If I have an abiding memory of spending time on campsites as a child it is one thing.
Sitting in the laundrette, the rain beating down outside, watching our trainers going round and round in the washing machine, having been muddied to unrecognisable proportions by a day yomping around a sodden Lake District.
I vividly remember one of those summers, when I was probably just nine or ten, seeing a double decker bus with an advert for Malta on the side. It seemed impossibly distant and exotic, but I would go there, one day, I vowed.
Camping holidays were a necessity when they started, but now they are a choice. In the years between my childhood holidays and our latest camping adventures, I have been to many places across the world, but I have never been to the dream-like Malta that was so inviting on the side of that bus when I was a kid.
Perhaps I will, one day, but certainly for now, I’m determined to carry on camping.