The not so happy camper...

This weekend festival season really kicked off with the biggest and most famous of them all - Glastonbury. 

I tried to get tickets because, well, it's Glastonbury, but I am pleased to report I wasn't successful. And I really mean it when I say that. 

Now don't get me wrong. I love FESTIVALS. 

This is me and my friends Rachael, Lauren and Claire at Radio One's Big weekend in Hackney last year. See how happy I look? 

There is a reason for that. At the end of the night I knew I could walk the couple of miles back to my flat, leave my muddy boots at the door, have a nice shower and sleep in a comfy bed. NO TENTS IN SIGHT. 

I HATE camping. Me and sleeping under canvas seriously don't mix. 

My first camping experience was age 12 at Guide camp. The tent fell in during the night so I slept on a pole. Not very comfortable.  

Then there was the year I went to V and I didn't realise there was a hole in the tent - which then flooded when it predictably rained. 

Then of course there was the time I nearly died. Seriously. 

My friend Nic (an experienced camper) suggested a camping trip to Newquay for her birthday a few years ago. 

Forgetting my hatred of camping I enthusiastically agreed and rushed out to buy a two-man pop up tent. 

Pop-up tents! What a great invention. You can't go wrong, right? WRONG. 

Nic headed down to Newquay ahead of us and took my tent with her and kindly 'popped' it up for me.  

After work, my friends Elle, Brooke and I set off. We got there later than planned and in the dark (this was mainly because we took several de-tours to find a Little Chef…)

Everyone was in bed so I suggested the three of us sleep in my tent until the next day when we could put up Brooke's. Yes, it was only a two-man but Elle and Brooke are tiny so we fit easily in and fell asleep. 

A few hours later though I woke up and realised I was heavy breathing. I was confused. My head was a bit foggy. I wanted to sit up but I couldn't. 

Suddenly Elle sat up. 

'is anyone else struggling to breathe?' she gasped. 

'Er, yes me,' I said. 

'We need to get out the tent,' she said. 

'Now.' 

We leaned over a very dazed Brooke to unzip the pop up tent and fell out on the grass, gasping for air. 

When we came round we realised there must be something wrong with the tent. A quick inspection showed there was no ventilation in the tent which was wet with condensation, and by putting three people in a two-man tent, we essentially were suffocating and could have died…. 

We slept in the car that night, fearful of the gas chamber that I'd bought for £34.99. 

I vowed never to sleep in a tent again. 

But fast forward two years, and when my good friend Emily suggested working on behalf of the charity Wateraid at Reading festival, I quickly agreed. The deal was we'd work a few hours a day on a bar by the main stage and in return we'd receive a free ticket to the festival and camping in a workers field. 

Stupidly I presumed this would mean nicer toilets (remember my wet tissue phobia post?. Obvs festivals aren't the greatest for a papyrophobiac like me.)

We got there. We popped up the pop-up tent (checking for ventilation this time) and opened a bottle of Prosecco (classy festival goers.)

Emily, pre-rain

That night we climbed into our sleeping bags and the moment our heads hit our make-shift pillows, there was a rumble in the sky, and the heavens opened. The pitter patter of the rain got louder and LOUDER on the canvas. 

I couldn't sleep. Instead I grabbed my phone, and Googled the nearest Premier Inn, desperate to get out of tent hell. 

But they were full. I could have cried. 

For the next few nights I dreamt of clean white sheets, soft pillows and bubble baths. 

Now don't get me wrong, the festival was fun and I had a great time, but my experience would have been enhanced if I'd had a warm bed and bath to go back to in the evening… 

Some may say I'm not entering into the festival spirit by 'roughing it'. But you can keep your festival spirit. Give me a nice toilet and a place to plug in my GHDs any day. 

So while I am glad the sun is shining for those at Glasto, I truly am happier to watch it from the comfort of my own sofa. You can keep your tents, thank you very much.