Towelling inferno

Mr Gnome, inconspicuous when it pleases him to be so, takes a breezily insouciant attitude to a topic that causes considerable consternation to many of his human chums - the tricky business of changing on the beach.

Make that his friends from the UK.

His continental copins and copines seem non-plussed by the British 'thing' with making the transition, sur le plage, from streetwear to beachwear - that whole shuffling, hopping, wriggling towel-clenching ballet, which, in the end, often farcically reveals more than it so desperately wishes to conceal.

But, should any of his readers be losing sleep at the prospect of beach-related changing 'issues' on their upcoming hols, Mr G is delighted to offer a solution that is as stylish as it is simple - and, given the colour combos displayed above, sizzlingly sassy.

Posing cheerily on Cornwall's uber-cool Praa beach, fashionista KW effortlessly proves the truth that more is more as he models this red-hot personal mini tent-ette.

Engulfed in this towelling triumph, one is able to don one's boardies with style, confidence and, let's admit it, more than a little chutzpah.

Envious? Deal with it.

This is a one-off 'vintage' item, created in the 1960s by K's grandfather, who, had he given his design skills free rein, would by now be a name to rival, if not eclipse, those of Armani and Klein.

(Note the stylish elan with which K's orange-framed shades echo the zingy tones of the fabric. Retro-tastic, huh?)

Want the pattern? Mr G will be happy to link inquirers with the couturier in question.

Picture credit: Fi B

Going swimmingly

Mr Gnome is unable to restrain his human associate from recording his achievement of a 'special category' swim.

In this case the categories are a combination of 'most northerly' and 'most unexpected'.

But such was the dazzling sunlight and the turquoise / azure glamour of the waters of Port Ban beach, that he was unable to resist the call of the water.

Cold? Definitely. But once you've launched out, and are horizontal in the top layer of water, it's surprisingly less chilly than on first entry.

The horseshoe-shaped cove was still, and glassy-clear. Away in the distance beyond the rocks guarding the entrance to the tiny bay, the Irish Sea thundered.

Glorious.

Wet, wet, wet

Mr Gnome relishes few things more than a refreshing, protracted dip in water, salty or fresh - he cares not.

I, too, love swimming - though am by no means a strong or particularly proficient breaster of the billows.

A few years back I took part in swimming holiday in the Greek Cyclades organised by Swimtrek.

Well supervised, and in graded ability groups, we swam several crossings between islands, all of which are enchantingly beautiful.

It was definitely the most challenging physical activity in which I have ever taken part - exciting and very rewarding.

No pressure to do more than one felt comfortable with - and I pooped out of the massive six-km crossing that was the biggest swim of the week.

Shortly afterwards I took part in a home-based Swimtrek adventure - a summer day out swimming a stretch of the Thames from Gloucestershire into Oxfordshire. Writer Kate Rew wrote it up for The Observer.

The piece also appears on page 94 of her glamorous book Wild Swim.

Now, where did I leave my goggles?

Salty

In the early spring of 2007 I betook me to the tranquil, unspoiled seaside resort of Sidmouth, East Devon.

Strolling along the pebble beach one afternoon, I notice a tall figure emerging from the sea. Wondering if he is the same gentleman that I've seen swimming at other times during my visit, I approach him.

'Excuse me, sir - do you swim all year round?'

'Oh yes, every day - except when it's very rough. I've had to be rescued a couple of times. A bit chilly today, so I was in for only fifteen minutes''

I'm about to congratulate him, when he says briskly: 'I suppose you are going to ask my age.'

'I wouldn't dream....'

But he cuts me off again: 'I shall be eighty-five in June.'

I have subsequently decided to make this splendid gentleman my role model for the almost thirty years before I reach my mid-eighties.

By the way, this picture was taken on 7 March.

Hurrah for him.