Is it just me, or is camping never ‘happy’?

According to a survey of 11,000 people last week, those who go camping are jollier than the ones who don’t.

Almost half of those damp, deluded souls say they feel happy every day, compared with 35 per cent of non-campers. Well, what a load of old tent poles.

Surveys never give you the whole story, but as far as I’m concerned camping is about as far from the elixir of happiness as red wine costing under a fiver — and at least that will get you tipsy.

The only time I’ve ever felt pleasantly dizzy while camping is when I fell out of a camp bed, hit my head and forgot where I was.

For some, masochism has its attractions. Those who spent their childhood in spartan boarding schools might enjoy the nostalgia of communal shower blocks and barely cooked food.

British tent life will inevitably include rain, condensation and wet grass, while in warmer countries you gently poach to death while fending off mosquitos, or, the further afield you roam, even more exotic fauna

But for those whose parents loved them, climbing into a sleeping bag is nothing but a clingy, whiffy experience, like spending a night with a toddler who’s had an accident.

British tent life will inevitably include rain, condensation and wet grass, while in warmer countries you gently poach to death while fending off mosquitos, or, the further afield you roam, even more exotic fauna.

The faff of erecting the damn tent and finding a place for all its accoutrements means everyone gets on each other’s nerves immediately, yet there’s no hotel bar to go and sulk in.

On day two, exhausted already, the sense of misery really sets in and, like the iron-grey clouds above, never lifts.

Of course, the survey does not specify how those bathing in bucolic bliss are actually camping.

I suspect that they are not truly roughing it, but instead happily ‘camping’ in a luxury motorhome with its own flushing chemical loo, wi-fi and non- stop Netflix.