A piece I wrote about the new easyGym flagship on Oxford Street was in the Mail today but, because it was cut, there wasn’t enough room for me to pontificate about the other cheapo gyms out there, or the fact that while I thought easyGym looked good, I was very aware I’d seen it on day one as a member of the press... Anyway, the full version is below, if it’s of any interest. All accompanying pics are the work of the brilliant Natasha Pszenicki. Oh, and any credit for my guns should go to the fab Annie Foulds, but I’ll take the blame for my (carefully concealed) wine belly.

By Claire Coleman

Can Stelios do for gyms what he's done for air travel? He's certainly trying to. Last week saw the launch of the eighth easyGym in the UK as the company opened their flagship club in a prime central London location, formerly occupied by a Virgin Active gym. But while the Virgin membership would have set you back the best part of £70 a month, easyGym is a staggering £50 cheaper at just £19.99. And the best bit of all - for anyone who's been stung by heavy handed small print before - there's no joining fee and no contract.

According to recent research, we Brits waste millions on binding year-long gym contracts we don't use, with the average adult losing out on £303 a year as direct debits continue to deduct cash months after they've have ditched the treadmill. In contrast, easyGym's CEO, Paul Lorimer-Wing, insists: 'We work on the basis that people can choose what they need and pay only for that.'

Sounds too good to be true? Well, if the easyGyms are anything like any of the easyJets I've been on, I expect them to be sweaty, cramped and full of hidden costs for actually stepping on a treadmill. So it was with no little cynicism that I waltzed through the turnstiles of the new flagship, above a shopping centre on London's Oxford Street.

Having checked the website I'd already established that, as with low cost air travel, the first price you see isn't necessarily the price you end up paying. Although monthly rates start from £15.99 at the seven existing easyGym branches across the country (some have a £25 joining fee, others don't), that only gets you access to the gym itself. Fancy doing a class? That'll cost you an extra £11.99 a month - or £4 a class if you pay individually. Want to watch TV on the treadmill? Be prepared to stump up an extra £1.99 a month. No, you don't have to pay extra for a shower, or for water from the drinking fountain on the gym floor - I did ask. So, all of a sudden, that £15.99 gym membership is costing you £29.97 (or £33.97 at the flagship).

Admittedly, that still isn't bad when you compare it to the big name gyms. But then easyGym's real competitors are the host of no-frills, low-cost operators that have sprung up in the exercise market (and all over the High Street) over the past few years. Within a few miles radius of easyGym's Oxford Street club, you'll find four other no-contract competitors: Pure Gym - open 24/7, £25 joining fee, £22.99/month, all classes included; Fit 4 Less - £24.99 joining fee, £19.99/month all classes included; The Gym - open 24/7, £20 joining fee, £19.99/month all classes included; and Fitness 4 Less - £20 joining fee, £15.99/month including most classes.

They might not be quite such established names as Virgin Active, Fitness First and LA Fitness, but they're the reason why, even though we're in dire economic times, the UK fitness industry is still booming. According to Mintel figures, the gym and health club market increased by more than 17pc between 2006 and 2011 and is forecast to be worth £2.9bn by 2016.

Back to the Easy mothership and my first impressions are pretty much as expected: it's orange, functional and industrial in appearance. There's no reception desk. Just a row of turnstyles that members have to punch a numeric code into in order to enter. Want to join? A row of computers allow instant sign-up once you've filled in a basic health questionnaire. The corridor is lined with orange and grey lockers - you can bring your own padlock, or buy one from the vending machines that also sell bottles of water (£1), towels (£3.50) and protein drinks (£3.50).

And while I hadn't expected to see piles of fluffy towels or luxury shower gel in the ladies changing rooms (below), it soon becomes clear that privacy comes at a premium too. They're completely communal with the barest of facilities, and while the breeze block ambience is described by the company's blurb as 'edgy' and 'designer', the word I'd use is probably 'prison-esque'. As for the showers - there are just ten. Given there are around 300 lockers in the entrance hall, I wouldn't bank on managing to arrive on time for your morning meeting if you pop in before work.

Then there's the studio where, if you've paid your additional £11.99, there will be up to 50 classes a week - from Bodycombat and Zumba to Pilates and Yoga. Paul expects there to be up to 40 in a class, so you'd better know what you're doing. I don't imagine even the most eagle-eyed instructor is going to spot your dodgy alignment in a downward-facing dog when she's got 39 other students distracting her.

But then I step onto the gym floor and my jaw drops. Not only is there over 14,500 square feet of space, all packed with machinery and fitness gear, but it's all brand, spanking new. I'd assumed that they'd have just kept all the old Virgin Active stuff and painted the place orange. But from the banks of treadmills, cross trainers, rowing machines and steppers, to the stacks of free weights, Swiss balls, kettlebells and medicine balls, it's all boxfresh, and it's not rubbish either.

The mats and smaller weights are Reebok, and the main machines feature the most sophisticated entertainment system I've ever seen in a gym. Not only can you choose from more than 70 TV channels but you can even surf the web, and plug in your own iPod to watch your own downloaded films on the screen. Pretty soon, you'll also be able to use it to keep track of your workouts and set goals as well. 'We're the first company in the UK to offer it and in a few months it will be in all our gyms,' Paul tells me.

The high-tech facilities don't stop there either. Every recent exercise craze is catered for, from a PowerPlate to BOSU balls (air-filled domes used for balancing). The catch, of course, is that if you want to learn how to use the stuff properly, you'll probably have to pay for a personal trainer. There are group induction sessions on the hour, every hour, but a personalised programme with one of the freelance PTs will set you back at least £25.

They know their stuff, though. Manny Saul (below), who puts me through my paces, has been in the industry 14 years, trained a GB Olympic wrestler for the 2012 games and promises me a 'head-turning, Coke bottle body' in three weeks if I train with him (oh, and give up booze.)

It's all impressive stuff and while it won't suit the sort who like to luxuriate in a sauna post-workout, if I worked locally, I'd be tempted to stump up £20 a month - plus another £2 for that amazing entertainment system - just making sure I went after work, with my own towel and padlock, planning to shower back at home.

But then, I was there as a member of the press at 11am on their opening day. Everything was bound to be spick and span; I got the full red - or should that be orange? - carpet treatment. It remains to be seen what will happen in a couple of months time when I head down anonymously with the rest of the after-work crowd. Will I have to queue to use the equipment that I want? After all, there is only one PowerPlate machine. And despite signs dotted about reading 'No sweat towel, no workout', anyone who's hopped on an easyJet flight and unclipped their tray table to find an unidentifiable sticky mess will share my reservations about just how spotless everything will remain. Plus, while I see the sense in their plan to keep half the spaces at their classes open on a first-come, first-served basis, I can't help but wonder if that could cause the same ungainly scrums I saw at the gate to board the last easyJet flight I took.

Of course, the beauty of there being no joining fee and no contract is that if standards do start to slip, you can just walk away and you've lost nothing. All in all, I have to applaud Stelios for helping to open up the world of high-spec gyms to a wider audience (although, while I'm at it, might I respectfully suggest that the man himself could benefit from a session or two with Manny?)