Last bank holiday weekend, I went glamping for the first time. For those who may not know, glamping is as the name indicates an upgraded version of camping: fresh air and nature, sure, but accompanied by a comfy bed and no need to shit in a bucket. Sounds good. Our little pod even had a little TV, so we could watch the football and play music while cooking.
We stayed in a tiny camp in Notgrove, a place so ancient it is actually mentioned in the Doomsday Book. Nearby villages included the equally small and oddly named Slaughter. Our schedule: barbecues and ice cream, cycling, wanders around random pathways and highly competitive table tennis contests.
In our time in Notgrove, we saw more sheep than people and walked through some amazing little parishes from a foregone age, with electoral lists that fit a single A4 sheet of paper, quirky house names and old churches surrounded by the tombs of 19th century imperial casualties. Surreal.
Strangely, the weather was really nice too which made our stay all the more pleasant and relaxing. If you fancy a quiet weekend away from the craziness of the city, I’d highly recommended glamping in the Cotswolds. Here are a few pics: