After camping out at Catterick Garrison for five weeks, alongside other hopeful homebuyers, Sue Heath has finally bagged the former Army home she set her heart on.

QUEUING is a peculiarly British habit. Hordes of determined salegoers huddled outside Harrods, smiling tennis fans in their sleeping-bags outside the All England Tennis Club at Wimbledon. But I always thought it was something other people do, this manic camping out in order to achieve a dream.

Now I know differently. Except that I didn't queue for a day's tennis or a half-price sofa: my dream was a two-bedroomed house on a secluded, leafy estate at Catterick Garrison.

Annington Homes has bought thousands of former Army married quarters all over the country from the MoD. After undergoing a bit of updating the houses are offered for sale at well below market price, and even the property professionals I spoke to agreed that they would be a very good buy indeed.

I went to have a look and, although most of the homes were very similar in layout, fell in love with a particular house which had a stunning view over 30 miles of unbroken countryside. It called to me. I wanted it, and I told the house it would be mine.

Anningtons don't encourage people to camp out. That's what their publicity material says, but the only way to be sure of reserving a house is to put your name on a list. Once you've done that you, or your representative, have to remain 'on-site' to retain your place in the queue, so your only option is to pitch your tent or park your caravan, and wait it out. To my dismay, two determined ladies started camping a full six weeks before the release date of July 18. I'd booked only two weeks off work, but a friend offered to cover for me on weekdays and, with help from my daughter Jenny and her fiance, we reckoned we could manage. We borrowed a caravan and our long stint at Stalag Catterick began.

There's something about the smell of a freshly-lit Calor gas ring that takes me back to childhood holidays, but when you're a kid you don't have to worry about what to do if you wake up at 3am dying for a wee. Of course caravans these days have loos, but I didn't relish emptying the tank at the end of my stint. I had the option of getting dressed and tottering through the sleeping camp to the campers' house, thoughtfully provided by Anningtons for teamaking, showering and toilet facilities. However, I'm ashamed to admit that the bucket marked "Fire" outside my caravan door was smuggled inside once or twice, and surreptitiously emptied down the house loo when no-one was looking.

Each camper was allowed off-site for two hours out of every twenty-four. You could identify fellow-campers as you rushed wild-eyed round Tesco, cursing the pensioners counting their small change at the check-out in front of you and glancing furtively about in case someone had seen you leave and knew you'd already spent an hour or so at home, doing essential chores. Tearing about during your two hours' 'liberty' was in stark contrast to the rest of the time, spent reading, chatting or just sitting in the sunshine. After a while the guilt over chores left undone faded away. My social calendar, like Jeffrey Archer's, dwindled to nothing, or was replaced by tipsy evenings spent singing my head off with other campers. Gemma and Claire, your rendition of 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight' was unforgettable.

It's a great way to make new friends and meet your new neighbours before you move in. It's also good for sorting out who you'd rather not live close to, as one family found out - people were panicking at the thought that they might be lumbered with the house next door to the potential neighbours from hell. Quite a bit of espionage went on to try to find out which house they had their eye on, so the rest of us could go somewhere else.

Eventually, the release day dawned and we were summoned to gather under a marquee in the middle of the field. The first 15 campers' names were called, and the allocation of homes began. Camper number one would have first pick, and so on until all the homes had been reserved. I was number six. We had been given an opportunity the night before to view the inside of all the houses, and 'my' house seemed more desirable than ever.

My turn came and, heart in mouth, I declared my interest. One couple in front of me hadn't chosen yet - would they snatch my prize away? They didn't. The sales office confirmed that I had reserved my house and nobody else could have it. I burst into tears, and so did my daughter. Even Tracy on the sales team was misty-eyed.

So the dear little house with the fabulous view is to be mine, all mine. I'm starting to get over the impulse to rush back to the site after each two-hour period, and my dozens of mozzie bites will eventually stop itching.

Was it worth it? You bet. Just don't ask me to go on a caravanning holiday, ever again.