Camping is the new cool, rang out articles across all newspapers. I had visions of watching the sunset, sipping hot chocolate and feeling close to nature - from my all-weather sleeping bag and blow-up luxury mattress of course. Much research was put into the tent purchase and we bought a roomy eight-man one for four of us. Then we booked into one of the country's top 10 sites.
Oh, how smug we felt. "This is the way forward," we thought. "No carbon footprint, no airport hassles, back to basics and quality time with the kids," (we packed Star Wars Monopoly). The campsite was beautiful and we could pitch where we liked, so we chose a spot with commanding views of the sea. The tent was up, the tomato soup was warmed and we settled down for the sunset moment. Then it started to rain, and we shuffled inside.
We realised we had a slight problem - of about 45 degrees. That was the angle of the floor, so we were all sloping towards the cliff edge. With determined British spirit (and spilling quite a bit of tomato soup) we rearranged the blow-up beds counteracting the angle and rejoicing at our resourcefulness. Unfortunately, the slope made Monopoly a disaster; the pieces moved across the board when anyone shifted slightly.
Still this was it. We were camping. Hoorah! Outside the weather had worsened and it was becoming increasingly noisy - the sound of people packing up and going home. But we bedded down and tried not to move in case we rolled. As the night went on, I felt like I was sleeping inside a giant crisp packet. Rustle, rustle, rustle.
At 5.30am, the hubby and I were staring bleakly at a most forlorn wet, windy cliff edge. The wind was high and the crisp packet was becoming a kite, with some poles becoming a little unstable. Hubby drove off to the loo - it was a jolly long walk in the rain - and once the car had gone, the wind had full control of our tent. Before you could say "All-inclusive holiday", one side of the tent rose up off the ground with a will of its own. "My children are in there!" I screamed as six men came running from various tents to help me pin down the flying canvas.
There were some muffled screams from inside and lots of zips being frantically undone and, as seven of us held down the enormous tent, two small kids climbed out, tears rolling down their faces in complete shock. Hubby returned to find our camp in tatters, with more misery as we emptied the contents into the car, in the pouring rain, wearing pyjamas and falling over lots. We couldn't fold up the tent so we dumped it in the front seat of the car, dripping everywhere. Star Wars Monopoly was sodden and Yoda had been lost. And we drove home, settling for a week in front of the Olympics.
