Travel: Country House Hideout, Chesters Estate, Ancrum

The hideout in question is located among seven stunning square kilometres of the historic Chesters estate, nestling by the River Teviot near Ancrum in the Scottish Borders. Our dwelling mimics a Victorian explorer's abode and comprises an enchanting main tent with a spacious living area featuring distressed wood chairs, table and island kitchen unit (with stylish hollowed-stone sink), all warmed by a wood-burning stove.

A "cool box" the size of a tea chest, chilled by frozen hot water bottles, is provided to keep food fresh in the absence of a fridge or freezer. The "entertainment system" is an original, working wind-up gramophone and collection of scratchy 78s that marvellously evoke another era a world away. At the back of the tent, divided by linen curtain doors and a wall of wicker storage baskets, are a cosy double bedroom and adjacent separate room containing cabin bunk beds. But the children make straight for the 'secret' elevated sleeping space, between the walls of the main area and the double bedroom, with small wooden hatches opening on to both. They are in hideout heaven.

The whole place has such a charming, fairytale quality to it that I fully expect Goldilocks to make an appearance and start rooting about for the packets of "Quaker Oats' Paw Ridge – from microwave to bowl in 90 seconds". If she does though, she'll be like a bear with a sore head, because the tent has no mains electricity or gas – all cooking, kettle-boiling and, indeed, porridge-making has to be done on the stove, or the outdoor cooking cart. Energy for a handful of electric lamps in the tent is generated by cycling on an exercise bike wired up to a car battery, so not only is it environmentally friendly but you get fit at the same time. Or your children do, if you are as idle as me.

Our excitement levels increase when we walk a few paces outside and enter the Discovery Tent, fully equipped with telescope, microscope, easels, paints and brushes, explorer books and – best of all – an original working field telephone linked to one in the main tent.

Calling the children in for dinner has never been so much fun, and throughout our holiday they never tire of winding the handle, hearing the bell ring and having largely repetitive conversations with a sibling along the lines of "Hello!" "Hello!" "How are you?" "Fine! How are you?" "Fine!" "Goodbye!" "Goodbye!", accompanied by shrieks of laughter. Never mind your apps and your iPhones, telecommunications doesn't get more enjoyable than this.

A few yards in front of the tent we find our alfresco hot tub – heated the next day by burning what seems to be half a ton of logs in a strange sub-aquan brazier – and an outdoor shower tent, operated by a handpump to shift pre-heated water from a barrel up into a metal bucket overhead with holes drilled in the bottom. Mira Platinum it ain't, but when I use it the next morning it is wonderfully refreshing, warm and a whole lot of fun.

Our genial host during our stay is John Henderson, who packed in his job as a busy advertising executive in London in 2000 to take over the family pile with his wife Ellie (baby Lily arrived last year). He had met us on arrival at the old stables and acted as porter by pushing one of the two wheelbarrows we needed to transport our luggage from car to tent, a ten-minute meander through lush woodland.

We see him again at the gorgeous two-acre walled garden, and he shows us the bountiful vegetable patch from which guests can help themselves. We pull up carrots, potatoes, parsnips, onions and beetroot for the next night's dinner. We also visit the Bothy, a stone hut that contains essentials for visitors – ie bottles of Greenmantle Ale and Kettle Chips (plus firelighters, logs, fruit, binbags, tea lights, posh ready-meals and wine).

On waking the next morning, we head out for more exploring around the estate. Scores of froglets abound on the forest floor, much to the delight of the children who instantly improvise some amphibious adventures – "Oh look, froggy's waving! Oh froggy's kissing another froggy! Oh froggy's dancing! Oh froggy's playing dead …" Strange stag beetles that look like mini rhinoceri are discovered among the fallen trees. And overhead soars a magnificent buzzard, its distinct call carrying across the fields of barley (John and Ellie are currently building a brewery that will put home-grown ingredients to good use) to the banks of the Teviot, where a rowing boat is moored for guests who wish to make a splash. Pooh sticks are played, a wasps' nest is found, bugs bite, the children hide, I seek, and before we know it, it's time to fire up the stove – and the hot tub.

The children pile in. "Daddy, as a special holiday treat, can froggy come in the hot tub with us?" pleads the eight-year-old. Call me a killjoy, but froggy escapes unbathed that evening, and the three children splash about happily until nightfall.

The next day we decide to explore further afield, first stopping off at the Ancrum Pantry village store to pick up some organic bacon from a local butcher, plus obligatory holiday sweets for the infants. We drive the four miles to Jedburgh, take in a fab playpark near the bus station, contemplate visiting the historic abbey (but don't – I have learned a few things about what kids like doing and trudging round religious buildings doesn't usually figure highly on the list), and pop in to the Jedburgh Castle Jail instead, which has the twin attractions of being able to dress up as a prisoner, coupled with free entry.

The rain teems down through the night, but the tent remains impressively watertight. In the morning, we head to Hawick and the museum in lovely Wilton Lodge Park, where the children are thrilled to be able to dress up as bees. As our oldest boy is a bumblebee obsessive, he practically has to be surgically removed from his costume when it is time to go. We have a game of crazy golf and then cross the river to the old-fashioned playpark.

After an hour or so of sibling rivalry, skinned knees and squabbling, I'm in desperate need of some alcoholic sustenance, so we head for the Fox and Hounds in Denholm for a couple of jars of real ale, before grabbing some fish and chips – I know, I know, it's not exactly in keeping with Victorian explorers, but I bet they would have if they could have, and after all, we are on our holidays.

Our last night is spent trying to bring some semblance of order to the chaos we have created in our tents before we depart. The children are tired, incredibly grubby, and very, very happy. It has been an exhilarating and joyful experience, a real adventure, and one we will always remember and treasure.