may seem and once I’d got the temperature right, was quite a pleasant sensation. Yes, had those water jets been focused just a little lower it might have been a tad uncomfortable but I’d visit that facility again later.
It was the sauna next. The main sauna was under renovation and getting into the small back-up was a bit of a squeeze. Everyone was quite understanding though and with a bit of shifting a space became available. I quite like saunas. I’m not sure why as they are pretty uncomfortable places after a while but no pain, no gain I suppose. It was the only place I actually conversed with other people. There was a conversation going on about the Emirates A380, recently timetabled on the Glasgow route, and I felt I had some knowledge to impart on the subject. Strangely, conversing about aircraft whilst bollock naked and sweating profusely didn’t at all seem odd. Saunas are one place above all others where you really don’t need clothes. The Scandinavians have that one right. Next on the agenda was the steam room. I don’t normally like steam rooms. I still don’t like them naked and only stayed there a couple of minutes, leaving before the steam scalded my thighs. I tried the Turkish Room once more, it was a bit better once I’d folded the sheet over a couple of times, but whilst I’m all for relaxing, it got boring really pretty quickly. If I were to do it again I’d take some reading material or a book of sudoku or something. And maybe some cushions. Another go in the pool, the sauna and that funny shower thing and I was exhausting all the possibilities the place had to offer. A nice touch with The Sunday Swim is that in a room upstairs off the pool area is set aside for free tea, coffee and, you couldn’t make this up, Ginger Nuts. Whilst I was getting used to the sights in the pool and spas, seeing a load of naked people sat in comfy chairs drinking tea and munching biscuits whilst talking about day-to-day matters was one of the weirdest experiences of all.
I don’t drink tea or coffee so after just one Ginger Nut I headed back downstairs. It was just after 8pm and the Swim went on for another hour. Having sampled the facilities at least twice I felt I’d seen enough and believe me, I’d seen plenty. It was time, I felt, to get cleaned up, dressed and away home. There was an alternative to another shower though. The original Victorian slipper baths and hot tubs were still operational. I ran myself a bath and got in. In the same room, several other tubs were filled with bathers. For some reason, this seemed just as weird as the naked tea and biscuits but it was a nice way to rid yourself of pool chlorine and sauna sweat. With that I headed back to the changing room, dried myself off, got dressed, returned both towel and sheet, walked out of the door and drove home. As the journey takes three quarters of an hour I had time to reflect on what had just happened.
I’d just travelled to Glasgow and got naked with several dozen strangers whilst utilising a Victorian pool and spa. Whilst it felt distinctly strange at first, by the end it seemed fairly, though perhaps not completely, normal. Here’s the thing though: everyone has some hang-up or other about their body. I’m no exception having fallen victim to the middle-aged spread. I’m not particularly vain but even I try to hide the double chin and the overhanging belly whenever I am photographed. Body image has become a big issue lately with all media, both printed and electronic, full of images of ‘beautiful’ people. This becomes a problem when people feel they can’t live up to those ideals. Eating disorders, depression and even self harming can be the result of self loathing. At the Sunday Swim, however, it becomes clear that people actually come in all shapes and sizes. Whilst men form the majority of the membership, plenty of women attend too and across both sexes young and old, tall and short, fat and thin are all represented. For example there was a very well spoken and undoubtedly very respectable old bloke displaying an impressive array of metalwork through all his bits and pieces – you couldn’t miss them, they reflected the lights – something you would never have remotely suspected had he been clothed. I’m no fan of piercings, I mean really, why would you, but good on him. A young girl who was rather large was in the sauna. I suspect she had more self-confidence than she might have done back in the world of clothes as there she was accepted for what she was. Perhaps most impressive of all was the chap with the colostomy. There he could be himself, just like everyone else was his or her self. He was also the most athletic person there, effortlessly swinging across the pool on the rings.
I may have only spent a couple of hours there but I think I get what naturism/nudism, call it what you will, is about and it is a positive thing. It won’t be for everyone. – the history from religious disapproval to nudge nudge, wink wink humour is hard for some folk to shake off even if they wanted to – but those that indulge seem to find a happiness in shedding both clothes and their hang-ups. All your ‘flaws’ are there on display along with everyone else’s and that’s that. Will I be going back? I am now a member of the Sunday Swim for a whole year so maybe. But then again maybe not. To be honest I’m not the sort of person who gets much out of spas. A quick splash in the pool and a few minutes in the sauna is good but I soon get bored. Fine if it is nearby but not a thing I’d normally undertake a sixty mile round trip for. Would I encourage anyone else to give it a try? Yes, absolutely. Once you have got over the initial unease you will most certainly feel better about yourself, if only for the couple of hours you are there. It might be a cliche but it was quite liberating.
Footnote 1: Until recently the event was arranged by a club called Glasgow Continental which allowed families to attend. This is all very natural in naturist circles but a group called Woolf Pack Hunters campaigned to get it shut down. This group claims to protect children from predatory adult grooming and felt that a club where naked adults and children mixed was an obvious magnet for paedophiles. Protectors of children or interfering busybodies? You decide. Consequently the Arlington Baths Club ended their arrangement with Glasgow Continental. The Sunday Swim was immediately formed to take its place and is strictly for over 18s only.
Footnote 2: The photos are not my own, they are taken from the Arlington Baths Club website. Taking pictures was understandably not an option. For those who find this disappointing then the next photo is for you.
Details of the Arlington Baths Club: http://www.arlingtonbaths.co.uk/home
The Sunday Swim: https://www.thesundayswim.org
Glad to be Grey 