Watching me, watching you

Saturday 12th June 2010 and it is the date of the seventh World Naked Bike Ride in London. Riders have come from far and wide, from home and abroad and are assembling in Hyde Park ready to take to the streets for the biggest event of its kind in the world. Photographers, drawn like moths to a flame, attracted by the prospect of some real nudity, the real up close, in yer face kind arrive in what seems to be even greater numbers than the nude riders. Oh, this is real nudity alright, real people just like you and me with all their human frailties. There’s none of your ersatz, airbrushed type of nudity here. Some may be brightly painted, others are in their own natural colours of white, pink, brown or black, some with body art and piercings. Whatever we are there is massive interest and cameras are clicking furiously.

All eyes and cameras are now turned to the tattooed lady with the helmet and the goggles – and very little else. I’m turning the tables and snapping the phalanx of photographers. One girl without a camera watches me, her coat drawn up to cover her lower face. Has her jaw dropped in surprise and disbelief at all the nakedness surrounding her or is she stifling a good laugh. She alone has no camera and perhaps is aware of the paradox or is her reaction because I’m nude too and taking pictures of the overdressed?