Carry on camping Carter

As someone who used to think that camping was what Graham Norton and Julian Clary did on TV, Paul Carter was quite surprised by the real thing

I'm not, as you've probably gathered by now, the outdoor type. I'm far too fond of my creature comforts like electricity, the internet and not catching hypothermia to usually consider getting back to nature.

However, when I was offered the opportunity to go on a "camping and activity weekend", I had to reassess my view.

My only previous camping experience had been at music festivals, and that's less "sleeping under canvas", and more "passing out in a botulism-ridden bog", so when me and my trusty assistant Claire made the long trip down to Somerset, I have to admit to being more than apprehensive.

We were staying at a site on Exmoor, which doesn't sound like a suitable name for a picturesque holiday destination. Whenever I hear it I always think of misty wastelands out of a Tolkien novel. ("You're going to Exmoor, you say? Take this enchanted scabbard, there be goblins there.")

Not being an experienced camper, surprisingly enough, most of my stuff was begged, stolen and borrowed. Even the tent was a loan. With that in mind, perhaps we should have checked the size of it before we left really, as neither of us were quite expecting a tent so gargantuan it looked like it needed planning permission to put up. Seriously, I thought we were going to need to dig foundations for the thing. It turns out enormo-tent had six different doors. Six! What kind of tent needs two doors per resident?

We duly dubbed one of them the fire escape. I'm quite glad I was with a friend when it came to assembling the damn thing. Although I'm not sure she was as happy that I was as much assistance in putting the thing up as, well, a bloke with no hands would be in putting up a small house.

Add to that the fact it was dark, and I'd been drinking, I'm not sure we did it right. There were bits hanging out that probably shouldn't have been and things missing. And that was just me. Still, despite its ramshackle appearance, we hoped for the best, and thankfully enormo-tent was sturdy enough to stay up.

The highlight of the trip though was the aforementioned "activities", another word that usually fills me with dread as I associate it with school trips to some centre or other, where I'd end up being strapped into some preposterous harness/ medieval castration device, winched down a wall and told I was "abseiling".

As it turned out, I needn't have worried. I was actually taken out sailing and fishing by some quite wonderful volunteers who, against my better judgement, got me out on the water. I actually ended up rather enjoying it, who'd have thought? Who knows, maybe I am cut out for this outdoor business after all. I said maybe.