Every summer for five years, my friends and I would pack up our sleeping bags, map cases, and boil-in-the-bag meals to wander around cow fields in the rain. You may be familiar with this as the Duke of Edinburgh Award. But in all honesty, this tradition was important to me – I love the independence of wild camping and forged many friendships in less-than-ideal weather. One of my friends genuinely got Trench Foot from sleeping in such a soggy tent, in soggy socks.

When camping and hiking, carrying your tent can be tough - especially if, like my group, you’re a terrible navigator. On my first DofE hike, we turned the 10km route into a half marathon and waiting parents couldn’t understand how we got so lost. A different summer, very into True Crime podcasts, I vividly remember the funny looks from a sleepy Cumbrian town, with details of the latest murder blasting from a speaker swinging from my bag. The True Crime fixation ended quite suddenly as I walked along Lake Edale late at night (lost again), torches all dead, and listening to an episode about missing hikers...

The real bane of a camping holiday? Cooking. That’s why I can’t recommend Youth Hostels enough. You get all the luxuries of staying in a hostel – think Wi-Fi, a games room, a bar, a restaurant, and a self-catered kitchen – but for the price of camping in their garden. And although many people like a BBQ photoshoot, I don’t think they’re worth the hassle: your meat comes out pink or black and I’ve nearly destroyed one too many friendships over a sausage. In first year, my friend tried to take the hostel lifestyle to the next level by camping in the middle of Lenton and Wortley Hall - he was moved along by a confused security guard by midnight.

Another pain of camping is the transport. If you don’t have a car then you end up on the train, sitting on your bag between the toilet and fire exit, shuffling awkwardly every time someone needs the loo. The last time I went camping, my friend tied his tent poles to the outside of his bag which tumbled onto the train tracks. The same fated poles stabbed a hole in my rucksack, puncturing a can I’d been saving and leaking beer around Manchester Piccadilly until someone pointed out the Hansel-and-Gretel trail of Corona behind me. Tying poles to your bag is a bad idea!

But, despite the bad navigation, bad weather and bad cooking, I love camping. Next month, I’m going to Buckingham palace to celebrate my Gold Duke of Edinburgh Award with the same friends I went camping with all those years.

It goes to show: if your friendship can survive a camping holiday, nothing can break you apart.