I love the great outdoors. It’s no good telling me I’m wrong, that life al fresco is hateful and uncomfortable and that I don’t like it, because I do. And now our entire enterprise is setting off on what amounts to a huge camping expedition, I could not be happier. Waking up in a tent, growing dimly aware of the gentle kiss of soft rain on canvas as the watery morning sun animates the tent’s skin with a living glow and the ground imposes its stubborn lumps and bumps on muscles still tired from the previous day’s walk — yes, that’s camping. There’s breakfast to be made, outside in the rain, and the tent to be folded up and stuffed into a rucksack to haul