On the other hand, my friend, a self-appointed “Camel Man” who chugs around in an old Landy and loves camping, caravaning and other outward bound exploits, would surely scoff at any glamour associations as a extreme mockery of the very instituion of roughing it. And let’s be honest here, camping has its place under the stars but I would never call it glamorous by any stretch of the imagination.
When pitching your wigwam and getting out-of-doors, surely the thrill and dare I say fun of the tented adventure begins with the very fact that you are leaving life’s little luxuries behind and embracing the untamed landscape and the trek across the camp site to the less than favourable ablusions, toilet paper in hand, in the middle of the night. There is really no need to fashion it up.
Camping should remain somewhat arduous around the edges and glamour should remain glossed and in heels, and never should the two be co-ordinated, or is there a well-appointed brightly coloured middle camping ground?