I am packing my suitcase the night before flying to Oslo for a spa break at The Well when my phone rings. It’s my plus one, Shireen, who doesn’t bother with any preamble: “Mads, are you packing swimming costumes?” I reply in the affirmative, to which she says, “Don’t bother. Look at the website — they are all naked! It is all naked! You are taking me to a naked place!”
I immediately cease folding clothes and look at the website. Shireen isn’t lying; a plethora of photos attest to the mandatory nudity at The Well, with everyone in them looking free and very happy indeed to be completely relieved of clothes. I phone her back for crisis talk. “It’s fine,” she tells me, “we won’t go naked — we’ll just arrange a towel over ourselves and scuttle around with the particulars shielded from view.”
