EASEDOWN week seven … and it turns out the Quarter Master has been busy. Desperate to be back out on manoeuvres, he has been planning his escape. I reckon he’s been tunnelling away with that teaspoon for a couple of months now. But his mission is accomplished. He’s managed to dig our way out … and we’re on a “staycation”.

Apparently, these are all the rage, given that there’s a deadly virus haunting the globe. Why we think it’s giving Perthshire a wide berth is unclear. But the QM reckons the enemy won’t catch us as long as we stick with the camouflage gear, keep our heads down and persevere with the balaclavas. Personally, I think he’s taking the face-covering thing a bit too far, but he swears by his Army And Navy Stores supplies. This is possibly because he spent his childhood dressed as a Japanese officer.

We’re not alone in embracing the staycation concept. The boom in UK holidays has also sparked a revival in camping.

Despite a downturn on much of the high street, retailers say shoppers have been snapping up tents, sleeping bags and cooking equipment, with many camping staples selling out.

But we’re not camping. We’re still dealing with the PTSD from the first – and last – time we tried a holiday under canvas.

Having done Camping For Wimps (mobile homes in various sunny Mediterranean climes), we reckoned Easter on Mull would be a breeze.

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Well, it certainly was a breeze. Then some. Howling gale is a more accurate description.

It didn’t start well. We each thought the other had packed the mallet, without which erecting a tent is a wee bit tricky. But no harm done. We borrowed one and got our tent up and running.

Then the weather changed. We were right on the coast. The chance of being blown to Oban was looking increasingly likely. Sometime around midnight, the tent pegs started popping out. The QM, armed with a rock due to the absence of the mallet (apparently, that’s still my fault), was running around the tent in horizontal rain desperately bashing pegs back in slower than they popped out. I’d like to say I helped, but I mostly slept blissfully through the drama, as did our son.

Sadly, the dug did not. The excitement of this new tent-peg bashing game got too much for him, his bladder got the better of him, and now the QM had a very wet sleeping bag. Oops.

As dawn broke the following morning, I’m afraid we called it quits and decamped.

We were wimps. Proper camping in Scotland in a howling gale was not for us.

Last week, among readers who responded to a callout by The Guardian was Kathryn, who was planning a first-time camping holiday with her family. She explains: “We ordered everything from the tent to the spare pegs, the air beds to the camping stove.”

The family booked a campsite and awaited their order. But then they received an email from the store saying one item was missing – the tent.

Kathryn, we can help. We have a tent, used once, in the shed. All yours. I don’t think we’ll ever be using it again.