There comes a time in a girl’s life when she simply needs to upgrade. It might be a new handbag, a twist on your mum’s chocolate-pudding recipe, a realisation that you can no longer travel long-haul in economy...

One such moment came to me this summer, on a rainy Sunday afternoon at the end of June, as I watched the carcass of my tent, the backdrop for so many summer memories, collapse in a green and pink nylon tangle into 12 inches of Glastonbury mud.

Camping has changed. It’s a world away from what you used to do as a kid – all sodden sleeping bags and wistful dreams of a beach hotel on the Med. Perhaps because of the proliferation of music festivals where if you don’t camp, you don’t sleep, perhaps because our guilt over carbon footprints has given us a yen for the natural life, camping is no longer the last holiday resort of the stony broke: it’s a positive choice. And books such as Cool Camping (www.coolcamping.co.uk), the second-bestselling travel guide last year, have helped to transform the experience into something verging on the glamorous.

And as camping has changed, so have I. No longer the hedonistic single girl, I now have a husband and a baby. When the quagmire of Pilton’s annual jamboree swallowed the tent into its jaws, I knew it was time to move on a stage – from camper to glamper.

GLAMPING is a heady mix of glamour and the great outdoors, in which the freedom and challenge of going back to nature are tempered by home-making skills and the pleasures of domesticity. Glampers donate their roll mats to the boy scouts. For them, sheepskin rugs, leather pouffes, chilled champagne boxes, silk- and muslin-strewn gazebos, Egyptian-cotton sheets, blow-up sofas, double duvets – even tea-light chandeliers – are all part of the alfresco setup.

For the experienced glamper, the design of the tent is crucial. Too big and it takes hours to erect – and is a pain to lug around. Too small and you can end up in chaos. It needs to be waterproof, easy to put up and well ventilated. A through draught from openings at the front and the back is vital – every camper knows that sticky feeling as the fetid air of the tent heats up under the morning sun and your temporary home turns into Dante’s inferno. A decompression chamber is a must – at least two compartments, so when you’re sopping wet/covered in mud, you can dump your sodden outer layer in one section, preserving the second for dry, clean bodies and those white Egyptian-cotton sheets.

Excitingly, as the glamping cognoscenti know, there’s a new tent in town that ticks all those boxes – size, shape, colour, ventilation. It has irresistible retro appeal and just about the right level of practicality. It is a canvas bell tent that goes up around a central pole and is secured with guy ropes. It is four metres in diameter, though for those with bigger biceps and/or more kids, there is a five-metre version (prices from £249; www.belltent.co.uk).

I phoned in my order, and the distributor whistled through his teeth. Turns out I was his 500th this summer. So, off we trotted to the West Country to try it all out – baby Sam, pushchair, luggage, tent, beds all in tow, on the train. Yes, it was just about possible with two of us and some very kind guards at Waterloo and Exeter St Davids. Delayed by extensive flooding, we arrived at the site at 11.30pm, in the pitch dark – with a baby now in his 12th hour of wakefulness and a tent we had never put up before.

But it couldn’t have been simpler. Twenty minutes, one pole, one groundsheet, two glasses of wine and 10 guy ropes later, our perfect home was standing tall, waterproof and snug as a bug. Sam was asleep on a four-ply cashmere blanket 90 seconds later. We weren’t far behind him.

If any further proof were needed of the fabulous nature of our upgrade, it came the following morning. Sam woke up, checked out his new surroundings and crawled onto our bed in delight. I pulled open one of the four Velcro windows so that he could look out across the field as the sun glistened on the dewy grass. We cracked open our little stove, put the water on for tea and shared a croissant together. And, as we sat there smugly, stretching out in our roomy, groovy canvas number, we heard a couple walk by. “Cor, look at that one. That’s great, isn’t it?” said a woman’s voice. “Oh, those,” replied a man’s. “They would have been set up well in advance. You can probably rent them off the organisers.” House proud doesn’t come close.

Where to glamp

Ayr Holiday Park, St Ives
www.ayrholidaypark.co.uk
Posh loos, beach views and a short walk to town in your Jimmy Choos.

Lower Porthamel Organic Farm, Powys
www.smallfarms.co.uk
An orchard camp site with outstanding local produce.

Beecraigs Country Park, West Lothian
www.beecraigs.com
A secluded area among tall pines on an idyllic deer farm.

Low Wray, Ambleside
www.lowwraycampsite.org.uk
Enjoy expansive Windermere views without the usual crowds.

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