Britain's got the hots for hot tubs

It is almost impossible to enter a hot tub without sounding like Kenneth Williams encountering Hattie Jacques in a negligee in Carry on Matron. A sort of camp groan of shocked delight involuntarily leaves my lips as I gingerly lower myself into the Jacuzzi J470.

Partly it is the bubbles tickling my feet, but mostly it is the absurdly warm water, which strikes me as decadent beyond belief. After all, this isn’t the Caribbean; it’s a Tuesday morning in Carshalton and I am in a back garden, surrounded by a collection of half-naked women whom I’ve never met.

“Oooh, hello,” does seem the most appropriate response.

According to the database of subscribers of What Spa? magazine, this leafy part of suburban Surrey is a veritable hot spot for hot tubs, along with Colchester in Essex and Alderley Edge in Cheshire. I have visited to find out why these strange, bulky, expensive bits of kit are becoming the ultimate garden accessory.

A survey published by Lloyds Insurance this week indicated that 10 per cent of the country now has a hot tub. This statistic appears as fantastical as the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Can it really be possible that 2.6 million households have an outdoor spa of some sort?

Hot tubbers have raised their collective eyebrow. One leading manufacturer reckons that one million is a safer estimate, while Nick Clamp, who owns What Spa?, says: “I don’t think it is anywhere near that. We think from feedback from retailers and manufacturers that it is probably nearer to 300,000. But it is growing all the time, despite the recession.”

Chris Hughes, the owner of the tub in which I am sitting and sipping prosecco, says: “No one else on this street has one, I don’t think.”

And the businessman lives in a pretty affluent cul-de-sac. The houses, all with immaculate paved driveways, boast little nameplates: Julia’s Cottage, The Vines, The Grange. His neighbour across the road has a flash motor boat moored outside, while Hughes has an Audi TT and a new Range Rover parked in the drive.

He has kindly let me dive in, along with some of his friends, to find out what the fuss is about. “I love the idea that you can relax somewhere where you can’t take a mobile. That’s very appealing,” he says.

Mind you, I am not sure why he couldn’t bring his smartphone into the tub. It has more knobs and buttons than the cockpit of a Cessna. Every surface is covered in gadgetry, jets whoosh out from the most unlikely nooks and crannies.

On the outside of the pool there is a little glass-fronted cupboard, hiding the audio system. Pop in your iPod or just rev up Magic FM, as Hughes has done, before opening a bottle of bubbly. Katrina and the Waves wafts out of hidden speakers.

Gail Donaghue, who tells me that she is Hughes’s girlfriend (he arches a Kenneth Williams eyebrow at this suggestion), toasts me. “This is the life, eh?,” she says.

“I love them. I think they are brilliant. They are great for parties. At night, disco lights come on. It’s a whole different vibe,” she tells me.

It is certainly a very enjoyable way to spend a morning, but the experience is slightly unnerving. It amalgamates the relaxation of a nice, hot bath with the fun of splashing about in a paddling pool with your children – a not unpleasant combination, but I’m not convinced.

For starters, being British, I cannot fully let my guard down when I know that I am being overlooked by neighbours.

Hughes says: “I don’t worry about that.” And then adds: “Mind you, I am a bit of player,” before giving me a conspiratorial wink. “I thought about getting a getting a pergola with these blinds that come down the side,” he says. “But I’d miss the sky – that’s part of the fun.”

And spas are also far from cheap, unlike many of the crazes that have turned gardens into outdoor playrooms.

Once upon a time it was knock-it-together decking, pioneered by the flame-haired, braless Charlie Dimmock. The next must-have was a children’s trampoline, the quickest way to guarantee a weekend spent in A&E. But even supersized trampolines rarely cost more than £500.

The most basic hot tub will set you back about £3,000 – and that is little more than a large washing-up bowl with a couple of squirts of water up your back. The Jacuzzi J470, described by one salesman as the “Rolls-Royce” of the hot-tub world, cost Hughes £16,500. It is a hefty bit of kit, big enough to hold 2,000 litres of water, and it had to be craned over the top of his house.

After the initial cost, the machines cost about £20 a month to run because they are kept permanently warm, with an insulated lid to keep in the heat. Retailers assure me that this is cheaper and more environmentally friendly than heating up the tubs each time you use them.

If money really is no object, you can invest in yet grander affairs, which incorporate waterproof televisions or even a two-storey contraption, with a waterfall cascading between the two levels and a poolside bar attached to the edge. Pirates of the Caribbean comes to Princes Risborough.

Andrew Biggs, who runs the British division of Watkins, the world’s biggest manufacturer of hot tubs, says a typical owner spends about £10,000 and buys one for “health and relaxation”.

He is keen to dispel any lingering doubts I have about people of loose morals lounging around, with their modesty only protected by a screen of pampas grass.

“Stories always seem to pop up about swingers. But in reality many of our buyers are families who enjoy spending quality time with each other. At the end of a long day, it is the ultimate de‑stresser.”

It is certainly true that hot tubs, once seen as the preserve of those with the money and taste of a second-division footballer, now have a wider appeal.

Clamp points out that nearly all customers take the plunge after having enjoyed a hot tub while on a ski trip, at an upmarket holiday camp, such as Center Parcs, or on a cruise ship – nearly all vessels now have hot tubs as part of the package.

Last year, Prince Harry, during his weekend of high jinks in Las Vegas, managed to stamp a royal seal of approval on the hot-tub phenomenon.

He also looked like he was having a lot of fun, even if he wasn’t using the device to alleviate the symptoms of arthritis or a bad back, the most common reason why people sink into them, Biggs insists.

But try as I might, I just can’t see myself installing one in my garden, even if I did have the money or the space.

The snob in me thinks they are just a bit too Wayne and Coleen. It emerged that the hot tub was the one object, above all others, that lottery winners invested their windfall on when Camelot’s 3,000 millionaires were surveyed last year.

And after about 15 minutes enjoying my Carshalton soak, the novelty starts to wears off. I think I am happy sticking to the privacy of a hot bath, with the curtains firmly closed.