I knew something was about to happen when I heard the Argument.
“I think he’s too young for canoe-camping,” said my mum.
“You needn’t think you are going to use the baby as an excuse, we’re going,” replied my dad in forthright tones. “Maybe we’ll just go for a week, but I’ve booked, and we’re going.” I could see he’d won, as usual.
So it was no surprise a couple of days later when my mum got me out of bed and told me, “We’re going on holiday today.” She said that we were going in a boat, and we would sleep in something called a tent, and we would have a lovely time.
I knew she wasn’t that keen, but I thought it sounded interesting. I had already been on a cross-channel ferry, so I reckoned I knew what to expect, and she had made a tent sound extremely luxurious.
You can imagine my horror, then, when we turned up at a muddy field next to a river, with rain clouds hanging up above us, and my parents produced something that they called a boat. It looked more like an old elongated baby bath to me. It got worse, too, because they started loading an odd assortment of tatty containers into it, surrounding my bouncy chair. I was unceremoniously dumped into a gaudy life jacket (more like a straight jacket) and then packed in with the rest of the baggage. My indignant protests were completely ignored, because my parents were busy wading through the muddy water and getting in themselves.
Off we went in our old bath down the river. Some holiday, I thought, and I did what any self respecting baby would do. I cried and cried until their nerves were on edge and they started off at each other.
“I hope you realise that this is entirely your own fault,” said my mum angrily.
“Oh alright, don’t go on, why don’t you have him up the front with you if you know it all,” snapped my dad.
Now, there’s an idea, I thought.
The rest of the day was quite nice after that, as she cuddled me (happy that she was let off paddling) and I began to enjoy the motion of the boat, and the fluttering branches of trees as we passed by.
When we arrived at the campsite I got my next shock. The luxurious accommodation I had expected was a low level hovel that mum and dad had to crawl in and out of. There they were, on hands and knees, and even after watching closely I still can’t see how it’s done. I have however discovered some interesting things about tents. Firstly the walls are brightly coloured and soft, and move in the wind, which is intriguing to watch. Secondly, unlike our house, the front door is open most of the time and you can see lots of other people, who pass by and talk to you. I found that my best smile worked well in attracting them over. Admittedly I had to cope with the wide range of languages, but as they were all telling me that I was a lovely boy (quite rightly too) I managed very well.
Finally, and best of all, I overheard my mum saying to my dad:
“I hope that boy doesn’t make too much noise at night.”
A wonderful thing to know, that. I gave a few experimental squeaks from my bed, and it got instant attention. She even fed me again. The night passed in blissful consumption, and I decided to refuse all solids the following day. It worked a treat. The poor woman was really tired. I had to take pity on her and start eating and sleeping properly again.
Canoeing, as I have discovered it is called, turned out to be quite enjoyable after all. Once mum and dad had sorted themselves out a bit, they organised things so that there was a bit more space for me. OK, so we still looked like water borne New Age Travellers, but it was definitely a bit better. I lay back blissfully relaxed and watched my dad sweating away. It was all very rhythmical and calming, and I drifted off into a pleasant doze, dreaming of holding a paddle myself one day.
I found my dad’s smug attitude a bit irritating after a while. He kept saying to mum, “See, I told you he’d get used to it.” “Mmm,” mum would reply wearily. I decided he needed a lesson. I waited until we reached the locks, where we would meet up with a large number of other paddlers and several bigger boats. As the water level dropped I would start to scream. It made a lovely echoing sound, and as we were in the lock dad couldn’t do his usual trick and hand me over to mum, so he just had to sit there pretending he didn’t mind being looked at, and that he knew how to deal with me. Huh. Mum was really quiet – I think she enjoyed it, too.
Once we emerged from the locks, of course, I would wait until the crowd dispersed, beam up at my dad, and then drift off into contented sleep. I did have such a lovely time.
There are lots of other things I could tell you about – my day in Oxford, or my day on the Slovakian coach (dad said we had to get on it, as it was raining, and he could manage on his own. I noticed he didn’t say it next time it rained, which proved that he was not being truthful when he told people that my mum never does any work – she probably does more than him.)
In the end, though, I decided that mum and dad had a point about this canoe-camping. Everyone was so friendly and kind, and we had a good time. I think I’ll be going again. I must develop my techniques a bit though. I’m sure I could have had a lot more fun in those locks ...
The Author of this story
Sam Corke