At Nudefest, the UK’s largest naturist festival, I faced rows of unclothed nooks and visible crannies while discussing my writing. But would having my kit off prove a distraction?
‘So Nell, tell us a bit about how you became a writer …” I look down and see that, despite my legs being crossed, a significant amount of pubic hair is visible to the audience in front of me. I can feel my nipple brush against my wrist as I lean one arm over the back of my chair. The rolls of my stomach are stacked, completely visible to the whole tent, including the man with the microphone.
I am in a nightmare. An anxiety dream. I am living out every writer’s deepest fear and giving a book talk, surrounded by strangers, entirely nude.
