A new kind of farm holiday involving tents with mod cons.' This headline is typical of those dotted throughout the weekend supplements, to describe articles about camping.

Another - How to make happy campers out of townies' - grabbed my attention last Saturday.

The children love the tent', it read. It is robust, with a proper wooden floor, shelvingand a flush loothey especially like the bunks with ladder and central wooden bed-in a-cupbaord.' This tent' also contained a table over which hung a candelabra, a stove, pots and pans, and running water in the kitchen area'.

I'm sorry, but this isn't camping. I find it disturbing that children are growing up believing that a couple of nights tucked up under duck-down duvets in cosy bunk beds, with rugs on the floor, crockery in the kitchen' and trendy lighting, constitutes camping.

It's home from home, that's what it is. People used to mock families who went on holiday with everything but the kitchen sink', especially if they were kipping under canvas - which is supposed to be a taste of basic living.

Now they don't have to pack the car to the gills, because, for the new breed of campers, booking into teepees, yurts and marquees made from the finest yak wool, it is all laid on for them.

Where I come from, camping involves waking up in a sweaty tent with half the insect population of Britain stuck to the canvas. It is about fumbling in the dark, crawling over other campers in the middle of the night to find the loo roll, before walking across a wet fields to the toilet block. It is about cooking on a little gas Primus using a flimsy tin not much bigger than a sardine can to fry six eggs, eight tomatoes and 15 rashers of bacon. And praying for sunshine.

None of that matters on these posh camp sites, for people who don't want to rough it.

I've nothing against them. Some people want their home comforts. My parents never took us camping (we camped with our friends), preferring self-catering cottages. What annoys me is their nerve in calling it camping'. These so-called campers' are not even bringing their own tents. They are not having to wrestle with poles and pegs on uneven ground while keeping the children entertained. They just turn up and move in. Their tents' may be short on the vast range of luxuries they are used to, but the hardships are minimal.

Let's be honest, even camping as I know it is changing, with spacious tents, fancy awnings and fold-away tables and chairs available at affordable prices.

The heart is being ripped out of camping - the discomfort, the hardship, the utter misery when it pours down. I hope the real experience won't be lost forever. I can't imagine Sid James and Kenneth Williams in a swanky teepee with Laura Ashley drapes, corner sofas and a mezzanine boudoir. Without musty old tents there would be no Carry on Camping.

Lets bring back real camping.' Like the Campaign for Real Ale, let the Campaign for Real Camping begin. My flimsy tent and inadequate accessories are available for inspection anytime.