The Lipster

You can split the world into two groups. The lovers of camping and the haters. And the camp (so, so sorry) I’m living in is firmly pro-tent. I’m not talking grotty festival camping where you spend your weeked wretching in toilet queues, and get lulled to sleep by mdma-nnoyiny 16 year olds screaming "bollocks". It’s that sort where you pitch your tent in a pretty cove (can you pitch tents in coves?), eat some eggs from a ruddy-cheeked farmer,then drink red wine and play snap til you roll an inch to your left and pass out in your pit. It’s the most British of all the British things. A Famous Five for 2008, if you will. Only more booze and sex. Thank God. And here’s why we love it so…

1. The language

The moment you step onto that damp grass you’ll come over 100% Barbs Windsor, on the gin and orange. ‘Poles’, ‘bang it in’ and‘erect’ can not be said without a filthy grin and a cheeky tweak of a nipple. Oh Matron, etcetera.

2. The dirt

Hygiene goes out the window at camp. Don’t get me wrong. I shower ever day (except no-wash Sundays) but the opportunity to embrace hair mank and feet skank is a beautiful thing. Especially when it means avoiding public showers where the man next to you is breathing a little too heavily and you’ve got someone else’s coarse dark hair wrapped round your little toes.

3. The food

When else do you get the opportunity to eat every meal out of a tin? Hummous-schummous. Hand over that unspecified tinned meat with a side of All Day Breakfast (with egg nuggets) and don’t even bother with a plate. And avoiding food poisoning brings a whole Russian Roulette element to your adventure. Derren Brown and his gun who? It’s you vs the tinned hotdogs.

4. The campfires

Ghost stories: usually about as interesting as dreams (they’re not real, yeah?). But in front of a blaze, they become more amazing than an episode of Heroes directed by Mike Leigh. Even if it is the tale about the axe-murderer and the flashing lights and the back of the car. That no one actually knows the end of. It’s the Brownie pack-holiday vibe. Only with less molten marshmallow running though our fringe.

5. The tent sex

Nothing will make you feel more like a randy 16 year old than doing it under canvas. So what if it’s the crappest sex you had since, er, you were 16? That stale-rubbery smell will have you rubbing up against each other, like non-penetrating rabbits, at every opportunity. Everyone knows what you’re doing? You didn’t give a shit then, don’t go changing.

6. The accessories

Couldn’t care any less about the latest high-tech nine-bedroom wonder. And please let’s not even talk about flowery tents and matching wellies. Ugh. We’re just all over the fact that it’s the only time it’s ever alright to publicly swan round in a sensible fleece, holey leggings and those semi-hot Hunter wellies. And not in that crappy Kate Moss way.

7. The cheap smugness

Tesco now sell Value tents. True story. They cost £7.94. Add to that a wine box (the inner bit makes a good pillow when it’s empty) and your pitch, and you’ve got a weekend for £30. Er hello, quids spent wisely.

Not convinced? Argue with us please…

Cool Camping: England is out next week in paperback. Go and look, for it may just convert you.