How I’d managed to avoid camping this long remains to be seen, but save for a couple of teenage ventures under canvas which are clouded in an alcoholic fog and therefore don’t count, I was a camping virgin... until this weekend.

Why my life-time aversion to this British holiday sport was so quickly discarded remains to be seen, but what had always seemed like a lot of fuss and bother for scant reward suddenly became quite an attractive proposition.

And I could find no reason to say no to my entire family debunking to the sea for the weekend, the kids all playing together, with days spent on the beach and nights spent around the campfire. So I agreed.

Luckily someone gave us a tent for Christmas several years ago, which hadn’t even come out of its bag, so hubby was sent to the attic to retrieve it. Having put up the two-man tent in a few seconds he was looking extremely smug as he attempted the ‘family’ tent. 2.5 hours and lots of head scratching later, comments like ‘do you think it’s the right way round’ kept me indoors, aware that any ‘back-seat driving’ at this stage might not be appreciated.

However once it was finally up in our front garden, camping began to look a bit more attractive – with two side double bedrooms and a central communal bit to keep us from tearing each others hair out.

Regaling some friends with the story they asked what other equipment we had. What else do we need? I asked puzzled. It was at this point that I was exposed as the total amateur that I was. I had no idea of the sheer amount of stuff you campers haul around the country!

We needed chairs and a table apparently, because otherwise where would we sit, eat and put things? We needed a stove because otherwise how would we cook? We needed blow-up mattresses to sleep on, we needed sleeping bags for the whole family, plastic knives, forks and plates, iron rations, warm clothes, waterproof clothes, sensible shoes.

What was supposed to be a quick, easy and cheap weekend away was suddenly becoming an insurmountable mountain of hassle and cost, and a week in a five star-hotel was beginning to look more appealing. But once I began trawling through all my friends garages for said equipment, most of whom had everything on my new ‘camping’ list, things began looking up.

It turns out that you are all secret campers on the sly and with each garnered item, a nugget of camping gold advice came in thick and fast. “Pack as if you’re going skiing” was my particular favourite and “don’t take high heels”, at which point I began to wonder what I’d agreed to.

I’ll let you know how I get on. I’ve got the corkscrew packed, a bottle of gin and the most sensible shoes I can find, so what can possibly go wrong? The only thing that worries me is that the weather forecast predicts heavy wind and rain on Sunday from 6am. Should I be worried? Maybe I’ll need a waterproof coat after all!