My glamping trip nearly ended in a hot-tub bust-up over sport

I stayed in a yurt at the weekend. I didn't really know what a yurt was and after staying in one still don't really, but according to the dictionary it's a round tent, used traditionally as a home by some Central Asian people, and now sometimes used for camping in Western countries by - the definition didn't addmiddle-class people who want to pretend they're camping but don't wish to sleep in a damp tent or wait 10 minutes for some beans to get even remotely warm on a portable camping stove.

- Steve Canavan

I should, by rights, enjoy camping.

My mum and dad were outdoor types. Indeed, my mother walked the Pennine Way with a group of friends at the age of 21, carrying a giant rucksack on her back, a feat she has only mentioned around, ooh, 4,000 or so times during my lifetime ("Mum, what's for tea tonight?" 'Cottage pie. Did I ever tell you about the time I did the Pennine Way and we had cottage pie during a storm near Hawes?" "Yes mum, you told me about it yesterday and last Tuesday too.")

However, try as I might, I've never been into camping. Indeed as an adult I've done it only once, pre-kids with my wife.

I naively imagined romantic antics in the wild, when what actually happened is we went to bed at nine because there was sod all else to do and then were woken at 3.30am by a thunderstorm and rainwater leaking through the tent onto our heads.

Call me lightweight, but the yurts-which have sofas that fold into comfy beds, a wood-burner, cooker, and cupboards containing plates and crockery - seemed a good compromise. I could tell acquaintances I was going camping yet essentially be living in a mini house for a few nights.