Our man in Bath spa

Go immerse yourself in the natural thermal waters of the newly opened Thermae Bath Spa, the editor said. No problem, or so I thought. Prior to opening on 7 August, an advance telephone booking system operated (or more accurately didn’t operate). Email served no better: reservations@thermaebathspa.com – ‘DNS host not found’. I resorted to a personal visit the day before opening. I complained bitterly, left my number, and three hours later was booked in for a two-hour bathing session followed by a 50-minute full body massage. Two years earlier, I had spent four days in Budapest on an RICS tour, staying in one of the city’s many thermal spa hotels, and I thought this experience might stand me in good stead.

Struggling with ‘smart’ devices

It is beautiful, fabulous; the city has been reunited with its soul

Nicole O'Flaherty, the Bath and north east Somerset councillor responsible for tourism

The day duly arrives and I enter reception to be fitted with a ‘smart’ wristband that will do such things as lock and unlock my locker, record my restaurant order and so on. After changing into trunks, robe and a pair of flip-flop type slippers three sizes too small in somewhat dingy cubicles with no clothes hooks, a call of nature takes me down to individual unisex toilets located at lower ground floor level. Again no clothes hooks, but an interesting dual toilet roll holder: one (empty) located 600mm above floor level, one (full) located 300mm above floor level with its contents soaking up water (I hope) from the floor like a sponge. The total silence makes me aware that the extract ventilation isn’t working which in turn makes me acutely aware of myself.

After a battle with a ‘smart’ mixer tap that isn’t – the sensor doesn’t seem to recognise me as a member of the human race, leaving me not so much with egg on my face as with soap on my hands – I proceed to visit the Minerva Pool to rinse them. Emerging through fire doors I am confronted with a bank of airport style stainless steel ‘door frame’ portals. Receiving a good soaking as I enter one of them it becomes apparent they are ‘smart’ showers – had I realised earlier I would have removed my now dripping robe, although I’m not sure what I would have done with it – perhaps I am expected to throw it over the shower portal, race through and catch it?

Admittedly the Romans had slaves, but my constituents are going to be slaves to council tax because of this for years to come

Dan Norris, the Labour MP for Wansdyke, north east Somerset

Into the Minerva pool. Looking around, a couple of things strike me. Firstly, unlike the pools in my Budapest hotel, there are no signs displaying the water temperature. Secondly, there is no clock – although my watch is allegedly waterproof to 100 fathoms, like many of my fellow bathers I am not one to tempt fate and have left it in my locker. I surmise, possibly harshly, that if I run overtime, my ‘smart’ wristband will ensure I pay for the privilege. Was it in this pool they had the problem with the flaking paint? Although not appointed to snag it, I furiously scratch the pool walls, but all seems well.

Space at the Bath Spa is a commodity in short supply. Instead of separate jacuzzis, a similar experience is available in corralled areas of the main pools, which feature bubble jets in the pool floor. The pools, steam rooms and therapy suite are all stacked vertically, vertical circulation being achieved primarily by two eight-person lifts. Rerobing, I wait an eternity for a lift to whisk me to roof level. Finally I emerge immediately poolside at the open air rooftop bath.

I call the lift which arrives in what seems like an eternity later, just before the onset of hypothermia

Disrobing I enter the pool and take in my surroundings. Again, no temperature is displayed and, although it seems cooler than the Minerva pool, I put this down to wind-chill and surmise that the two pools are probably the same temperature. A third pool, the Hot Bath located in a separate building, is only available for those taking water based treatment therapies. This seems a shame – one of the delights of my Budapest experience was gingerly taking the waters of the hottest pool available, the polar opposite of a new year’s day dip in the Serpentine. Allegedly the water at the Bath Spa is cooled from its natural 45C to 35C, but it might have been nice if one of the pools was only cooled to (say) 40C.

The rooftop pool enjoys splendid views over Bath and its surrounding hills, a view shared today by a few seagulls standing, sentinel like, on the stone cornices of adjacent buildings. Waiting in vain for one of them to launch a ‘dambusters’ style raid on the iridescent waters below, I surmise that, had it been a few months earlier when they would have been fledging their young, a ‘spitfire’ style attack on its human occupants might have been more likely. Emerging from this pool I re-robe quickly and call the lift which arrives in what seems like an eternity later, just before the onset of hypothermia. I predict that yet more investment may be needed to provide better wind screening and/or a warm air curtain at this level.

Was it in the Minerva pool they had the problem with the flaking paint? Although not appointed to snag it, I furiously scratch the pool walls, but all seems well

Time to check out the steam rooms, four glass cylinders each approximately 4-5m diameter. Two are in steam and two of them aren’t. Asking myself why a number of people have congregated in the steam rooms that obviously aren’t in steam, I postulate that maybe it’s an intelligence test and that over 50% of the population are as thick as the proverbial two short planks.

Two hours have flown by and, more by luck than judgement, I arrive at the massage suite right on cue. It’s as quiet as a graveyard and I wonder if I’m the only punter. The background music is superb and my masseuse is soon relieving the stress imposed by a combination of the modern QS profession and my managing director. Emerging from the massage suite, the neighbouring restaurant staff try desperately to lure me in – this is another area of the facility that doesn’t appear overused.

I conclude my experience with a shower, again in a cubicle with no clothes hook. There’s nothing for it but to chuck my soaked robe over the door, whereupon it promptly falls to the floor only to become wetter still.

Despite my little gripes, the overall experience has been good, although I can’t help but think back to a local TV programme screened earlier in the year when Duncan Ballantyne (he of TVs ‘Dragon’s Den’ fame) said he’d be surprised if it was still trading after five years. Certainly, the fact that it’s not combined with a hotel appears to be bucking the European model. However, there is no doubting that it’s an iconic building. Crashing out later that evening, my partner informs me she thinks it was designed by Nicholas Parsons. I quickly correct her before slipping into oblivion.

Stow’s star rating out of five: * * *