As a sometime resident of Brighton, and more particularly the Kemp Town area, I am no stranger to the notion of camping.  Even popping to the shops for tonic (I never run out of gin.  Obvs.) one can see any number of fey young men engaged in that very activity, in the style of Kenneth Williams at his finest.  It has however been brought to my attention that there is another reading of the phrase.  Step forward Staff Nurse who has at sometime in her life fallen into the clutches of the Friends of Baden Powell rather than Dorothy and has developed an addiction to life under canvas.  Unfortunately, like all zealots, she will not rest until the rest of us have undergone a Damascene conversion to the world of tent pegs and guy ropes. (FYI disappointingly nothing to do with male bondage).

Her latest attempt has been to send me an article listing no fewer that 8 different reasons why camping is A Good Thing, including the news that it is vital for one’s vitamin D levels.  Vitamin D is also known as the ‘sunshine’ vitamin which I would guess would have to involve the sun actually shining on the tent and it’s occupants, not an everyday event in Scotland.  Call me pessimistic but I would rather rely on a handy bottle of pills from Boots or a trip to the South of France.  Results a great deal more certain.

No mention was made of the origins of the article but cash money would suggest that it was from ‘Tenting Weekly’ or ‘The Backpackers Bible’ rather than Vogue and the eighth and final claim was that it would cut down on consumerism.  I beg to differ, Staff Nurse.  Am I alone in recalling the preparation for a recent trip, which I was unable to join as I had a reservation at a luxury hotel?  Did it not involve four of us spending hours, literally hours decanting what appeared to be the entire contents of your home into two cars.  Which were barely big enough?  And this for a trip lasting all of two nights? Not quite my notion of minimalism.

And in the interest of safeguarding your mental health, dear reader,  I am not even going to explore the full horror of the wardrobe options suffice to say that they would involve  ‘comfortable’ shoes and rubber wear, and again, not in a good or remotely entertaining way.

From the deep, warm, dry comfort of my hotel room I spent hours sending them pictures featuring the beauty of the bathroom, the fluffiness of the bath towels, the featheriness of the pillows (Continued on Page 94) to reassure them that I was not having too wretched a time on my own.  Sadly the news failed to arrive as there was no mobile phone coverage in their remote, desolate, cold, rainy and windswept field.  I rest my case.