It shouldn't happen in a spa. You're supposed to leave pampered, primped and polished to within an inch of your life, with a day - and possibly a night - to remember under your belt. At least, that's what I'd always thought - until I experienced what happens when a potentially good spa goes bad.
On arriving at this 'hotel and spa', which shall remain nameless (but they know who they are), I had my reservations, and not just for a room. For starters, the entrance to the grounds was on a main road on the outskirts of a commuter town in the Home Counties. And opposite a Texaco petrol station to boot. Convenient if one fancies a midnight microwaved samosa or Ginsters pasty but not very Zen.

Walking up the steps, full of foreboding, I called upon the spa god to prove me wrong. I truly wanted this place to exceed my best expectations but it got worse on entering the lobby. Teddy bears wearing fluffy robes emblazoned with the hotel moniker and logo 'graced' a glass souvenir cabinet. There was an alarmingly excessive use of gilt and fleur-de-lys. My companion deemed this 'a place with the atmosphere of somewhere that has seen one too many wedding punch-ups'.

Rooms were acceptable despite the view of the car park and beds so soft you'd need a chiropractor on call in the morning. Filled with trepidation, I and my partner in crime made our way to the 'spa'. The reason for the inverted commas will become apparent.

More spa slagging here