A NEWSLETTER from iVillage.co.uk announces "great ways to encourage kids to play outdoors". This is just what I need. I'm launching a personal campaign to haul my children away from their PC, and need inspiration fast. I'm thinking building dens, damming rivers, that sort of thing.

Disappointingly, it consists of adverts for play equipment, including a "three-tier climbing playground". This comprises "turbo tunnel spiral slide, 2.5 metre-long wave slide, sand pit, window with working shutters, flower box, chalk board, telescope and two-seat glider plus two belt swings".

It sounds as if it belongs in a park. Why would anyone purchase a structure to attract every under-10 in the neighbourhood? You'd end up running a crèche. They'd be charging in and out of your house demanding drinks and snacks and unravelling your toilet roll.

The blurb reads: "Creating a safe summer play area for the kids not only gives them a healthy dose of fresh air. You'll also get some extra space around the house."

I'm not sure about this. It seems an overblown way of getting them out from under your feet. What's wrong with slinging a packet of digestives on to the lawn? Besides, we live in the country. We moved here from London to avoid having to invest in a three-tier anything. When you're surrounded by fields and woodland, who needs climbing frames? Whatever happened to Famous Five-style adventures? They didn't need such swanky accessories. There were no "working shutters" on Smuggler's Top.

Incidentally, I don't mean the animated Disney remake in which the kids are named Cole, Dylan, Allie and Jo (they're supposed to be the children of the originals, but let's not be picky). Instead of discovering treasure-filled caves, it seems they're ... investigating DVD piracy.

This must be stopped. We'll redress the balance by embarking on some FF adventures of our own. Where shall we go? Kirrin Island? Hmmm, tricky. I know - the Meldons, near Stobo in Peeblesshire. We'll build a fire, cook sausages, live like wild people. I know the real Famous Five never had their mother tagging along, parking her people carrier by the loo block in case anyone needed to go - because the Famous Five never needed the toilet.

However, it's a beautiful spot, and usually very peaceful. Today, though, a gaggle of teenagers are partying beneath a makeshift marquee. "Maybe we should go somewhere else," mutters one of my sons. "It's fine," I tell him. "They have as much right to be here as we do."

"Their music's too loud," he declares, "and it all sounds the same, and they look drunk." I wonder now if raising kids in the country is the right thing to do. Should children really crave silence and fear a bunch of teens who are dancing half-heartedly beneath a limp awning?

"They might be on drugs," his brother adds darkly. I approve of their school's anti-drugs message, yet can't help feeling they're a little obsessed. On a recent trip to Amsterdam, my sons twitched anxiously every time we went into a café, as though someone might lash them to a chair and force-feed them drug-cakes.

My daughter scowls at Camp Teen. "I want to go home," she growls.

Oh, come on! Where's the Famous Five spirit? They took on thieves, scoundrels, smugglers! Are we afraid of a bunch of kids snogging and drinking beer? I make our fire and cook lunch. One son examines his sausage. "It looks like an amputated finger," he complains.

My enthusiasm is waning. I'm sorry to sound like an old misery, but the combination of the relentless music and my offspring grumbling about substandard cuisine has triggered a throbbing in the back of my head. What do they expect? Gordon Ramsay to pop out of the heather? As we leave, a teenage boy with a spike sticking out of his chin wanders idly towards our car. He rests his spliff on a wall, unzips his jeans and starts peeing. This never happened in Five Have A Mystery To Solve.