Jenny has always had a yen for camping but ever since my hellish camping experience as a teenager, I've been dead against it. Once bitten, twice shy, as they say.My grim memory surfaced when I heard of the sudden surge in the number of UK campers - up by 7 per cent, particularly among women - which is reflected in the growth of camping and caravan sites here in Northern Ireland. In fact Millisle on the Ards Peninsula is quite disfigured by the acres of caravans nudging the shoreline.
But nights under canvas aren't for me. As a tender 13 year old Boy Scout, I was persuaded to spend two weeks camping in Yorkshire, and what a mistake that was. It rained non-stop for a fortnight so we were squelching around Glastonbury-style in thick mud. All the tents leaked and kept us sodden. The food was inedible and impossible to cook properly. There was nothing whatever to do. And the scoutmaster was lurking in the background looking for dishy boys he could cuddle up to. Was I glad to pack up and get back to civilisation.
Yes I know tents and caravans these days are supposed to be quite luxurious and element-proof but I'm just not going to risk it. I'm used to hotel bedrooms with all mod cons and en suite bathrooms and I won't give them up without a fight.
The problem we have here is that most of the roads are still single carriageway and in the summer it's common to be stuck in a long line of cursing motorists following a nonchalant caravan that's trundling along at a steady 30 mph. Of course caravan buffs are entitled to their holiday of choice like the rest of us, but maybe if they hit the road at dawn (or midnight) and not at midday it might boost their public image a little.
But really, why spend your well-earned holiday leave roughing it in a field when you could be standing on the balcony of your 4 star hotel room gazing at say, the Mediterranean? I'm sure such spartan, rough-and-ready living is very environmentally sound and does Margaret Beckett a power of good, but it's just not my cup of tea.
