The rules of middle-class camping

I’ve just returned from a middle-class camping holiday. I don’t mean one of those camping weekends that doubles as a literary festival, like Port Eliot in Cornwall. I mean I’ve just spent three nights at a campsite that is middle-class all year round. Blackberry Wood in Sussex is about ten miles from Brighton and while there isn’t actually a sign on the gate saying ‘No Riff Raff’, you’re very much in BBC1 sitcom territory circa 1976. I kept expecting to bump into Margo and Jerry in the washing-up area.

As you’d expect, there are numerous rules of etiquette that aren’t written down anywhere but are religiously observed. Personal computers, for instance, are frowned upon. I found this out within minutes of arriving when I was ‘caught’ watching the Olympics on my MacBook Pro. I knew Caroline would disapprove of this — ‘We’re supposed to be camping, for God’s sake’ — so I pretended I was going off to look for wood for the bonfire.