When did we - we as in adults, not Scouts - start pretending to like camping? Trying to sleep with only a stretch of fabric protecting us from the threat of a red weather warning is the sacred cow of British summer holidays, and our desire for its wholesome salvation grows each year.
“I love getting back to nature,” campers say, after pitching yurts in a sloping field as busy as the M25, with lattes delivered at dawn and fried food trucked in every evening.
Or they will harp on about how freeing it is to “return” to a primitive way of life, refuse to cook anything other than grass-fed beef and vegan marshmallows over their applesmoked logs, and spend the weekend “checking in” with the LA office.
I do understand camping as an unfortunate means to a rewarding end. Before I became a parent (my daughter is now eight), my reasons for camping were festivals and mountains. But I didn’t pretend to love the sensation of sleeping on cold earth with a slab of granite for a pillow and the equivalent of a Tough Mudder course between my bed and the nearest official urine receptacle, as if it were the route to enlightenment.
Though having a child has reduced the opportunities for festivals and mountains, in the early years I caved into peer pressure. I reluctantly evolved into a camper who purports to be willingly attending gatherings defined by blow-up mattresses and folding cutlery.
In fact, I attend for one reason alone - my daughter loves it. She gets a few priceless days of running free; we are treated to four trips to the supermarket, £436 spent on emergency gear, a workout packing everything we own into the car, and a weekend of warm wine drunk out of plastic mugs. All of this is washed down with another week of deepcleaning everything we took along.
Alas, this is not my authentic self.
Therefore I’ve declared myself on camping sabbatical for this summer. Not going camping is a holiday in itself. This is the ultimate in selfcare, as indulgent and rewarding as I imagine a five-star all-inclusive might be. Just thinking about it has probably taken a decade off me.
I know people say it’s an affordable way to holiday. And it can be. But have you witnessed the new wave of competitive campers who got going during the pandemic? Campsites these days are as much a spot to show off at as Cornwall or Ibiza, with 4x4s and Teslas rolling up to unload gargantuan tents, which, once engorged by enormous pumps, turn out bigger than most London flats.