There was a time, not so long ago, that staycation was an alien concept to a large chunk of the UK population, but it seems everybody is doing it.
Spending your holiday in Blighty is no longer the preserve of caravanners from Cleethorpes.
Our tourist chiefs, who have done a great job of showcasing the natural beauty of our fair islands, can barely contain their glee at the protracted drama that is Project Chaos – AKA Brexit.
Thomas Cook, which has whisked away holidaymakers abroad for the best part of 180 years, has announced losses exceeding £1bn. The blame for this is mainly being put down to our inability to leave the EU.
And it seems camping is on the up. But spending days on end wearing the same clothes while not washing properly is not my thing.
However, last weekend I was persuaded by a group of fellow dads from my daughter’s school to cast aside my long-held prejudices and spend a weekend in a field.
Dad’s Camp has now become something of a movement, meaning fathers everywhere have to leave the lawnmower and Sky Sports for two days to spend quality time with their offspring.
But before the real fun begins, there is the very serious task of putting up the tent to consider. For some, this is a doddle, but I found it as straightforward as nuclear physics.
The instructions that came with our tent proclaim that it can be erected in just 12 minutes.
What the author neglected to say was that this could only be achieved with a small platoon of commandos.
What struck me during our 40-odd hours getting away from it all was that camping is no longer something that only scouts and brownies do, but is now a bona fide 21st century pastime.
The fields at our site were full of expensive family cars and I saw at least one supermarket delivery van making multiple drop-offs of essential supplies.
Apart from having my shorts ripped open as I attempted to clear a farmer's fence, it was a screen-free weekend enjoyed by all.
Who said Brexit was all bad?