Guilty of all camping offences. Over 35 years my friends and I camped on a farm once owned by Beatrix Potter. A view of the Langdale Pikes if you walked a few yards up the knoll we pitched on.
No bogs, only tap water was in a barn 1/2 mile away. It wasn't a camp site, it was a farm with camping for the very very lucky.
I used to put a Persian rug in my cosmos tent, allegedly 5+ person, one person with comforts I would say, double length sheepskin on top of the rug. Left the sleeping bag in the car and used a very large goose down quilt.
Cognac and whisky decanters in a wooden box with cut crystal glasses, tumbler and balloon.
Gas fridges, we left a big cast iron barbecue in the gorse bushes, too dirty and big for the motors.
We took air rifles, catapults, pistols, bicycles, a chainsaw.
If 6 of us went we took 6 tents, we took an army mess tent in the later years for cooking and idling when the weather was crap.
For all of that the bogs was ones chosen place somewhere on the old metal mine spoil tips across a ravine.
Washed and shaved in a freezing the year round beck.
Also done the hardcore cycle touring with no tent, goretex fitted bivi bag for the sleeping bag and a 12mm thick very old Karrimat.
Woods, over a wall, behind a gate, on a council football field.
In workman's huts and railway maintenance buildings, stable buildings complete with farting horses and once under an upturned rowing boat.
I mentioned elsewhere about packing a Canon F1 camera and three lenses when I toured as a young man, not ever in my remaining years will such nonsense happen again. I'll use the saving in weight to carry more fine liquor.
Oh and I truly loath large campsites, they are the devil's work.
Gave a modest sense of achievement when the fire got going. 
