Camping only a holiday if your house is worse than a tent

CAMPING is only a holiday if your normal house is worse than a tent, it has been confirmed.

The activity, which demands that participants leave all their nice stuff behind and sleep in a bag, is now in the same class as visiting elderly relatives and getting your tyres balanced.

Camper Julian Cook said: “Now you mention it, I did start looking forward to going home as soon as we got here. But I assumed it was because I’ve been with my children.”

Fields – euphemistically called ‘campsites’ – have also been proven to be colder, less connected to wifi and more prone to ants than houses, flats and bungalows.

Cook’s wife Helen said: “I’d always wondered why the ‘best’ campsites were the ones with the most house stuff in them. Fuck this, we’re off.”

Similarly, caravanning is only a holiday if your house is worse than a large trailer, and going to Yorkshire is only a holiday if you live in a well.

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God help me, now I'm writing a nostalgic article about f**king video shops

by Wayne Hayes

WHETHER it’s Woolworths, CDs or Neapolitan ice-cream, every journalist of a certain age is used to knocking out articles about how we’ll miss that thing that’s gone after nobody used it. 

But this is my toughest ultra-short-term nostalgia piece yet. Because today, I have to try to pretend that I will miss video fucking rental shops. 

Remember them? Video shops? The late fees, the crappy choice, the terrible disappointment of choosing a film based only on the box artwork? Missed them? Of course you haven’t. 

You’d go along with friends, but Christ you wouldn’t leave with them. You don’t want to watch this, and they don’t want to watch that, and you end up sitting sullenly through some compromise nobody wanted but nobody didn’t want. Meet Joe Black or some shit. 

Yeah, I’m heartbroken. Especially about those corner shops that did a few racks of always the same films, Mac and Me or The Kindred or House, and the soft-porn one you wanted to get but was worried the shopkeeper would tell your dad. 

Ah, those three-for-two offers you’d spread your bets with and then be watching Species at 3pm on a Sunday to beat the deadline. Just fantastic. 

In conclusion, they were wonderful places that we all love. Next week: remember how great it was that any album older than two months cost £18.99 at HMV? Happy times.