Last weekend I went Glamping. As much of my childhood was spent on a campsite, in whichever part of the country famous for being rainy and with decent access to National Trust properties that happened to take my parents’ fancy, I am comfortable around a canvas structure and bad weather forecast.

Whether or not my camping pedigree, I mused as the 4.20pm Reading to Taunton service whisked me deeper and deeper into warm-wet-Westerly territory, would bare any relevance in the more refined settings of a yurt, was another question.

After a torrid and sodden cycle from the station to the campsite, I arrived, hugged my waiting friend and inspected the surroundings. The tent was beautiful.

According to farmer Rosie who set up the site with her husband, the yurt was bought in flat-pack form from a Dutch company.

The communal area was spacious, with a corner sofa, kitchenette, table (featuring a loaf of freshly baked bread, four eggs with chickens fluff on and a gingham topped jar of jam) and wood burning stove. On the way to the bedroom a bathroom equipped with an electric shower and bath radio stood on the left, before a huge four-poster and twin set of bunk beds provided a comfy finish.

In truth, glamping is really not like camping. Aside from a brief and hugely unsuccessful game of midnight badminton and a paddle around the site’s own private lake (one of our party did, thankfully, fall in) we were kept very much away from the elements.

For those who enjoy their creature comforts yet want to feel the soft mist of a Somerset morning on their face, glamping is an excellent choice.

For those who enjoy bodging around, getting wet, muddy and thoroughly in need of a warming camp fire however, it might be too far a step from mother nature.

Yurts are available for hire at www.somerleazeglamping.co.uk/