‘People really do come in all shapes and sizes’ … Ashton. Photograph: Callum Hoffman/Hoff Media View image in fullscreen ‘People really do come in all shapes and sizes’ … Ashton. Photograph: Callum Hoffman/Hoff Media A moment that changed me Life and style A moment that changed me: I spent a day with some naturists – and it cured my shy bladder For decades, I had been haunted by paruresis, an inability to urinate in public toilets. But that day of nakedness suddenly, surprisingly, led me to shed my inhibitions
Prefer the Guardian on Google F or as long as I can remember, I’ve suffered from a condition called paruresis – also known as shy bladder syndrome. This means that, unless I’m alone in public toilets, I cannot pee, however badly I need to go. I developed tactics to deal with this, such as loitering outside the gents if I see someone going in, so that I can walk in as they walk out. But if someone follows me in, I find I’m just standing there, which I worry looks odd.
I’m a writer, so am often out and about meeting people in cafes, hotels and at events. My agricultural background means I also meet a lot of my interviewees on farms – but at least there I could pop behind a hedge if I needed to go, and be assured of privacy.
It was while I was doing research for a book on the spiritual connections humans once had with the land that I stumbled across the Christian Naturist Fellowship: a network of people who believe that Christianity and naturism are entirely compatible. Here, I thought, were a community who clearly get closer to nature than most – I was keen to meet them.
One of their committee members, Nigel, suggested I visit his naturist club near Colchester. So one Saturday morning in 2025, I set off to discover what Christian naturists really think and do. He had said that I’d not have to strip off – many don’t on their first visit – but when the time came, that is exactly what I did.
View image in fullscreen Ashton (left) and Nigel from Christian Naturist Fellowship. Photograph: Courtesy of Robert Ashton I’d been naked in public once before, but then I’d been one of more than 3,000 people who, in 2016, had stripped off in a Hull city centre park at dawn, daubed themselves with blue body paint, and been photographed by Spencer Tunick as a visual celebration of the city’s relationship with the sea. Then, I’d enjoyed the anonymity of being one in a crowd and, strangely, it still felt as if I was wearing something, albeit just blue paint. Visiting a small naturists’ collective would be different.
After arriving at Springwood Sun Club, Nigel greeted me wearing a warm smile – and a pair of shorts. As it happened, he was not in a rush to shed his clothes either, and we both walked to the clubhouse fully dressed. It could have been any social club, except that the foursome playing miniten outside were in the buff.
Nigel then took me to a clearing in the woods, where he told me he believed it important to touch the ground with your bare feet – so we slipped off our shoes and socks and gave it a go. He introduced me to several of the other naturists and, after a while, I began to feel a little overdressed. I suggested that the time had come for me to go with the flow; I returned to my car and stripped off, while Nigel popped into his cabin to do the same. When I nipped to the loos later on, I thankfully found them to be empty – although walking in with no clothes on, and not having to zip up before washing my hands, did feel stran…