Today we constructed a new tent in our back garden, a Cath Kidston floral thing. It looks lovely. The plan is for the Coles to camp at the forthcoming Wychwood Festival on the Saturday night and enjoy two fine days appreciating the vibes at Cheltenham Racecourse. I spent an hour or two sitting and reclining in it this afternoon, reading the papers and finishing ‘Said and Done’, the Roger McGough autobiography I have been working through this week. I felt quietly relaxed inside the tent but know that even one night at Wychwood represents quite a challenge; I have developed something approaching a phobia about camping and sleeping in tents and am prone to encounter nasty panicky sensations in the things. Back gardens are fine. I would love to conquer these demons. I cherished my youthful visits to Glastonbury and Reading (although experienced grim tenty panics at both) and feel I am missing out on wistful festival-attending as a result of my reticence to sleep under canvas. Perhaps Wychwood will help.