Vic Reeves, 49, is a comedian, best known for his double act with Bob Mortimer. He was born Jim Moir, in Leeds; his stage name derives from favourite singers Vic Damone and Jim Reeves.

His TV career began in 1990 with Big Night Out, followed by The Smell of Reeves & Mortimer and ShootingStars. He lives with his wife, Nancy Sorrell, and their four children in Kent. All New Shooting Stars begins on December 30 on BBC2.

I’ve always loved camping — ever since I went to Whitby with my family as a kid. It was a pretty bleak place, but we made the most of it by going for long walks, which, surprisingly for a kid, I really enjoyed. It was just a three-peg tent, a Primus stove and a one-cubicle toilet about half a mile away.

I love camping even now, but I just can’t find any other adults who share my passion, so I often end up going on my own or with kids. I took my 11-year-old boy, Louis, on a fishing trip last year and it was fantastic. We caught a fish and spent the evening cooking it on the stove, under the stars.

My hols: Michael Caine

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My Hols: Anastacia

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• Frequent flyer: Erin O'Connor

BACKGROUND

• My hols: Phil Daniels

• My hols: Roger Moore

• My hols: David Mitchell

• My hols: Tracey Emin

• My hols: Colin Firth

BACKGROUND

• My hols: Ricky Gervais

• My hols: Sam Robards

• My hols: Jimmy Carr

• My hols: Johnny Vegas

• My hols: Moby

It was great — though I have to say, I discovered that night that there comes a point in one’s life when your bones can’t take sleeping on the ground.

I’ve had worse nights, though — like the time I stayed in the middle of Corcovado National Park, in Costa Rica. I was there filming the tapirs and I’d already had to cope with the trauma of getting into the park, which is inaccessible by road — the only way in is by water.

We had to rely on the skills of teenage boys to ride 15ft waves in tiny motorboats. They’d catch a huge wave, then surf down the other side towards land — it was terrifying, especially because they were smoking joints at the time.

By the time we got to the rangers’ hut, I just wanted to kick back and relax — but that wasn’t going to be easy. There was just a plank to sleep on, with cockroaches and anteaters everywhere. Howler monkeys woke me up at 4am and the noise went on all day. It wasn’t somewhere I’d recommend if you wanted to chill out.

Saying that, I’m not very good at chilling out anywhere. We went to Forte Village, in Sardinia, last year, which is like an upmarket Butlins, with a great kids’ club that our two-year-old twins loved. Nancy, my wife, just lies down whenever the sun comes out and surrounds herself with magazines.

For a while, I’ll try it too, just because I think I should, but I never last long before I feel the need to do something more with my time. She couldn’t believe it when I got some woodcuts and tools out, and started making carvings on the beach. She should be used to it by now, though, as I always take a case of art materials whenever I go away.

We went to Reykjavik, in Iceland, five years ago, just the two of us, and we had the best but weirdest time. It’s such an odd place — some kind of alien landscape, where nobody’s about — and there’s a spooky eeriness to it.

We went up to the Blue Lagoon hot spa, which was a strange experience, because it was -20C and we were stripping down to our bathing costumes to go for a dip. I can’t believe we were mad enough even to contemplate it, but

it was actually surprisingly civilised. Once you’ve taken your clothes off, you go to a holding area, a bit like the area on a spaceship where you wait to be launched into orbit. Anyway, you get yourself in this hot quarry pool, swim through a hole and into the outside world. Nancy and I spent most of the time playing hide-and-seek in the steam.

The first holiday I went on without my parents was to the Norfolk Broads, when I was 17. Me and a bunch of lads took a boat — I don’t know where from or where to, but I remember we were heavily guided by which pub we wanted to pitch up outside and spend the night at.

We had such a fantastic time that we kept going back, but you can never replicate a first boys’ trip. It was ne of those transitional holidays — a real boys-to-men thing.

We’ll probably head to Devon for our holidays next year — we spent a long weekend in a Landmark Trust house down there recently and really enjoyed it. There’s nothing much in them, and what there is is very basic, but they’re great places to stay.

I’ve also got a bit of a hankering for Scotland at the moment, so if I get a free day or so any time soon, I’m going to jump on a plane and head for the snowiest area I can find. I really fancy some snow, proper snow, not like the slush we get down south.

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