Considering that we were camping in a pre-erected tent (or tipi) which came with bed bases for all of us, the preparations for our departure involved an awful lot of shopping. We were very lucky in that we borrowed a gas camping stove from my friend Imogen, who is far too near giving birth to her third child to be even contemplating camping this year (or next, I imagine!). The Wees already have sleeping bags, and I decided that I was far too old for wriggling around in a nylon sack, and our own duvet, with white cotton cover and matching pillowcases would be packed. This may seem a little over-the-top to you, but I assure you that this is nothing compared to the camping habits of my darling sister-in-law who packed white linen tablecloths, candelabra, silver and insisted that we all dine Black Tie. We even had a very jolly man come by and light the ‘donkey’, which was a rather Heath Robinson contraption that heated the water for our individual showers under the Namibian skies. However, I digress…. but you will soon find out why Namibian camping s-i-l style is such an easy reminiscence to fall into…

Shopping: we had to buy a dinky kettle (early morning cup of tea is non-negotiable, anywhere in the world), cheap cutlery, plastic plates and bowls, a barbecue, a picnic rug, camping chairs… the trolley filled at exponential speed. Where was this cheap holiday?

Early on Friday morning we gathered ourselves, enjoyed our last hot shower, I dried my hair and tried not to think about the forthcoming lack of electricity, and packed. And packed. And packed. And unpacked Wees ‘essentials’. And packed. By lunchtime (2 hours late) we were ready to set off. After a glorious week the mist started to descend over our lovely mountains and we rubbed our hands with glee, thinking we were going to leave the bad weather behind.

How wrong we were… a 4-hour journey turned into a 6-hour journey, crawling through mist and drizzle so dense we had to use fog lights. The Wees were amazing: apart from the not-quite-so-soon as 1 minute into the journey ‘how long till we get there?’, they were darlings, watching the world go by. In one town, Wee1, who constantly delights himself with his newly-acquired reading ability, passed the time reading traffic signs and shop names. ‘T; E; S; C; O: Mummy – there’s another shop called Tesco!!!‘ Yes, darling, I said… ‘Wow – does that mean there are TWO Tescos in this world?‘ If only, I thought….!

Eventually we arrived and were met by the loveliest, kindest, most helpful man imaginable. He directed us to the Tipi field (as yet out of sight) and as we drove in there was the most exuberant, heartfelt and unanimous ‘WOW!!!’. Suddenly the rain did not matter one jot.

The Wees ran barefoot through cold wet grass, we unpacked the car and lit the tiny but effective wood-burning stove and settled in for the family holiday of a lifetime.

We ran out of dry clothes; we ran out of dry bedding (Wee2 found the whole thing rather too exciting); we lived off takeaway food supplemented by local strawberries for 2 days (the barbecue would NOT light); we trudged through rain and mud to shower and to get fresh drinking water; and we would do it all again: maybe not tomorrow, but next year without doubt!