A very British spa

By Melinda Stevens, Evening Standard

Last updated at 12:19 24 March 2005


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No stress please...we're British

Grayshott is clean and serene. You can tell by the signage. It's crisp and to the point. 'Grayshott Hall', it says simply. No fancy curlicues or trendy typefaces. But Grayshott is not really a hotel. It is a health-and-fitness retreat. And a very British one at that.

There is no alcohol. And much, much worse, there are no biscuits. There's lots of tea, and a winning number of apples, but - it has to be emphasised - no biscuits.

So there you are, padding around in your dressing gown, drinking cups of water. Everyone is padding around in their dressing gowns drinking cups of water. And because you are not as old or as chubby as everyone else, you automatically feel a bit better.

As soon as I arrived I was whisked off to have a consultation, where trained nurses established what I wanted to achieve, either to lose weight, detox or regenerate. Then I hit the treatments.

My appointments came at me thick and fast - five in less than four hours. It is very satisfying. Of all of them, I recommend the lymphatic stimulation (even though you're being scoured with a Brillo pad, you feel quite dozy). And the reflexology. Leon, the Israeli foot man, fiddled with my feet for 40 minutes before giving me a very thorough and particularly accurate character assassination. I dream of him.

I had supper at 6.30pm. The restaurant was packed, and it was midweek. I can't remember if everyone was still in their dressing gowns. What I can remember was that there was no butter, no wine, no sauce. My crostini and my poussin were naked little tribesmen of dishes. The staff, who probably knew how to get a biscuit if pushed, were very jolly - impressive, considering they were surrounded by fatties ready to gnaw their French heads off.

By 7.30pm I was tucked up in bed watching a middle-aged romantic comedy. I couldn't have been happier. Which was surprising, for Grayshott is neither fancy, pretty nor luxurious. It does not jingle or shine or have chrome-plated saunas. It does not drizzle the essence of lemongrass on your third eye or comfort you with a sheet threadcount of 750. It is pared down, old-fashioned, matter-of-fact.

By the time I left, 24 hours later, I had lost half a stone. How was this possible? I picked up a packet of Wheat Crunchies, some Frazzles and a chunky Kit-Kat in a garage to re-boost. But I am not lying when I say that I felt exceptionally well. If I had not been strapped down by my seatbelt in the car I would have been floating about on the roof.

Spa facts

Headley Road, Grayshott, Surrey, 01428 602 000, wwwgrayshott-hall.co.uk. Room to book: In the renovated new wing. But it's nothing fancy, don't forget. Hooray!: It is deeply unpretentious. Boo!: They don't slip in some undetectable plastic surgery wrinkle-correction. Thing to steal: Leon, the Israeli reflexologist. Rates: Minimum two-night stay from £136pp pn, based on two sharing.

Melinda Stevens is Travel Editor of Tatler

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