I knew we'd made the transition into holiday mood the day my second youngest - hereafter referred to as Boy, 6 - went off on his own and disappeared. OK, some of us went looking for him: his sisters Girl, 8 and Girl, 2, and his Mummy, 42, to be precise. But although Boy, 6 was gone for nearly an hour the search party felt no need to drag his grown-up sister Girl, 20, from the pool or to disturb his big brother, Boy, 13 and his Daddy, 46, as they hacked their way round the pitch and putt. And when eventually Boy, 6, was discovered routing an older girl at draughts and eating her Jammie Dodgers at the same time, it confirmed all I have learned about the type of holiday that suits my large, unwieldy family best. For maximum fun with minimum anxiety, nothing beats a big campsite in France.

This was the biggest we've yet stayed on. Thanks to the mad late August weather it was the wettest too. But we are well-hardened to that, and when you've slogged through the endless barrios of south London in your tatty MPV, survived the lurch and judder of the cross-Channel ferry, fathomed the automated check-in at the staff-free motel in a Cherbourg strip development where we stopped overnight, and arrived at your destination bearing carrier bags of vomit and with your knickers full of crisps, it takes more than a few life-threatening downpours to put you off.

We have two summer vacation golden rules. The first is to splash out on a mobile home rather than settle for a tent. A fortnight under canvas may build character if you're a small nuclear unit whose personnel don't mind rising at dead of night to dig emergency drainage trenches and will tramp to the toilet block and back without an entourage of parents and soft toys. But we are not that lucky or that daft. If you include the concealed fold-out beneath the communal banquette you can sleep eight in a big mobile, plus there's a shower and a cooker and a fridge. Obliging Eurocamp reps come round to check your gas bottles and replace the Kitchen Devil that the last occupants nicked. It's a palace on breeze blocks really and makes camping feel more royal than roughing it. [Click here for the opposite view]

The second golden rule is to have bikes. In previous years we've rented, usually from a supplier on the site. This, though, can prove expensive so this time we brought our own. My Heath Robinson approach to fixing them to the car prompted eye-rolling exchanges among members of the loading crew at Portsmouth harbour, but this humiliation was more than justified by the eventual rewards.

Within minutes of our locating our new, temporary home Boy, 13, Girl, 8 and, of course, Boy, 6 had pedalled away to explore the varied facets of Camping Les Ormes, pedalo pond, astro-turf football pitch, sporadic mounds of pony poo and all. For urban-dwellers like us it is a serious joy to feel relaxed about the kids cycling off whenever they please and thinking of it as just part of being free if they have trouble finding their way home.

Les Ormes is about two hours' drive from Cherbourg and five minutes from the pleasantly aged market town of Dol-de-Bretagne. With a golf course forming part of the wider development, it's not surprising that the site is rich in facilities relating to having good walks spoiled. As well as the five-hole pitch-and-putt course, there's a driving range where dogged beginners such as Boy, 13, can swish and swear to their hearts' content. There's crazy golf too although, as is too often the case with this most challenging of sports, it was the one facility not beautifully maintained. Those of us who take our crazy golf seriously would like to see statutory minimum standards applied - a job for the European Commission, possibly. That said, the disconcerting discovery that entire miniature castles could be back heeled long distances down the carpeted fairways did not deter Boy, 6, from spending several happy hours there, scorecard and pencil stub clutched hotly in hand.

Girl, 8, meanwhile, pursed her traditional dual holiday interests: swimming and finding friends. Les Ormes offers two sorts of pool experience. Three small ones are tucked together in a quiet corner, while the heart of the site contains a large "adventure" leisure affair complete with waterfalls and slides and a dedicated toddler area where Daddy, 46, and Mummy, 42, took turns to stand shivering while Girl, 2, splashed and shrieked and, on one memorable occasion, released a mighty stream of wee from the top of the baby slide.

By contrast, Girl, 8, explored every square millilitre sometimes with Girl, 20, often alone or with whichever new friend she'd hooked up with that day. One of the joys of campsite residence is that it offers the security and captive community that in our folk imaginations we associate with village life. Girl, 8, seeks out potential friends with unerring accuracy and if they turn out to be even half the water baby she is, not much short of a harpoon will get her back on dry land before dusk.

For older members of our party there were more adult attractions - or more infantile, depending on your point of view. Paintball was the best example, patronised mostly, though not exclusively, by medium-sized boys and grown men who Should Know Better. Our first battle became a farce when the heavens suddenly opened creating such helpless confusion that Daddy, 46, gave genuine, heartfelt thanks for having been born too late for Passchendaele. Subsequent battles were, well, drier at any rate, and especially memorable for a kamikaze foray by Mummy, 42, who perished in a shower of Day-Glo orange blobs but then rose from the dead consoled by the knowledge that her sacrifice had helped others survive.

Having a wide variety of children requires an equally wide variety of things to do. This was handsomely provided: for Boy, 13, an elaborate "adventure challenge" journey through the tree-tops involving rope ladders, ziplines, and a rope-and-plank bridge across a lake which he has yet to be forgiven for deliberately wobbling when it was the turn of Daddy, 46, to cross it; for Girl, 2, a tiny pony called Bubblegum who wouldn't do what he was told; for Girl, 8, and Girl 20, the after dark delights of the watching the less self-effacing reps perform the hits from Guys and Dolls.

We found time, though, to make day trips too: to the famous Mont St Michel, an ancient church-atop-a-hillside-town which looks from a distance to be floating on the sea; to the sea food mecca of Concale; and to the walled port of St Malo where we colonised a corner of a vaguely demi monde cafe where young men kissed each other, the kids sat on high stools sipping Coke through straws and the older grown ups fantasised that they were Mummy, 21, and Daddy, 22.

Closer to "home", Dol's Saturday morning market and wonky old church gave us a flavour of true Frenchness that we might otherwise have missed given the strong Albion accent of Les Ormes. It even has full size all-weather cricket pitch, and one Sunday morning two teams of doughty expats added the sound of willow on leather to this strongly English scene, sheltering in a gazebo from the intermittent storms.

We began our return journey early, leaving plenty of time to visit Cherbourg's La Cite De La Mare before renewing acquaintance with P&O. Part maritime museum, part sea creature aquarium it offers everything from a tour round one of France's earliest nuclear submarines (complete with commentary featuring a firm-jawed exposition of "deterrence" theory) to display tanks as vast as those at the London aquarium. Highlights? For Daddy, 46, a pillar-shaped vessel of ethereal jellyfish. For Girl, 2, a fabricated sandbank of grainy rays which glided on whims to the surface to meet her wondering touch. A sweet finale to 14 memorable days.

· Dave Hill's latest novel Man Alive is published by Headline Review

Way to go

Dave and his family travelled with Eurocamp to the Chateau des Ormes holiday parc at Dol-de-Bretagne, staying for 14 nights in a three-bedroom Siena holiday home in August. In 2005 Dave's holiday will cost £1,824, for two adults and three children, inclusive of Dover to Calais return ferry crossing for car and passengers. Dave chose to take a longer ferry crossing from Portsmouth into Brittany to reduce driving time in France. These sailings are available at an extra supplement dependent on route, date and time of travel.

Prices for 2005 holidays to Chateau des Ormes start from £350 for seven nights staying under canvas and £551 staying in a two-bedroom Verona holiday home. Both prices are applicable for a family of two adults and three children and include a return Dover to Calais ferry crossing.

Eurocamp has a special Early Booking Offer available at present saving up to 15% off base prices if you book by October 31 2004.

For more details visit eurocamp.co.uk, 0870 366 7552.

· Helen Carter explains why she prefers camping in a tent with her family