Do you like to wake up with everything wet because the rain got in?
Do you like muddy grass on an awkward slope, with views of the dripping sewerage pipe of the caravan next door?
Do you like earwigs? They like sleeping bags and towels, and I’m told the way to get one out of your ear is to shine a torch at it.
Do you like self-deflating mattresses?
Do you like dusty clay and gravel to pitch your tent on, bent tent pegs, and banging your finger with a rock?
Do you like swimming pools? Do you like swimming pools infested with screeching tourist spawn, running, jumping, splashing, floaties, shouting, screaming, bawling?
Do you like the smoke and smell of steaks grilling, well done, seasoned, hot, juicy, not for your dinner?
Do you like the sound of a child bawling, due to some illness, injury, or injustice done to it? From 6PM–10PM, then from 7AM–
Do you like BYO TP, and holes in the ground?
Do you like it when the couple in the tent closest are singing songs from “The Sound of Music?”
Do you like cold lonely nights in your tent when an unseen German couple in a caravan have showed up, parked far too close and… “if the van’s rocking, don’t bother knocking?”
Do you like presto taps? 6-second ones, 8-second ones, or 60-second ones?
Do you like being in a place where everyone is watching TV; the nearest: a French version of Braveheart?
I like camping. I’m not sure of the reason why.