Joys of camping – but not this Easter

10:20am Saturday 22nd March 2008

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I SPENT a bit of time in the girl guides in my younger years. Just long enough to get a couple of badges and experience my first camping trip.

It couldn't have been that great an event because it was a good number of years before I went on another one and most of the details are patchy. Clearly I've tried to block them out.

Two things I distinctly remember are the hundreds, if not thousands, of daddy long legs that sneaked into our tent during the night. I couldn't even bear to think of what else had crawled in through the darkness. And the huge amount of tatties that needed peeling with no water and a blunt peeler that was as old as the trees we were camped under.

So it was with some apprehension that I decided to give it another go a few years back. The first night ended with me huddled in 20 layers of blankets suffering from mild hypothermia, (no, seriously, it was early March and I've never been as cold in my life). I'm pleased to say that things improved after my near-death experience and by the final day even the bugs, the incessant dampness and lack of straighteners couldn't quite stop me being cheerful with the joys of spring.

Without going all Disney about it, it was the little things like waking up naturally with the birds every morning, and seeing how huge the moon looked in the night sky outside the bustle of cities and towns. It made me feel rejuvenated and peaceful.

It was the start of a beautiful relationship that saw many trips to Yeomans and Millets, looking for more things to make each trip more comfortable and home-like. No roughing it Ray Mears-style for me. Army cots, gas cooker, duvet, and, most important of all, the camping kettle.

I may be out in the wilds but that's no excuse not to have a decent cup of tea in the morning.

Some may call it cheating, but what's the harm in making my union with nature a little more cosy? At least I'll actually go camping - some people think relinquishing home comforts for even one night under the canvas is an instrument of medieval torture. For those who have this fear - it's really not that bad - sure there's the obvious issue of proper toilet facilities and lack of hot running water close by, but those are only problems if you're doing wild camping and that's just crazy (the clue is in the title).

Don't misunderstand me, I like my home comforts as much as the next girl. A few days in the great outdoors and I'm craving my Australian soap operas, a hot bubble bath (which can sting a little on wind-burned skin) and a Green and Black's hot chocolate with non-UHT milk.

Camping really is something that people love or hate. For some people camping is a family experience - parents and siblings all joining together to pitch the tent and sing songs round the campfire (okay, maybe not quite so picturesque but you get the image). Mind you, if someone offered me two weeks in the Maldives or camping in Wales I can tell you where I'd be.

Yes, Wales all the way sorry I meant whales, whale spotting in the Maldives without a doubt.

I suppose kipping in a hand-built beach shack could technically be described as camping of a sort. Does building a fire make it more authentic?

Now I can assemble everything from an Argos gazebo to an eight-man canvas tent in less than ten minutes. It's also surprising what you can utilise in place of common kitchen objects when all you've got is basic essentials - it'd even make the A-Team jealous.

Of course, I haven't learned all these skills by myself. My dedicated camping friends, who have banked far more camping hours than I have, spent many hours patiently listening as I whinged about the umpteenth spider and mucky groundsheet.

However, I'm not altogether daft. This weekend was meant to be the first camping trip of the year, but with forecasts of sleet and showers I'll be tucked up at home, nice and warm with my hot chocolate.