I don't do camping.
The very first time my husband and I went on vacation together, several years before we got married, I was cool that there was no electric, all the lighting was hurricane lamps.....I was cool that we were going to live out of a cooler for food, but I could cook because the stove was propane and I could even live with having to heat water on the stove because the only water was going to be cold.
I was able to handle all these thing, and it was his family cabin, up in the mountains of New Hampshire and he hadn't been there since before his dad had died - I'm a good trroper, I really am. We were there 4 days and we got a motel room so I could get a shower - because the shower at the cabin was also outside and was supplied by that same mountain river water as was inside.
I drew the line at the outhouse being more than 50 feet from the door - at the end of October? To me running water means indoor plumbing.
I don't do camping.
Then, why should I convince you otherwise? Sounds like your mind's made up.
After a few beers, I ended up sleeping with my head outside of the tent. It rained all night, and I woke up with my head mashed into the turnip field we'd camped in.
I had to queue for two hours to use a communal shower block in the campsite, where the chemical toilets met you a 100 yards before you got to them.
It was at this precise point that I realised my rock 'n' roll days were over.
Oh! I've been to music festivals since - but I've always stayed in a B&B.