For those of you unfamiliar with the term 'glamping', it's a word I first came across in one of the Sunday supplements, used to describe the recent phenomenon that can best be summed up by the fact that you can now buy tents and sleeping bags with pink flowers on them - the idea that camping is very hip, very fashionable, and SO now. Well, I've just returned from a week in various fields in and around the Scottish Highlands, and believe me, there is nothing glamourous about sleeping with only two layers of vinyl between you and torrential rain, having to wrestle yourself into two layers of fleece, walking boots and a wooly hat to tramp half a mile to the lav if you need to pee in the middle of the night, or having no access to a hairdryer for six days.
Which is exactly why camping is so brilliant - the kind of people who look at a Cath Kidston tent and think "Ooh, how delicious! Wouldn't it be fun to go camping in one of those!" are just the kind of people who find the thought of a week without hair straighteners and eyeliner something akin to a living hell, so therefore never do it. I'll admit, I'm hardly the hardy outdoor, fell running type myself, but that's not the point. Camping is wondrous - especially in the breathtaking beauty of Scotland - enjoying the fresh air, eating cold beans out of tin, contemplating a night sky seemingly fit to burst with stars - but unless you're Kate Moss at Glastonbury and actually staying in a big fuck off trailer with a wardrobe the size of small house and an annexe housing your stylist and hairdresser, camping is not, and never will be, glamourous.
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