From about the ages of eight to eighteen, I spent nearly every weekend from early spring to late autumn in a tent in some farmer's field with my parents and their friends camped nearby. I started off in a small pup tent with wooden poles, no flysheet and a tarp groundsheet, with the grass coming up inside the tent. In time I moved on to a tent with zips, a sewn in groundsheet, metal poles and best of all a fly sheet so I stopped getting wet every time it rained. Most of the time I shared my space with my dog which was fine until he had an itch. No one sleeping on an airbed sleeps through a dog leaning on you while it has a good scratch. I have really good memories, as a teenager, of getting organised with the other kids and camping in a corner of the field, away from the grown ups, cooking and generally looking after ourselves.
When I got married, our first holidays were under canvass using the tent from my youth and later my parents' old tent. When the kids came along, we carried on for a while, they shared my old tent and we bought a larger version for ourselves. For a while, the urge to camp wore off and my only "camping" was the odd expedition or bit of survival training provided by HRH. Then the camping urge had one last fling after the kids left for college. We bought a motor camper with the intention of eventually disappearing into Europe on an extended road trip. That never happened, though it got close.
Sometimes the urge to wild camp returns, but now it would be a solo activity - Mrs N has made that clear. The thought of a quiet night out on the moors or in the hills has its appeal but the thought of spending a small fortune on what will, at best, be a fairly intermittent, lonely and possibly uncomfortable activity still does not have sufficient appeal. I think maybe over the years I am all camped out and still like my creature comforts too much.