Noel Coward once wrote a song with a line thus:

There's sand in the porridge and sand in the bed.
And if this is pleasure we would rather be dead

He must have had camping in mind when he came up with that.

I have now been back at work a week but my holiday to the sandy shores of Cornwall seem a lifetime away.

It was, as usual all my kids fault. They were very insistent that we should go on a camping holiday. OK so that is not strictly true. They actually only insisted on a holiday that didn't involve travelling to see my family. That is the price we pay for having a disparate family, spread to the corners of the Earth.

My compromise was to go camping. All other options were going to cost me an arm and a leg and as it was July there was little time left to save if we were to have a summer holiday. It seemed to work. We would bookend a long weekend in Cornwall with a trip to see my Mum. I needed to do some DIY for her since she had had a new boiler fitted and then there are my ex wife's parents.

I have been on many camping holidays and quite frankly find it a completely unfulfilling experience. It was a cheap way to go on Holiday when we were children I suppose. In nice weather it is OK but when it rains there is no where to hide. Now, my Mum and Dad were of the generation when there was little alternative for young people. Camp or Youth Hostel. The Scouting and Guide movement took it's toll on the youth of this fair country. My parents were hooked.
I have often wondered when I was stranded inside a cold and damp tent with rain lashing all around, just how miserable must life have been just after the war if this existence was considered an enjoyable alternative?

In fact it is still remembered within family circles how my Mum raced off down a French hillside in pursuit of a favourite tea tray that was being washed away by the worst rain the Dordogne region had seen for 80 years!

And thus we set off one Thursday morning in August, Me and my two children (11 and 14)and set sail for Cornwall. We had no campsite booked but had to ring our first choice at 10:30 to see if they had any space. The sun was smiling on us as we crossed the Hampshire border into Dorset. The New Forest had looked particularly inviting as we rocketed dow nthe the A35 to Ringwood. My only problem with the New Forest is that it is very popular. Too many people live within an hours drive of the place and they all want to go to the same bits. If you know your way round there are those places that are off the beaten track but all the same I don't want to share them with the world at large.

There is something funny about Dorset. It is a very pretty county I admit. However I think it has been lost in a road building time warp. The roads had hardly changed through Dorset than the last time I drove this way back in the 1980's. we ran out of dual carriage way near Wimborne and then didn't get above 30 mph until we reached Honiton - IN DEVON!

Whilst traversing this four wheeled carnage I witnessed an enormous waste of public finances that should be brought to every one's attention. As we drove through Morecombelake at 15 mph there was a policeman waving one of their speed guns at us as we passed by. Bet he didn't issue many tickets that morning!

Eventually we reached Honiton and then re-embarked into the 21st Century. A dual carriageway all the way to Exeter. In fact it was pretty much all the way to Padstow (our final destination). Of the four hour journey time 2 hours was spent traversing Dorset.

Our problems were not over yet however. Our morning phone call had not yielded a confirmed booking but we arrived anyway. The office was closed at the campsite so we headed back up the hill and parked in the temporary park and ride for a small trip to the quaint fishing village of Padstow.

The P & R for Padstow must feature the most pointless or at the very least the shortest bus journey anywhere in Europe let alone the British Isles. we waited 15 minutes for the bus that then carried us less than half a mile and still left us with walk into the village centre.

I was a little perturbed by not having a campsite organised yet. However I was warned by Dennis Cove that this may be the case and decided to come anyway. I think it upset my kids more though. They rejected offers of ice cream and chips and did not want to hang around but get back to the campsite and doorstep the campsite office. So we did, but not before we chanced upon a tourist board office. Who were more than useless. They offer advice on tourist issues but had no idea if there were any campsites in Cornwall at all. They had nothing. I had to get suggestions off the mobile phone operator. We had to use them too as Dennis Cove was full.

A campsite in Newquay were the first to answer and not be fully booked until August 31st. I gunned the engine and made great haste for Newquay before they changed their mind.

We rolled up outside Hendra Holiday Park at around 6 pm. It was not exactly what i had in mind when I said we should go camping. At that time of night though I was not about to get fussy. It was a blessing though. The park is a big one and caters for all styles of camping and mobile homes. We found our way to the overflow field. It was camping as I remembered it.

You pitched anywhere so long as you were sufficiently spaced. The field was well maintained and all areas had their own washing facilities. The park also had good entertainment facilities with pools and bars but most importantly an amusement arcade. An unusual name as I am never amused at how quickly my money disappears when I am in there.

Back at the tent things were not progressing smoothly. We had practised putting up the tent at my mums but that was only the 5th time we had ever put it up and today was the sixth. It was not going well. I still did not find out just what it was we had done wrong but the whole erection was a little off centre. By the point of time where we noticed our error most of the pegs were well and Truly planted and had been such a pain to knock in that wild horses were not going to drag them out again. So we lived with it

Tent up meant that the stove could be engaged and our first meal under canvas consumed. The spirit stove had belonged to My Grandad and I am sure My Mum said he used to use it when he was a young man. My Mum denied this profusely before we left but hey ho we were stuck with it now. I had not figured on the wind and it blew and blustered with some considerable force. Our macaroni cheese took some time to cook and we never got the kettle to boil at all.

The tent is only small and there was no where to hide from the wind, except in one spot. The amusement arcade.

And so ended our first day in Cornwall.

Tomorrow we would explore the Eden Project as the weather forecast was not good. But first we had to spend our first night under canvas.

The picture at the beginning is of the original campsite we tried by the way