My crap holiday was actually a working trip when I was a 20-year-old student at Sheffield University.

It started when I left on the midnight coach to Inverness. I don't know why it left at midnight - it was 1978 and times were 'ard. On reaching Inverness, I had to take a bus to a fruit farm a few miles away. I finally reached the farm at 4pm - a 16-hour journey - pitched my very old, borrowed tent and cooked a meal on my tiny gas stove.

At about 3am my sleep was shattered by a car driving into the tent and snapping the ropes. I woke up to find that the previous occupants of my pitch had argued with some locals who had decided to destroy their tent. Luckily the people in the tents either side were kind and helped me move to a safer location.

The summer of 1978 was similar to 2007 in that it rained a lot. My tent leaked and there were no facilities for drying, or indeed washing, your clothes. The site boasted only a tap and some awful, smelly portable toilets.

Raspberry picking was hard work and the pay was low, but the other pickers were from all over the world and were a friendly lot. After a week of putting up with the limited facilities, and in sore need of a good wash, the farmer took some of us into Inverness in a cattle truck. We all headed to the local swimming pool where there were baths in individual cubicles. I stayed in the soapy water so long that the attendant finally had to ask me to leave.

Towards the end of the third week, I went into Inverness wearing my last clean(ish) jumper. A group of us splashed out and visited the rather splendid theatre for a poetry reading. As I left the theatre a seagull did a spectacular poo all over my jumper.

Nearly 30 years later I have yet to eat another raspberry.

· Have you had a crap holiday? If so, write in and tell us about it. The writers of stories we publish will receive a copy of the Idler Book of Crap Holidays. crap.holidays@observer.co.uk