Surely a weekend of bondage and getting naked is for exhibitionists only?Not so, says Jane Mulkerrins, who left her comfort zone far behind and discovered a bold new self Getty It is not yet 8am on a Saturday morning and I am kneeling on all fours, receiving a firm spankingfrom a handsome young man I met approximately 10 minutes ago.

‘That’s been scary, but everyone’s here with the same aim, so there’s a sense of community and acceptance,’ she smiles.

Most of the campers have pitched tents, but I’ve opted for a shared bunk room, for which I’m grateful, since the first 24 hours are little different to a rain-sodden British festival.

It’s still pouring when my alarm goes off at 6.30am on Saturday, and I have second thoughts about the wisdom of Kinky Yoga at 7am; I don’t even like yoga.

However, if all yoga focused on heightening awareness of sensation and getting handsome strangers to stroke my neck, tug my hair and give me a spanking, I’d probably get out of bed for it more often.

This is, officially, a yoga class, albeit ‘kinky’ yoga, and I’m dressed in standard-issue exercise gear, namely cropped leggings and a T-shirt.

Many of my classmates, however, have taken up our instructor’s invitation to disrobe and are semi-clad and mainly topless, men and women alike.

Boundaries duly established, the party gets going, with 30 of us, clothed, lying in a ‘cuddle puddle’, massaging each other, with plenty of chat and laughter; it’s a great way to meet fellow single Sex Campers.

I immediately warm to Belinda, a 49-year- old divorcee and mother-of-two from Sydney who works in publishing.

After breakfast, I head off to the Art of Japanese Bondage, where my bunk-mate Dayna and I practice tying knots on each other’s limbs.