Glamping, the more acceptable face of camping

Love the wind up cow torch!

I fancy a spot of glamping, I see checked rugs, striped wind breaks mixed in with busy floral Liberty print, the land of flasks, parkin and fruit cake.

Until I sharpened up my act and camping became glamping, I would do anything to avoid a grim expedition. It had always been a Spartan affair, a means to an end, making day trips further afield possible. My dislike accelerated to disgust when one night four of us shared a two-man tent on Hadrian’s Wall, I vowed never again.

But the call of the wild gnawed away and I was persuaded to give it one last chance in a ‘proper’ tent you could stand up in and it had rooms. It’s  preposterous name, The Villa conjured up a Mediterranean holiday idyll a far cry from my previous experience in the windy outpost of the Roman Empire.

Bedtime comfort is essential and camping just got better with the introduction of pillows, quilts and fur throws. In my book anything goes if it helps make the experience more palatable, secretly I love the fantasy of my tent being the sanctuary of a Silk Road caravan princess, eclectic, exotic the stuff of wild adventure.

Resist the wealth of must have camping kit which is either rickety, flimsy plastic in bright colours, or rugged gadgetry tailored for uber boy extreme camping with matching prices. Instead make life easy; plunder as many necessaries as possible from home. Start an essentials packing list, to be honed and improved with each trip. I love the practicality of pop up plastic crates, and on the days leading up to a holiday my anticipation mounts as I add to the crates from the list. Along with essentials pack home made foodie treats, like fresh tart lemon curd for open air breakfasts and precious sloe gin for sipping on starlit campfire evenings.

Keep it simple, leave complex expedition tactics to the history of Edwardian tiger hunts, but remember to keep their spirit of adventure, anything can happen.

P.S. Don’t forget the wellies!

Drying the Li-Lo

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