Waking up in a tent with your kid half on your face and half in your sleeping bag is, in my opinion, one of the great feelings going. You might have a frozen hooter and a neck that feels like it’s been set in concrete overnight, but it’s still 100% worth it.

I’ve had many mornings like this since becoming a dad, and I plan to keep going until I’m either politely uninvited or physically too creaky to unzip a fly sheet.

Most dad-friends I speak to want this kind of 1:1 camping experience with their kid too: a night in the woods somewhere with a small fire crackling and stars winking overhead offering a proper hiatus from the constant glow of screens. Yet for too many well-intentioned parents, these experiences just never happen. Not enough time, not enough gear, not entirely sure what you’re doing…perceived barriers that plonk brilliant adventures into the “too much faff” basket or, worse still, the “maybe next year” pile.

In reality, though, it’s far, far simpler than it looks.

With a touch of forward planning, the right mindset, and just 12-15 hours, anyone can do this, and you’ll soon realise it’s essentially a slightly ambitious sleepover with worse pillows.

The greatest myth of all is that you need lots of time for an adventure. It doesn’t. Adventure is a potent drug that can deliver fantastic results in even the smallest of doses.

One of my favourite things to do is turn an otherwise forgettable weekend or midweek evening into a microadventure. Finding a suitable location on a map, packing essential but minimal gear and zipping out after school pick up with my adventure buddy for a night of the good stuff. There’s a buzz to it, a thrill that makes me feel like a renegade who’s breaking the rules in the kingdom of dinner, bath, book and bed.

Spring is prime time for this too. We are entering the golden season for overnight camping trips - longer days, warmer nights and nature in her full, glorious flex.

This time last year I took both kids out on separate 1:1 overnighters in our local woods. With Luna, I picked a patch of evergreen woodland that required minimal walking in. This was a calculated move, based on strong historical evidence that her “I can’t walk any further” would arrive early and with theatrical commitment (I was right on both counts).

On the way we found “magic wands” and cast spells at trees. We stopped to listen to chiffchaffs in full warble and once set up, we drew the scene, climbed fallen trees, and demolished pre-made spag bol like two woodland goblins. The next morning she chased a group of fallow deer with such intent I briefly questioned whether I’d raised a child or released one back into the wild. We made it home by 9am in time for pancakes.

With Jet, we went in on bikes so we could get a bit further amongst it. I let him choose the campsite, which added a level of jeopardy. Thankfully he picked a solid spot rather than the one that had very clearly been churned into oblivion by wild boar.

Dinner was dehydrated meals, which he loves and I love for entirely different reasons. We ate, headed out on a torch-lit night safari, then back to the tent for three fiercely competitive games of Uno and a tent-time story. Back home in time for breaky (pancakes, of course).

These microadventures punch well above their weight because they break the routine and humdrum of our parenting schedules. They’re a cheap injection of semi-controlled chaos that flips a regular night into an opportunity to connect to nature and forge an unforgettable memory.

Jet and I fell asleep to tawny owls above and rustling undergrowth below, rather than the steady hum of traffic outside our house. Luna and I sat with hot drinks in easy silence, listening to songbirds instead of the usual breakfast table bedlam. This isn’t some far-flung escape either. It’s all here, minutes from our front door, hiding just beyond the edge of our routine.

I love how these trips strip out the digital noise and simmer life down to it’s simple ingredients: doing something fun, with people you love, outside.

So go on, Spring’s here and the evenings are stretching out. Pick a spot, chuck this lot in a bag, and go and sleep there.

You’ll be disproportionately glad you did.