A walk on the wild side in San Stefanos, Corfu

On the beach at San Stefanos - the one on Corfu's north west tip rather than the posh one on the other side - the wind is howling, umbrellas are flapping wildly and the breakers rush up to meet the shore.

We walk along the long stretch of sand to a point where the sunbeds run out. A naked man and his topless wife sit in front of a small tent and an exposed, flat shelf of rock. 

The tattoo on his arm could say 'gatekeeper'.

I keep my head down and just follow in Mr Grigg's footsteps.

A little farther along, a young man and woman paint each other with sloppy sand. It's as if they're in a commercial for Sure deodorant or something. There are a few stray souls who have on swimsuits but as we round the corner, we see more naked bodies.  I don't know about you, and I'm not sure what Jesus would do in this situation, but I can't help but look.

A man crouches behind a bush to put his shorts back on. I turn away and my eye is almost taken out by a flapping appendage attached to another man just walking past. A woman a little farther along bends over, on purpose, I am sure. Mr Grigg does not know where to look.

So we stare up at the cliffs above our heads.

A large man with nothing on walks out of the sea with his wife who is in just bikini bottoms. He could be wearing a thong but if he is, it's been eaten by his large buttocks. If ever there was a case for wearing a burka, this would be it.

At the end of the beach, the sand and the people run out. We have no towels - we have come totally unprepared for a swim as we just fancied a walk. Mr Grigg strips off and gambols into the waves like a puppy unleashed.

And I stand on the shore holding my Birkenstocks and his flip-flops, like a forlorn Paddington Bear waiting in the waves.  I look out to sea like The French Lieutenant's Woman. He is having such fun.

The sea roars and crashes onto the sand and he dives in and out of the surf like a dolphin. A large one, it's true, but graceful nonetheless.

It is tempting.

There is nobody here to see, and if there were, who cares? My body is better than Burka Man's any day. So I daintily take off my clothes, fold them up on the beach and get right in.

It's exhilarating as the waves crash over my head and salt water fills my mouth. It's a wonderful feeling.

And as we stroll back along the beach fully-clothed, Mr Grigg turns to me and says: 'It's just like Woolacombe.'

I visualise the annual village outing back home, where all our Lush Places neighbours leave Dorset for the weekend and head for the North Devon seaside resort. Champagne-Charlie, cavorting naked in the sea foam? Mmm, I think not.

So, feeling all daring and gung ho, we head down the unopened Aviliotes by-pass and appreciate why the 'closed' signs are still up.

And then we get to Peroulades just as the sun goes down.

Now that's what I call a good day.

That's about it.

Love Maddie x