Bathhouse flagellation

Apologies but it has been a while since my last blog as I have been writing a sequel to my first novel ‘The Wood and the Trees.’ I was writing the section ‘Tour de France,’ which I thought would be c. 6,000 words but it turned out to be c.15,000 words as I had so much source material. Anyway back to the blog.

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A nudist group in Northampton has accused a leisure centre of “discrimination” after their monthly naked swims were cancelled. Members of the naturist club have been told their swimming has breached the leisure centre’s swimsuit policy namely you have to wear one.

They have been told this after 44 years of swimming in the nuddy. You would have thought that someone would have noticed sooner but clearly bureaucracy grinds slowly in Northampton.

Meanwhile Iceland has received global acknowledgement for its bathing habits. At the end of 2025 Icelandic swimming pool culture, outside in thermal pools, was added to Unesco’s list of intangible cultural heritage. It was recognised as a significant and iconic emblem of national identity with other emblems such Spanish flamenco dancing, the French baguette and the South Australian Schnitzel.

Not to be outdone in the Nordic arena, the Finns are advocating the UN for their own bathhouse flagellation in the form of birch thrashing to be added to Unesco’s list. Sauna self-flagellation is a big thing in Finland. Finnish sauna etiquette demands that you must be naked and you cannot make eye contact. Making eye contact while thrashing yourself is a definite no-no as this is a sauna not a BDSM club though my friends who frequent the Brisbane BDSM club have suggested installing a sauna especially for all deprived Finns.

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Still in Europe it has been claimed by Quentin Letts in a satirical piece in the Daily Telegraph that Norfolk has chosen to twin with Cuba. Apologies to Quentin for the edited version below.

‘Architects of the deal claim the two regions are a “natural, symbiotic fit,” citing an overwhelming number of shared cultural struggles, economic realities, and technological milestones. A joint press release highlighted the core pillars of the new alliance:

Vintage Automotive Excellence: Havana is globally renowned for its beautifully maintained 1950s American classic cars, kept running through sheer grit and mechanical ingenuity. Norfolk leaders pointed out that this perfectly mirrors the local transport network, which currently relies on a 1993 diesel Peugeot 205 held together by binder twine and the grace of God, alongside a tractor that has blocked the A140 since the late Major administration.

Total Isolation from the Modern World: Cuban officials expressed deep empathy for Norfolk’s historic struggles with external communication. Both regions have spent decades cut off from global networks—Cuba via a strict US trade embargo, and Norfolk via the lack of a dual carriageway and a complete absence of 4G signal anywhere past Dereham.

Reactions on the ground in Norfolk have been mixed but generally polite.

“I think it’s marvellous,” said local resident Arthur Pendelton, 74, while waiting three hours for a bus that may or may not exist. “I’ve always said Cromer is the Varadero of the East Coast. If you close your eyes, ignore the freezing North Sea wind, the driving rain, and the smell of fried cod, it’s exactly like the Caribbean.”

At press time, Comrade Raúl Castro was unavailable for comment, though sources say he is eagerly anticipating his upcoming state visit to Great Yarmouth Pleasure Beach.’

Classic.

Jesus wants me for a sunbeam

It is that time in the cycle again. Every two years the government sends me a bowel cancer testing kit with which I am meant to return a faecal sample. The problem is I have lost the test kit and the return envelope. Undeterred I have laid a deposit in a normal envelope and I have sellotaped it as best as I can. There is a little seepage from the sides, but I am sure Australia Post can handle that. Not knowing where to send it, I have sent it to the Prime Minister’s office as our newly elected Prime Minister seems to have a solution to all of Australia’s problems. I am sure he must know the relevant department. I’m hoping for confirmation of receipt.

***

I recently had the chance to go to a ZZ Top concert, which for all who know me must surely regard as an aberration. Always game for source material I was undeterred in putting on my sensation seeker’s hat. I was looking forward to it as I had listened to ‘Gimme all your lovin’. It was the first time I had been to a concert of contemporary music as my usual gig, if you will excuse the pun, has been classical concerts including opera and ballet. My fellow concertgoers were slack-jawed when I told them it was my first time. It was if I had just admitted to being a virgin. Each to his own.

It was certainly throwback time. There were a lot of aged rockers, both on and off stage, while numerous rocker chicks, both young and old, wore jeans far too tight for them. As ZZ Top has been visiting Adelaide since 1981 some of their original supporters had turned up, beards and all, with younger members of their family trying to emulate their granddads. You do not often see that in modern society, but this was clearly a family event. I was impressed by the number of ZZ Top beards given their scarcity in the circles in which I move. Where these people live, I know not. Clearly not the eastern suburbs.

Ahead of sitting down I inserted earplugs, but on second thoughts I added two others just to make sure. I am now waiting to get them surgically removed at the end of June. An eight week wait, but that is why you pay for private health insurance. The first act was George Thorogood and the Destroyers. They all had surprisingly good heads of hair even though they were all 72. Though not all was well with their bodies. The bass guitarist at one stage had his legs spread so wide he seemed to be attempting the splits. Either that or his hips had locked. After 10 minutes, having been immobile from the hips down, we knew his hips had actually locked. Their session ended early so he could be taken off.

Returning to our seats post interval, the stage was literally a wall of speakers. With two sets of earplugs in place I felt confident I could survive. I had not reckoned on the G-force of the blast. I looked round and it all looked as if we were all skydiving as the flesh of our faces was flattened. A few days later I was asked what the concert was like. ‘LOUD. VERY LOUD.’ My questioner could not understand why I was shouting.

Jesus wants me for a sunbeam

It is that time in the cycle again. Every two years the government sends me a bowel cancer testing kit with which I am meant to return a faecal sample. The problem is I have lost the test kit and the return envelope. Undeterred I have laid a deposit in a normal envelope and I have sellotaped it as best as I can. There is a little seepage from the sides, but I am sure Australia Post can handle that. Not knowing where to send it, I have sent it to the Prime Minister’s office as our newly elected Prime Minister seems to have a solution to all of Australia’s problems. I am sure he must know the relevant department. I’m hoping for confirmation of receipt.

***

I recently had the chance to go to a ZZ Top concert, which for all who know me must surely regard as an aberration. Always game for source material I was undeterred in putting on my sensation seeker’s hat. I was looking forward to it as I had listened to ‘Gimme all your lovin’. It was the first time I had been to a concert of contemporary music as my usual gig, if you will excuse the pun, has been classical concerts including opera and ballet. My fellow concertgoers were slack-jawed when I told them it was my first time. It was if I had just admitted to being a virgin. Each to his own.

It was certainly throwback time. There were a lot of aged rockers, both on and off stage, while numerous rocker chicks, both young and old, wore jeans far too tight for them. As ZZ Top has been visiting Adelaide since 1981 some of their original supporters had turned up, beards and all, with younger members of their family trying to emulate their granddads. You do not often see that in modern society, but this was clearly a family event. I was impressed by the number of ZZ Top beards given their scarcity in the circles in which I move. Where these people live, I know not. Clearly not the eastern suburbs.

Ahead of sitting down I inserted earplugs, but on second thoughts I added two others just to make sure. I am now waiting to get them surgically removed at the end of June. An eight week wait, but that is why you pay for private health insurance. The first act was George Thorogood and the Destroyers. They all had surprisingly good heads of hair even though they were all 72. Though not all was well with their bodies. The bass guitarist at one stage had his legs spread so wide he seemed to be attempting the splits. Either that or his hips had locked. After 10 minutes, having been immobile from the hips down, we knew his hips had actually locked. Their session ended early so he could be taken off.

Returning to our seats post interval, the stage was literally a wall of speakers. With two sets of earplugs in place I felt confident I could survive. I had not reckoned on the G-force of the blast. I looked round and it all looked as if we were all skydiving as the flesh of our faces was flattened. A few days later I was asked what the concert was like. ‘LOUD. VERY LOUD.’ My questioner could not understand why I was shouting.