Talking about tents and pubs, I am reminded of the days of my youth when pub crawls were the thing.
This was at a time before breathalysers and before the advent of the police state in the UK. A time when, at The Stephen Langton at Friday Street, a rabbit would be exchanged for a pint. (Sunday morning out with Old George and his dogs and ferrets meant a lunchtime of "free" beer)
Our favorite area was thus around Leith Hill and its environs in Surrey.
If we had had a particularly intense evening we would find a suitable spot near by to park up, erect the tent and sleep it off till opening time the next day.
Long practice with this tent meant that despite the darkness of the night, rain or snow, and despite the amount of alcohol, we could be sure to get it up OK and ourselves inside to sleep.
One time we did this we woke up to discover we had chosen for our campsite, not some secluded woodland spot, but the centre of a roundabout.
Fortunately we woke early enough to absent ourselves before the arrival of PC Plod.
JMW