Luxury camping. Like Clegg and Cameron, Capello and England, they're two words that should never appear together. The smug buzzword "glamping" merely adds insult to injury. Nowadays just about every activity can be pre-packed and polished – raw experiences diluted to dipping a toe in lukewarm water.

Camping's joy is that it lets you get back to basics. It opens up a more primal world free from centrally heated modern life. It might be a challenge, but it's also invigorating to feel genuine appreciation for a warm sleeping bag. That's the whole point – to swap your comfort zone for a less anodyne world. Increasingly exotic luxury camping, with its scatter cushions, wood-burning stoves and vintage flourishes are all very well. But why bother? You're just a tentpeg short of a hotel.

And a tent is one of camping's finer moments. There's something deeply satisfying about knocking up your own shelter in the wild.

It's particularly glorious at the end of a hefty hike. You've carried everything you need on your back – shelter, cooker, Tennent's Extra – free of modern life's clutter. Lots of the best, most spectacular camping sites are in farmers' fields, often with a great pub next door. Don't like it? Move on. You can't do that with a pre-assembled luxury yurt.

All the glamour of glamping can't match the romance you'll find as master of your manor in a wet field near Ambleside.