Some of you will have followed in Lowdown our previous camping trips with our ‘boys’, Pablo and Nico.

You might have read, no doubt with some incredulity, how after many years tenting, we had decided that we were becoming just too old for the quasi SAS hardships that go hand-in-hand with holidaying under canvas.

With the purchase of our super-duper, tweny-six foot long, twin-axled, white box of dreams, we had said goodbye to sleeping on an inflated mattress (only inches off the floor), and hello to a proper bed in its own room.

We now had a real kitchen with a hob, an oven, and a microwave. We could drink cold wine straight from the fridge.

We evolved from torches to electric lights. Now, we could experience the luxury of staying up after dark, reading, chatting, watching the television (if we so wished).

We also had central heating. We had grown up - perhaps.

The hounds took to trips in the new ’van with some enthusiasm. I am sure they viewed it as some glorified, mobile kennel.

They did seem to enjoy the luxury of sleeping on seating which is as comfortable as that at home. Pablo, particularly, appreciated being able to continue his favourite pastime - that of keeping sentry duty.

At home, he keeps watch by the front gate - in the caravan he uses an elevated vantage point which allows him to see through all the front windows or by looking through the open stable-style door.

Of course, caravanning and tenting have always attracted dog owners. We love living with our canine friends - why not also take them on holiday? This meant that Pablo had lots of four-legged, potential miscreants to monitor.

In early October we had a five-day trip to Emsworth, Hampshire - five constantly sunny and hot days.

It really was a perfect break.

The campsite is a former apple orchard, and given the season, both we and the hounds became familiar with hearing the windfall fruit bouncing off the roof of the ’van.

Though, this could be very startling when it happened during the night!

Pablo and Nico also a few close shaves when tethered outside in the shade of the trees, with apples suddenly thumping down on the ground near to them.

The advantage of this Newtonian harvest was that we could use this free bounty to make some delicious crumbles and pies.

We were based about a mile from the coast with access to some wonderful walks around Chichester harbour. However, we were careful not to exert the ‘boys’ with too much exercise in the heat. Fairly frequent stops in country pubs and other attractive watering holes seemed a suitable precaution.

One morning we walked along the beach below the sea wall at Emsworth. The sun was glistening off the water and nautical types were messing about in the little sailing boats which were moored along the shoreline. It was like walking through a picture postcard.

Pablo and Nico found plenty of scents to investigate around the shingle and rock-pools.

We walked for some time enjoying the scenery on such a wonderful day. When we reached a rather ancient, wooden jetty, we decided to turn around and head back. It was then that we noticed that the tide has suddenly, silently, come in behind us.

As there were no exits from the beach along the sea wall we had to retrace our steps quite quickly to avoid being cut-off by the fast, incoming tide. Frankie and Pablo managed to make fast progress, even though the sea had reached the wall in some places. As on all these little excursions I had assumed the roll of a Yak, or some other beast of burden; and was handicapped by carrying bags containing our picnic lunch, dog water bottles, camera etc.

Before setting off, I rolled up my jeans and took off my shoes. Blimey! the shingle was pretty uncomfortable to walk on.

Also, I had to wait for Nico who was oblivious to any drama and was paddling merrily around a bobbing sail boat - he had always liked sea swimming since being a puppy.

He found my attempts to catch and put him on his lead a really good game. My pursuit of him was hindered by the sharp shingle underfoot, and the attempts to keep my camera, my shoes and the packed lunch dry.

The sea was now at knee level. Nico was still doggy-paddling merrily, his surplus skin floating around him like the skirts of one of those early Cotterall hovercrafts that crossed the English Channel in the early sixties.

I thought that I should change tactics and head towards the concrete landing stage at the end of the harbour, where Frankie and Pablo were standing - both of them watching my water ballet with some amusement - in the hope that Nico would follow. It was then that I heard a rhythmic ‘putt-putt-putt’ sound of a two-stroke, outboard motor.

From behind me appeared an inflatable dingy - with a scruffy little terrier at its bow. The old sailor steering the craft was straight out of central casting - grey, grizzled beard, face the colour of creosote, even a navy-blue cap.

“Need a hand, matey?” The voice had a heavy Hampshire burr. “Well, yes. Thank you”, I replied, trying not to seem too desperate.

Nico had also heard the dingy and had spotted the little terrier bitch on board.

He made no effort to escape the craft as it came along side him, or Capt’n Haddock who grabbed his collar and hauled him on board. There, Nico and the terrier greeted each other warmly (only after he had shaken furiously, spraying seawater over his rescuer).

I was about to wade towards the craft for my lift, when the outboard motor roared into life and the craft set off at speed towards the landing stage, leaving me to follow, very gingerly, on foot.

“Oh, thanks”, I muttered under my breath. Any hope that he might be coming back for me or, at least, my baggage was fleeting.

By the time that I reached the landing stage, emerging from the water with as much dignity as I could muster, Frankie and Haddock were sitting on the sea wall chatting - and I should add, laughing. Nico, Pablo and Kipper the terrier were chasing each other around the boatyard at the top of the landing stage, having great fun. Though my jeans were sodden to the waist, I tried my best to seem amused at the - to my mind rather inane - comments that greeted my arrival.

As the three of us sat on the sea wall in the hot sun, watching the dogs playing, we ate our picnic lunch and my humour improved enormously, helped considerably by the speed at which my jeans were drying out.

I didn’t even mind sharing with the old sea dog my handmade game pie and bottles of beer, as he told us some very convoluted, but funny, boating stories.

That evening back at the caravan, Nico slept deeper than ever; even waking Pablo with his loud snoring - though his occasional leg twitches suggested that he may have been re-living the day in his dreams.

Our five days away passed almost too quickly. But they were tremendously enjoyable. We realised that caravanning was noticeably easier and more comfortable than tenting; and we returned fully rested and refreshed.

We are looking forward to spending a few dark, winter evenings planning our caravanning programme for 2012. I know that ‘the boys’ would also be looking forward to further adventures with the ’van, if they could. Roll on next year!