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On our first camping trip last autumn, I decided to go without the bangers and steaks, and went with his veggie stuff – sausages, which appeared to be made from lentils, were not too bad, but the ‘bacon’ – pink in colour and not unlike polythene to taste – was an entirely unspeakable experience. And lots of pasta.

So this year, en route to our favourite campsite on the edge of the North Yorkshire Moors, I stopped off at that huge Morrisons, right on the border at Berwick, and bought some proper food. And the good thing about Berwick is that no matter what the politicians say, the town itself still thinks it’s in Scotland – how else could you explain square Lorne sausage on the shelves? Armed with a couple of packs of these, real bacon and a tin of corned beef, I set off for some of my kind of camp-fire cooking.

Ever the diplomat, I did a veggie curry for supper that first night, but followed up with a bacon breakfast next morning. I was determined to do my own thing for the second night’s supper, too, so into my pan went onions, baked beans and corned beef for a delicious hash into which, unbeknown to me, my elder grandson had secreted a couple of mange touts, as he was worried that I wasn’t eating enough greens.

All in all it was a very successful weekend, marred only by the five-hour drive back to Edinburgh in interminable traffic jams caused by the even more interminable A1 road works.

Now, it is just possible that regular readers are aware that tents are one of my many obsessions and might well be interested in how the actual camping went. Quite well, is the answer. It was a bit embarrassing when my wife discovered my stash of equipment when she opened a cupboard and masses of the stuff fell on her. I’d been severely mocked on a previous trip for the smallness of my tent and paucity of accoutrements, so I’ve been secretly stock-piling.

What everyone overlooked when they wondered why my trips to the shops took so long was the fact that one of the best camping shops is but a step away from the supermarket. And of course everything I bought was absolutely essential, even if we never could get the flint-thingy to light the fire.

Unfortunately, one of the poles on my new (and, needless to say, larger) tent broke at the first time of asking and as I’d been hiding it in the office as far away as possible from my family’s scornful looks I now can’t remember where I bought it, so I can’t take it back.

Still, the tale of this mishap provided a fair bit of amusement for my nearest and dearest. They’re a cruel lot, but they shan’t put me off.