Everyone has had some variation of the same nightmare at some point in their lives. You know the one I mean: it starts with you walking down the street, or doing a presentation at work, or even back at school, blissfully untroubled by the state of your clothing.

Then, all of a sudden, a cold realisation creeps over you: you’re naked, nude, completely starkers – and you’re begging for the ground to swallow you up. Like I say, I’m pretty sure everyone has had the same nightmare at least once.

If you haven’t, though, I’m sure you can at least empathise – everything in the world around us has taught us that being naked is terrifying, embarrassing, vulnerable.

And, for most of us, the thought of parading down a poolside in the buff is enough to bring on a stress rash. So when I, a nude novice, was asked to attend weekly two-hour naturist swimming session at Energybase Gym in Bloomsbury, London (all in the name of journalism, of course), I found myself flooded with dread.