Damp earth. I spent most of childhood holidays in campsites around the country in the pouring rain. Of course it doesn’t matter at that age, no amount of torrential rain would ever dampen the thrill of meeting new friends and starting a thousand secret societies. A memory I hold dear is from all those nights in my bunkbed. We had a VW camper van, Mr Jones, and the roof would push up with and small bunkbeds would pull out from the sides. Lying there in my sleeping bag, all tucked up and warm, and looking out on the rain at night through the cloudy old plastic window, the smell of damp earth, that was always present in Mr Jones, filled my nostrils, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more content. Now when I camp I feel satisfied, smelling the earth, hearing the rain patter down, whilst being all wrapped up and warm.

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