I’ve booked a break for the Easter weekend. A tent?! Daughter 2 exclaimed, both to me and her FaceTime friend. I’m going to be in a tent while you’re in Spain. A tent?!, her friend repeated back, somewhat incredulously. Yes, I said, a little irritated by this double assault on my choice of holiday, it’s called glamping and we can take the dogs – as if either of these two pieces of information were going to reduce her and FaceTime friends horror.
Will there be wifi, asked daughter 1. No, it’s about relaxing and switching off, I tried to explain, beginning to wonder whether this was the best choice for a break with 4 tweenage and teenage girls, two dogs and partner.
We got to the book now part of the form. £595 for a tent! Partner exclaimed. We’ve got a tent in the shed! I sighed, but the trip advisor reviews say that the duvets are more comfortable than a five star hotel and there’s a proper toilet and lanterns, I reply somewhat weakly and they’ll let us take the dogs. He nodded and reluctantly clicked; priorities have changed.