Songs around the old camp fire

So, two weeks in the Lake District at a peaceful five-flag camp site in the shadow of the mighty Blencathra.

It offered everything the modern camper requires: a quiet shop, a toilet block, somewhere to empty your chemical lav, and internet that cost almost (but not quite) an arm and a leg.

Yes. The toilet block. It being a posh site (We had to join a club to gain access to the place, confirming my emerging old git status), somebody thought it would be a nice idea to pipe music into the toilets, the showers and the washing-up area.

It soon became clear that they only had one CD - a collection of middle of the road classics with a few Radio 2 favourites thrown in - played over and over again. There's only so many times you can listen to Walking in Memphis while taking a dump without going absolutely mental.

Several days into our ordeal by soft rock, I discovered that the CD player was in a small room marked "private" next to the gents' showers. I hatched a plan. All it needed was an Allen key, about half an hour's peace-and-quiet to remove a door and a suitable replacement disc.

Or, I could just wait for the day the cleaners accidentally left the room unlocked.

Tough on MOR music, tough on the causes of MOR music

And, thus armed with a copy of The Smurfs Go Pop, a lucky find at the Keswick Branch of Oxfam (who incurred a sharp intake of breath and not unwarranted Twitter criticism for filing Boney M under 'M'), that the plan sprung into action.

What a beautiful noise.

The next day, the middle of the road classics had returned, and the service room was tightly locked.