Into the wild: Swimwear trends for the summer

Let's be frank: as with so many things in life, the idea of camping is often considerably sexier than the reality. The camping of one's imagination is all cut grass, wood smoke and skinny-dipping. It is a dreamy hybrid of

Only time and experience really teaches a camper such lessons. In adolescence, a camping trip offers a taste of adventure, independence and privacy; a chance to experiment with illicit pleasures such as alcohol and members of the opposite sex. Oftentimes in my teenage years my friends and I would hike up to the local Scout camp, where we learned that a tent in the woods was the perfect place to swig warm cider, play spin the bottle, and hold hands with boys, far away from the prying eyes of adults.

I suspect it may be nostalgia for such teenage adventures that kindles an adult fondness for camping; a romantic notion of bedding down with your beloved in a delightful tangle of warm limbs, sleeping bags and cool night air. Alas, such an idyll will quickly be ruptured come morning, when the rising sun will heat your little tent to a furnace before the clock has even struck eight, and you will wake, suddenly, parched and bewildered, to find the roof above you dripping with condensation and the air within thickly curdled by stale sweat and the scent of your lover's feet. Or you may rouse to the disheartening sound of rain speckling against tarpaulin, the promise of a grim, muddy schlep to the bathroom, the misery of a tent revealing itself to be not entirely waterproof. There are few situations so thoroughly unconducive to seduction.

This is not to discourage you from the notion of sexy camping entirely. Rather it is a reminder of that old Scouting motto (one whispered to me on cidery breath, so many years ago) to always be prepared. It is a wise fellow who sets off on a romantic camping expedition armed with a list of B&Bs in the vicinity. And it is a wiser man still who invests in a double-skin tent with vestibule, groundsheet protector, air vents and spare pegs, rather than what's cheapest that week.

There are also important points of which you should take heed before setting off and I shall set them out as a five-point plan; note that most of these I have gleaned while camping at music festivals - a rich opportunity to observe one's fellow man wrestling with pop-up tents, fly sheets and solar-powered phone chargers while several cans of lager the worse for wear. Novice campers, I suggest you cut this out and keep it as an invaluable guide for the summer months:
i) Gentlemen: women are rarely fooled into correlating the size of your manhood to the size of your tent.
ii) Ladies: note that too many camping accessories - Cath Kidston tent, matching washbag and Thermos flask, gaily hued Hunter wellies, flannelette pyjamas, stove, coolbox, flashlight, slanket, biscuit barrel, dreamcatcher and portable dishwasher - will do little to attract suitors. This is the al fresco equivalent of a gentleman finding your boudoir bedecked with frills and flounces and crammed with cuddly toys; it is really only a matter of time before they start screaming.
iii) No, you do not need a gazebo.
iv) Blowing up an air mattress is never sexy. There is something about the sight of a portable foot pump that suggests a fundamental lack of spontaneity between the sheets. Go for a Thermarest instead.
v) The walls of a tent are thin. If you are planning to partake in a little sexy camping in a crowded field, it is worth remembering that your neighbours will be able to hear ever slurp, every fumble, every moan and unzipping. This will be embarrassing for you in the cold light of the following morning, and can be distressing for those camping nearby. I once found myself at Glastonbury in the early hours of the morning hurling abuse and inanimate objects at the adjacent tent as its occupant volubly - oh, how to phrase this? - bivouacked away in his one-man berth. It was not the finest moment for either of us.