Memorable moments: The pearly white buttocks

In 2005, Ally and I flew from the gray skies of London to Croatia for a short break, desperate for some Mediterranean sun and the famous crystal-blue water. We checked into our hotel, dropped our bags, and immediately headed for the balcony to soak in the "gorgeous" view.

The view, however, was not quite what the brochure had promised.

As we looked out, an enormous, very white man walked past directly below us, speaking loudly in German. He was entirely, unapologetically nude. A moment later, several more naked people strolled by. It turned out our hotel didn't just have a sea view; it looked directly onto a nudist beach. We soon discovered that nudity is a massive part of Croatian culture—in some areas, there are more nudist beaches than "textile" ones.

True to the "When in Rome" spirit, we decided to embrace the local customs. We spent our days lapping up the sun; Ally went topless, and I went entirely nude. Ally even took a few cheeky photos of me standing on the shore, proudly showing off my pearly white buttocks against the Adriatic blue.

When we got back to London, I was eager to share the trip with my family. This was in the era before social media, so I sat down late one night to email a selection of photos to my mum in Cape Town.

The next day, I received a reply: "Lovely photos, Graeme, but that last one is rather porno!"

In my late-night exhaustion, I had completely forgotten the golden rule of travel photography: always curate your "mother-friendly" folder before hitting send. I had inadvertently sent my mother a high-resolution portrait of her son’s Croatian "full moon."

Memorable moments: My Himalayan organ

In my final year at university, reality hit me in the form of a searing, localized agony at two in the morning. I managed to get into my car to drive to my parents' house, but the journey was a stop-start nightmare; at every red light, I had to abandon the steering wheel and curl myself into a fetal ball until the light turned green.

My parents took one look at my translucent complexion and rushed me to the emergency room. I was whisked into surgery for an emergency appendectomy.

My first memory of waking up was the surgeon standing over my bed, looking less like a clinical professional and more like a proud fisherman.

"My God, Mr. Myburgh!" he exclaimed. "You have the hugest appendix I have ever seen! It’s truly impressive—look, here it is in a bottle." He held up the jar with a flourish. "Getting this sucker out of you was a genuine challenge. Do you mind if we keep it? It honestly belongs in a museum."

Droggy and recovering, I looked at the "sucker" in the jar and felt a strange, misplaced sense of pride. I remember thinking, Wow, I only wish certain other of my organs were built to the same magnificent proportions.

With my parents heading off on a trip, I went to stay with my beloved grandparents to convalesce. It was during this recovery period that I discovered a side of my grandfather I had never suspected.

One morning, unable to sleep, I crept into the kitchen at dawn for a glass of milk. There sat Gramps at the kitchen table, intensely focused on the morning crossword. He was entirely, unapologetically nude.

"Gramps," I whispered, clutching my surgical stitches, "you’re... you're nude."

He didn't even look up from the clues. "Yes," he replied matter-of-factly. "For some reason, it makes me more inspired at thinking up words."

I considered this in silence.

Between his approach to crosswords and my record-breaking appendix, it was becoming increasingly clear that subtlety was not a dominant trait in our family.

Memorable moments: The nightmare cure

In 2012, I decided to push myself well beyond my comfort zone by attending a Human Awareness Institute workshop—a weekend dedicated to intimacy, openness, and radical honesty. By the second day, the "radical" part truly kicked in: the facilitators invited everyone to shed their clothes and spend the rest of the retreat in the nude.

To my surprise, once the initial shock wore off, it felt remarkably natural. But as the workshop drew to a close, a familiar shadow loomed.

Since I was a child, I’ve had a recurring nightmare. I’m standing on a stage, giving a presentation to a large crowd, when I suddenly realize—to my absolute horror and humiliation—that I am completely naked.

I realized this was my moment. I could either hide in the back or face the beast.

I walked to the front of the room and stood, entirely exposed, before eighty people. I remembered my mother’s old trick for public speaking nerves: "If you’re anxious, just imagine the audience is naked."

I looked out at the room and realized with a grin: I didn't have to imagine.

I shared my story, the shame evaporated, and I walked off that stage a free man. It was the most successful presentation of my life—though I still wouldn’t recommend the dress code for a board meeting at Old Mutual.