Get your clothes off

I wonder how long I would have to stay in Finland until I get used to nudity.

I'm not an American style prude. I can let little kids run starkers in sprinklers. I can walk around my own home like Lady Godiva (all mad stalkers stop reading now please) but I can't bring myself to get naked with anyone's family, work colleagues or other young men in a platonic sense for the Finnish pursuits of sauna (compulsory), swimming (that traditional pool downtown), or sunbathing (Seurasaari even!).

I think that, like in real estate, it's all to do with location, location, location. In Sardinia, a blazing October, the sun boucing off turquoise topped Mediterranean waters and it's a perfect setting to strip off. I even didn't blink at the old leather skinned folk.

Likewise in Greece, at Santorini's rock down the bottom of Oia village, we all swam happily in various items of not clothing like leftover hippies in a free love commune.

But in an urban park, a mere 23 degrees, a warm pizza in one hand and a piece of carrot cake in the other, and suddenly upon the manicured grass, a g stringed buttock arises and I just can't get used to it.

It makes me want to put on a jumper.