I guess it had to happen sooner or later: rain! Greenwich gave us cold (cold enough to condense our breath), while Saatchi gave us ‘exposure’ (there was no way of shielding us from a good share of public gaze when opposite the Houses of Parliament) and ‘empowerment’ (walking naked through the galleries making most of the clothed guests feel awkwardly over-dressed). Selfridges was an all-indoor event, comfortable at least until one of the escalators started moving! Barcelona was something else again – sheer scale of course, but there was the whole fiesta atmosphere. Still, some (and more than a few) of us still come back for more, so it wasn’t too surprising to find that there would be at least 6 of us going to Bruges once the beans had been spilt. I suppose for Belgium they would be cocoa beans…

 I went with Craig and Diane by car via Eurotunnel, Mike C. was going by campervan and Hoverspeed (no longer hovercraft, alas), Steve (pies) Adams was shooting through on Eurostar while LJ booked a coach. Between us we’d been at all the above Tunick events before, but had never met as a whole group before. My planning lived up to it’s usual inadequacies – as I took the train to Harold Wood I was mentally listing out everything I’d forgotten or failed to do. Luckily this didn’t include forgetting my passport, Euros or release form. Beyond that, hmmm.

As so much of the scenery turned out to be flat I’ll not dwell on it any further other than to say it was mostly quite nice weather and passed without incident. We even managed to navigate into the city pretty well once we’d adjusted to the scaled down nature of the place.

As best we could, we arranged for most of us to meet outside the Stadsschouwburg at 8pm. I had a brief wander around the Burg and Markt area, getting some kind of bearings. I nearly met LJ just before 8 but, for reasons undisclosed (mea cupla!) actually was introduced by Craig and Diane about 5 minutes later. We then set off to locate Mike, but failed to find him at that time, so we settled in a café for a short coffee/tea break. LJ and I both decided a sweet pancake with fresh cream would do nicely too. After this last pre-installation briefing we split up, three returning to their ‘digs’ while I went off in search of somewhere (within budget).

At this point I wasn’t too concerned about the lack of accommodation for Friday/Saturday night. After all, we would be kicking off at around 3am anyway. I did want somewhere for the following night, though. The light held on for at least another hour and I wandered round many a back lane and high road. I finally found an intimate little place at a mere 25 Euros a night. They were fully booked for that night, but they did have a single room available the next evening. I paid up front there and then! At least it made sure I would get a good night after the event.

I did a lot of walking; it was a pleasant evening, not too cold, though my luggage was becoming a bit of a burden. I had split it into two bags to even the weight. I had also eaten some of the contents – food contents, I might add! I found a little bar a little way out from the centre, going towards the ring road. The locals were friendly enough, though by nature I am not always the most gregarious of characters. Still, they didn’t seem to mind me. And they had a clean toilet! By around 11pm I thought it might be wise to try to get a little rest before the event, so I headed back towards the centre and tried to rest on a bench more or less opposite the Stadsschouwburg. Of course, the traffic proved far too lively. After a half-hour of near-napping I gave up and did a bit more walking.

I returned sometime around midnight. There was the slightest hint of rain – not really drizzle; too large a droplets, but you would be hard-pushed to say it was really raining either; too infrequent. Even so, some kind of cover wouldn’t go amiss. By now I could see there was a small gathering, I think five people, under the arcade at the front of the Stadsschouwburg. I decided to join them.

"Hi Bernard!" – it was Steve! With him were some ‘locals’, two girls, a tall blonde male around 20 and an older man. They were quite taken aback by the thought that not only had someone come all the way over especially for this event, but there were, in fact, going to be quite a number of us there. We were quizzed as to the why and wherefore and Steve enthusiastically regaled them with tales of how they would find their lives and attitudes changed by the experience. Soon there were seven, then eight, ten…

Well before 1pm it was obvious to even the most casual passer-by that something was going on. By now there was a small crowd gathered around the centre arches, then some lights came on inside the building. The weather wasn’t improving, though. The precipitation was slowly becoming more intrusive; and we had to move out from the cover of the colonnade as metal barriers (to create a controlled ‘signing on’ area) came out. Somewhere between 1pm and 2pm an awful lot of people had turned up. There was still an hour to go. Unfortunately, at this point we managed to completely loose our place. We were still towards the middle of the building, but now the left-hand side had been signed ‘Mannen’ and the right ‘Vrouwen’. We were in the middle – effectively the back of the queue! As we shuffled round the front, both of us trying to look around for any sign of the others (who, we assumed, would most likely not turn up until around 3pm) I spotted Mike. From where we were we could see the point where the volunteers would be admitted from, but equally we could see there was almost no chance of getting there; we knew that there would only be limited numbers for the first shoot inside the Stadsschouwburg.

When the figure was confirmed at 700, equally split between men and women it threatened to turn into a bit of a situation. There was a good deal of pushing as everyone tried to get closer to the entrance ‘gate’. By now Steve and I had pretty much resigned ourselves to having to wait for the later outdoor installations. There was some confusion though, as the organisers (from Corpus 05) asked for men ‘over 50’ at first. Mike took a chance and decided to go over the barrier. For a moment or two it looked as if he was going to be frog-marched out, but then he was waved through. Good on yer, Mike! At least one of the group made it! Once they had counted how many over 50 y.o. they had, they let in the next 200 or so. Each time there was a panicky surge, but luckily, barring the odd trip over the barrier feet, there was no serious injury.

Most of the announcements were being made in Flemish (fair enough!) but Steve had spotted some of Spence’s crew – I think they recognised him too, so we got the jist of what was going to happen. Steve also persuaded the woman Corpus 05 director to make the announcements in English too! This seemed to be appreciated by more than a few, so I guess there were quite a few ‘camp followers’ out there in the crowd.

Soon after the full complement had been admitted to the building, Spencer himself came out to address the rest of us, by now standing in the rain. A cheer went up. He thanked us all for coming and admitted that he hadn’t expected that there would be so many, especially given the conditions. He was sorry that he couldn’t let us all into the Stadsschouwburg itself, but promised that everyone who wanted to would get into the next installations in the surrounding streets. We all forgave him and he went inside to cheers from the soggy throng. A short while later the organisers started to collect all the remaining forms. We processed round the collonade clockwise to hand in our forms and collect our clear plastic bags. At this point we still didn’t know where the other 3 were.

"Steve!", I waved as he came round with bag in hand "if we wait here we should see the others come through, some time or other". Well, we did wait… and wait… but the plan worked! The file of volunteers seemed almost endless, but then we spotted Craig. Soon the 5 of us outside made for some shelter under some awnings. Now all we had to do was work out how to kill the best part of 3 hours, until the dawn.

The rain decided it might as well carry on the way it had been for the past hour. The paving slabs were shiny and slippery, reflecting in shimmering mosaics the neon lights from those places still open; there were quite a few. What we really wanted was a hot drink; what we seemed to have a choice of was 101 beers. We made a dash for a brightly lit patisserie. No drinks. Oh well. Next door (or was it next but one?) was a bar, much darker and noisier, but we were pretty thirsty and made do. It was crowded, with numerous damp coats hung on chairs, bars and even the floor. We picked our way through, not helped by the multi-level floor arrangemen, and found a bit of room near the back. Also near the toilets, which was handy! An aside - there don’t seem to be that many public toilets in Brugge, at least not open in the middle of the night. There was a stainless steel ‘stand-up’ in a small square not far from the Stadsschouwburg (strategically placed, I guess, between two bars) but otherwise I found none between the one at the clocktower in the Markt square (closed) and the t’Zand (far too far off and probably closed anyway). There wasn’t much relief from the loud music though, so after one drink we bailed out to continue our search for something wet and warm.

The rain had eased a little and we splashed across to a larger, quieter and less crowded place. After a little charm was worked on the barman, who apparently didn’t normally much like making it, we were served with 5 steaming mugs of coffee. By the time we had finished there was a slight blueness to the night sky; dawn was coming. We made out way back to the front of the Stadsschouwburg. I seem to recall that at that time the rain had pretty much abated and very soon the waiting crowd was joined by those coming back out from the interior of the Stadsschouwburg. Soon after Spencer came out to address the assembled masses. He was surprised, but pleased to find that very few had given up their vigil in favour of a warm, dry bed. The sky had turned from Azure to a greyish French blue and we all knew it couldn’t be much longer.

Some time around 6pm we were finally on the move. We splashed back round down the side of the Stadsschouwburg, back past the (emptier) bars, then round the corner into Niklaas Deparstraat, a fairly nondescript street with a white painted hotel on one side. Ahead a large hydraulic arm gantry could be seen, parked in Vlamingstraat that lead directly into one corner of the Markt. A huddled mass of slightly soggy people, unremarkable apart from the fact that each one carried a clear plastic bag; clear but spotted with rain droplets, sparkling in the grey overcast light. Too overcast, unfortunately. There wasn’t enough light to photograph by. We stood in the now heavy rain, dark coats and wet hair interspersed with the odd bright canopy of umbrellas. I was holding my (far too fetching pink) cover aloft. It continued to rain, my arm began to ache. I gave up and stood in the wet. There was something strangely familiar about a white painted hotel…

The crowd cheered and a surreptitiously opened window was quickly shut in surprise. It must have been an odd sight, a street full of people seemingly lost, with nothing better to do than stand in the (diminishing) rain. Other than roar out as other guests behind more windows let curiosity get the better of them. I couldn’t help noticing that a number of them looked Japanese… deja vue? Gradually the grey lightened. Suddenly the word went up, "Strip!" and the best part of 2000 people cast aside their damp apparel, tossing it into the clear bags. I still had my blue sack travelling bag with me, so I part zipped my clear bag into it. We all stood their grinning, cheering, waving. What was left of the rain didn’t bother us anymore. Now cameras emerged from the windows. I looked up and saw a red light pointing my way. I grinned as the tiny light flashed. "Well, at least we won’t have any red-eye on that photo!". It was College Road, Woolwich all over again. We speculated as to whether any of the guests could possibly be the same ones…

 We waved goodbye to our bemused onlookers, making just a slight detour to put our bags down (I noted which window they were placed under and Steve put his with mine – it’s surprising how similar the bags all look , yet I assume everyone found their own clothes again afterwards. Still, we thought, we should find them quicker. It wasn’t exactly the weather for a long search). As always, the first few steps were the most uncomfortable. Once you’ve got used to cold grit you don’t worry about it so much. I found it less slippery than when I was in my shoes. Up to this point the crowd was still fairly tight, but as we moved along the Vlamingstraat we thinned out.

 Then the wind became apparent – very. We crowded together again. Then thinned out, then closed ranks. It took several attempts before the spacing was right. Though I hadn’t really thought about it, I noticed that we were near the ‘front’ (by direction of travel) of the herd when a gale blew down Philipstockstraat, cutting through us like a knife. I made the sort of noises you’d expect from one of those Xmas day swimmers in the Serpentine. Poor LJ looked like she was turning into an ice block and everyone had gone at least three shades paler. Being wet didn’t help, but moving and shouting did! There was quite a lot of the latter!. "Defy the wind!", I shook my fist and gritted teeth as the wind whistled through us again. I think it helped me, anyway. I still shivered but it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Cold is all in the mind (excepting the external factors like temperature and wind-chill, of course!).

For the first shot we all stood, facing away from the camera, looking towards the Markt. With due deference to the conditions Spencer didn’t make us lie down on the cold, wet, gritty cobbles – we all crouched down, still facing the same way. This was more comfortable, not the actual position as such, but because it felt a little warmer. For the last shot we were supposed to stand up again, then walk towards the camera, retracing along the Vlamingstraat until we were told to ‘freeze’. I don’t ever remember stopping so I’m not sure what happened there. Perhaps ‘freeze’ sounded too much like a bad joke.

We found our clothes again and changed into the damp, clingy material. Socks are the worst. Wet feet just won’t slide into socks. You end up wobbling on one leg, trying not to fall over into the wet again. I used Friday’s shirt to wipe the worst of the grit off, but my feet still scrunched around in those soggy socks for far too many hours. Most people had dressed again by the time Steve and myself began to wander back. We had lost sight of the others; we weren’t sure whether Diane and LJ might be going to the women only shoot in boats. We spotted Mike doing a TV interview and ended up being part of it. Funny isn’t it, trying to chat naturally when you’ve been specifically asked to do so?

That was pretty much the end of it. Hours of queuing in the dark, getting wet, still waiting, then getting freezing cold for just a short installation; but worth every minute spent! We found the stand in the Burg where they were selling cheap drinks and cakes to the participants. There was a general feeling of well-being and camaraderie and Steve regaled many with tales of his past adventures and assured everyone that their lives would never be quite the same again. No-one disagreed.

We did some more walking and a bit of sheltering during another downpour, perhaps the heaviest yet, wandered back to the Markt where we met some other ‘Tunickeers’ and exchanged e-mails addys, then parted ways. I wandered back to the Burg again. This time I spotted three of those we’d first met at Midnight. The two girls had managed to get into the boat shot. It had been quite a chaotic scramble. Of course, they got absolutely drenched doing it, but by the smiles that didn’t matter. The blonde guy beamed and said, "Your friend was completely right. It does change your life!".

Want to find out more? - Use Google or Yahoo search engines.