Switch off, plunge in, veg out...

Switch off, plunge in, veg out...

It is 8.15 on a bright winter's morning and a group of women old enough to know better is re-enacting Monty Python's Ministry for Silly Walks across the manicured lawn and past the icy pond. Our feet are crunching on the hoar-frosted grass as we fling our legs forward and elbows back, to the evident bemusement of the resident muscovies and mallards.

"Swing those arms!" urges Nathalie, our personal trainer. "Push those feet!" After 15 minutes we are striding, mincing and giggling so much it's difficult to remember the serious purpose behind our contortions.

We have come to the special chill out spa day at the UK’s newest luxury health retreat in Essex.

I have always held health farms in mild contempt, being deeply suspicious that they were simply female ghettos of shameless self-indulgence where grown women wandered about in dressing gowns all day. Until, that is, I actually visited one.

And now, dear reader, I can categorically - joyfully - confirm that yes, they are, truly, female ghettos of shameless, dressing-gowned self-indulgence.

Destination, I rapidly discover, means just that; hence the staff looked at me very oddly, when, on arrival, I brightly asked about outings to local places of interest.

For most women with jobs, husbands, babies and dogs that are never walked enough, doing nothing is utterly alien - lovely in theory, impossible to put into practice.

To salve their consciences, then, the spa day has wall-to-wall classes; fitness, dance, meditation, pilates and floating about gracefully with a Chinese wand. The gym is invariably empty; women here prefer the motivation - and the cameraderie - of a class.

The idea is that you have your lovely, princessy pampering sessions where you can be massaged, pummelled, plucked and exfoliated to your heart's content. In between, you just slip on your exercise kit and turn up to classes. Or not.

I meditate. I swim more than three lengths (a personal record). Moreover, within 24 hours I have developed an alarming crush on Eva, our South African exercise instructor. I'm reminded of Stockholm Syndrome, the term coined to describe the way in which hostages, against all logic, are emotionally drawn to their kidnappers. I find myself hanging about, hoping to squeeze in just one more agonising class.

In between bursts of activity, I begin to discover that doing nothing isn't just the preserve of men (who do come to the spa day, with their partners, but are very much in the minority); women can do it too, under the correct laboratory conditions.

Thus mobile phones are banned, there are few mirrors and even fewer clocks, creating a tranquil cocoon from the outside world. There are spacious sitting rooms where it's perfectly permissible to hog a sofa with a novel all afternoon. In the "retreat rooms", furnished with day beds and counterpanes, talking is forbidden.

The white fluffy dressing gowns are a godsend. Not only are they a marvellous social leveller, but everyone's bottom looks big in one, so even the most body-conscious can briefly set aside their paranoia. The result is that we relax. We stroll about in them; we eat breakfast in bed, buffet lunch and a la carte dinner in them. I enjoy wearing mine so much that I fear it may have to be surgically removed.

On the subject of dinner, my real complaint would be the food. It's far too tasty. Really. Which person, offered an expanse of white plate and an even greater expanse of buffet, isn't going to heap swordfish salad on top of chilli pork, red mullet atop feta cheese fritatta?

A discreet sign indicates whether a particular dish is virtuous, a bit naughty or downright wicked. According to the management, the emphasis is on moderation and guests are encouraged rather than compelled to choose the healthy option and to exercise self-control.

But let's face it, if any of us had a shred of self-control we wouldn't be here in the first place. Everyone I chat to agrees that the meals are, frankly, a temptation too far.

A lot of guests come here to lose weight. Perhaps some (less greedy than I) actually do. But, ultimately, I suspect that most women who come to the spa day will successfully shed something far more cumbersome: guilt.

Good Gift Guide Recommendation : 5/5

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