Kate Middleton apparently had a very low-key hen party – just a quiet evening at home with a few friends. I'm getting married in June and had hoped I would be able to sidestep the event entirely. I'm not a fan of anything that might involve fancy dress. But somehow I found myself agreeing to test out Babes in the Woods, a new venture for hens that offers "Champagne camping with a touch of the wild!", despite the fact I also dislike camping (too much work), organised fun – and exclamation marks. I suspect it was the promise of expensive alcohol, and the fact I could bring five unwitting friends.
Things don't start well. One of the girls turned 30 the day before and there has been a blurry evening of tequila in Soho, some very muddled late-night packing and a nauseating minicab ride to Paddington at the crack of dawn. Babes in the Woods is based in south Devon, just north of Dartmouth, and a three-hour train journey from London. The area is a countryside cliche – gently rolling hills dotted with newborn lambs, shady woodlands filled with bluebells – and, it turns out, a far better cure for a hangover than a sofa and a DVD box set. We are met by Hetti Dysch, the founder of BITW and a great one for bushcraft – which is a key element of the weekend. She quickly runs through some of the activities she and her partner, Pip Griffin, have planned for us – fire making, basket weaving. Before we can jump back into our taxi, she dumps our bags into a pick-up truck and takes us on a leisurely stroll towards the camp, with a lesson in foraging as we go. NB: primrose petals do not taste anywhere near as nice as they look.
On the way we are told there are no showers, running water or electricity, which feels problematic until we get to the site, which is beautifully tucked away in a small patch of private woodland. Our sleeping quarters are comfy-looking camp beds inside a bell tent, our dining area is a large wooden bench in the middle of a clearing, and another bell tent contains an antique nightstand with mirror, china wash bowl and jugs of hot and cold water. A wood-fired sauna should be up and running by the beginning of May. The setup is charmingly rustic, and so it feels fitting that we have to pee in the bushes and use a compostable toilet for other matters. Well, fitting-ish.
Despite a blackboard that has a timetable chalked on it (shelter building 3-5pm, champagne reception 7pm), Hetti and Pip make it clear that nothing should feel regimented. They are immediately likeable, keen to engage with us, but also good at leaving us to our own devices. The weekend has been carefully thought out – the activities are kept short, and everything is broken up with meals. We start with a lunch of nettle soup (who knew those stingers could be so tasty?), wild mushroom risotto, rainbow salad and several bottles of champagne. It is clear that we're going to be well fed. And drunk, which seems the best way to tackle shelter making and is perhaps why we enjoy the afternoon activity so much, though I suspect there is also a pleasure in feeling some sort of connection to nature. The nearest any of us usually gets to that is watching grubby mice scurrying along tube tracks. We are surprisingly efficient at constructing something that withstands rain (I am forced to sit inside it while my friends throw water at me), though aesthetically it does look more like a serial killer's lair than a Ray Mears survival shelter.
As evening sets in, we drink more champagne, eat more food (chicken and new potatoes, followed by trifle), laugh at a lot of dirty jokes (I am convinced that six girls together descend far more quickly into toilet humour than six boys, or maybe we're just very immature), and then the storytellers arrive.
Now, if I had been asked before I went away whether I wanted someone reciting Sir Gawain and the Green Knight with accompanying songs on a guitar, I think it's safe to say I would have declined. But here, there are times when it feels quite magical – a big crackling bonfire, pitch-black woods, so far away from anything we would normally be doing on a Saturday night – and times, as we try not to collapse into giggles, when it's excruciating. Fortunately our storytellers, Nick and Ollie, seem to feel the same way, and their laughter rescues it from being horribly awkward.
We spend the next morning each having a massage to the sound of birds and bleating sheep, and learning that Vaseline is a good fire-starter. There are complaints of being cold in the night, and while Hetti and Pip say they are going to invest in some thick blankets, it's probably advisable to bring thermals and a warm hat. Or a lot of cider, which worked for me. We finish the weekend with scones and clotted cream served on vintage tea sets.
The package isn't cheap – the least expensive option is £195 and that doesn't include a massage or entertainment . Plus you have to provide most of your own booze, which along with the train tickets does push up the price. But there was something very special, and very funny, about the experience. Usually when you meet up with your mates, it's in a crowded restaurant or noisy pub, and the memories have been erased the next morning by the vodka shots from the night before. But I don't think any of us will forget the sound of our friend screaming as she discovered a slug on her loo paper, after she had used it. Brilliant.
• Babes in the Woods packages start with the White Willow, at £195 per person, which is suitable for groups of between eight and 20 hens, and includes all activities and meals, as well as the all-important camping for one night. Stays can be extended to two nights at a supplement of £35pp.
A free "hen" place is offered per group booking of 12 and over confirmed before 31 October 2011. Babes in the Woods is operational between 1 March and 31 October. For more information visit babesinthewoods.co.uk. To book, call 020-7193 8633 or 07850 401759.
