“CAMPING?” I shrieked after I received an invitation earlier this year.

However, I managed to wriggle out of that offer and stayed in a Bed & Breakfast.

But this time, I had no option but to take the bull by the horns and sleep for three nights in a tent in the great outdoors as six of us decided to go the 80s Rewind music festival in Perth.

“How bad can it be?” asked my daughter Jenna. “After all, it’s only for three nights.”

Day one and I was full of enthusiasm for my new adventure.

Nevertheless, reality soon kicked in when I discovered the campsite was a 15 minute trek from the car.

Resembling an Eastern Sierra packhorse, I dragged my weary legs three times to and from the campsite until all necessary items were unloaded.

Hours later, with the tent successfully erected and everything unpacked, the six of us sat down in the sunshine with a well-earned glass of wine.

“Ah... this is not too bad after all,” I mused.

Day two and never having owned a onesie, I was assured that this was an essential part of camping attire so Jenna had thoughtfully stuffed one inside my holdall.

But unbeknown to me, and it wasn’t until I pulled it from my bag, that I discovered it was a giant fluffy dog onesie – complete with ears and whiskers.

Now resembling a Pyrenean Mountain Dog, I eagerly waited on my full English breakfast cooked by our chef, Christine.

“I’m quite enjoying this outdoors lark,” I thought as I finished my tea and toast.

“I’ll do the dishes,” I offered after enjoying my feast and wanting to do my bit.

But, the palaver of having to walk for water, wait on water boiling, and squatting on a mat to wash dishes, suddenly made me question why I ever moaned at emptying my dishwasher.

But, washing myself was another matter.

The shower was miles away and the waiting time was roughly 50 minutes.

“Wipes Janice?” Christine said. “I did tell you to bring wipes.”

And yes, I had wipes of every description which I used sparingly before dressing in my now creased clothes.

All was going well until suddenly the rain started.

“Move in here,” I said beckoning my companions inside the large tent.

“The rain will be off soon,” I assured them.

And sure enough the rain temporarily halted ... to be replaced by an extremely heavy hailstorm. Hail was soon rattling down on the tent like icy bullets.

“It’s July,” I thought. “Hailstones. Bloody hailstones.”

But, we decided we didn’t want to miss out on the 80s bands so we put on our wellies and ponchos and trekked through the mud towards the main arena.

And talk about mud.

There was mud everywhere.

The puddles were getting deeper and deeper and I was so pleased that I had invested in a pair of wellies.

Day three and my dog onesie now reminded me of a neighbour’s smelly mangy dog.

But it was still keeping me cosy so I wasn’t parting with it anytime soon.

Another brilliant breakfast and more dishes. Which meant more water. Which meant more trips through puddles to the tap.

“It’s like living in war times,” I bleated to Jenna on the phone.

“War times?” she squawked.

“Mum, you’re wearing Ted Baker wellies, whilst on your mobile phone and drinking Pinot Grigio. You’re hardly slumming it.”

And all the while it was still raining.

In fact, it hadn’t stopped in 24 hours and again we headed back to the arena to listen to more 80s bands.

The music was brilliant and I was still managing to keep my pecker up considering the highs and lows of camping which were all new to me.

Four o’clock in the morning and I needed the toilet.

I had shoogled and shoogled for more than an hour before finally giving in.

Crawling out of bed, I zipped up my onesie and put the hood up.

As it was still raining (surprise surprise), I put on my poncho with the hood up and then my wellies.

Realising it was dark, I had the good sense to put on a head torch I had been given.

“Morning,” smiled the security guards who were patrolling the campsite.

I opened three different toilet cubicles before I found one that was clean enough to step inside.

All set with my tissues and wipes I attempted to unzipped my onesie.

But I couldn’t get it off because the hood was up and on top of the onesie hood was the poncho hood ...and on top of the poncho hood was the head torch ...Aaargh!!! What a blinkin hassle to have a pee!

There I was, stuck in this tiny, smelly cubicle like Houdini attempting the Great Escape.

Breaking out of my fluffy dog onesie was my greatest challenge yet.

And believe me, it’s not easy peeling the layers off while trying not to let the fabric touch the smelly toilet, and try doing what you have to do while balancing tissues, wipes and a head torch.

Day four and we had run out of breakfast food. And you’ve guessed it, it was still pouring.

The campsite was now a mud bath and ahead of us were three long trips through the mud to the car park.

“I’ll go ahead and take some stuff,” I offered as the tent was being dismantled.

But by now, with vehicles leaving the landscape had changed somewhat and I couldn’t find the car.

Walking up and down rows of muddy vehicles while beeping the car key in the hope that the car lights would flash was not a lot of fun as I slipped and slided.

And now even the insides of my new designer wellies were filled with mud.

“We’ll be better organised next year,” Piped up Christine.

I think my silence said it all.