A survivor's guide to friends and family: Uncomfortable, unpredictable, wet, wild and. . . perfect!

Byline: Alice Douglas

HAVE a revolution on my hands. I assumed the rest of the family would be equally thrilled with a week in an idyllic French farmhouse, followed by a few days catching up with a friend near Toulouse.

It seems I am the only one who thinks this is a good idea. Fully entrenched in the social whirl of primary school, Hero is worried about missing her friends. I know I can win her round with judicious mention of outdoor swimming pools and ice-cream.

It is Tybalt who, taking after his father, has become besotted with everything ``outdoorsy'' and assures me that his life will never be complete until we do a re-run of last year's canoeing trip.

I have difficulty sharing Tybalt's judgement of his best holiday ever with my memory of three days spent paddling the Wye in the rain.

But, in fact, we did have a lovely time. Hero and Tybalt had been taken out on the lake by friends and before their enthusiasm had time to fade, it seemed a great opportunity to make a trip we had been assured was a must.

As the day approached, coping for three days with two children trapped in a canoe seemed a daunting prospect. The Wye valley is steeped in history and dotted with market towns and castles, so we resolved the only way to avoid frayed tempers was to break up the trip with plenty of stops.

We were keen to recreate part of the journey between Ross on Wye and Chepstow, made popular in the 18th and 19th centuries by people such as Wordsworth, who relished sketching, writing and enjoying good food and wine afloat.

It became clear we would be working hard for our evening indulgence, however, and after an intensive lesson followed by a night spent moaning about the pain in my shoulder, we set off.

The weather was atrocious and Hero had toothache, which made for a fraught drive, my despair rising as faulty windscreen wipers attempted to handle the pouring rain. But all stress vanished when we arrived at the Royal Hotel, Symonds Yat, and stood under a canopy of wisteria with the river meandering past and Yat rock towering above.

We tucked the exhausted kids up in our room, leaving the intercom to reception on, in case they awoke. They didn't, but we managed to broadcast an intimate conversation and a furious row.

Luckily an exceptionally good dinner and too much Australian wine blurred any embarrassment I might have felt.

The next morning we were taken 30 miles up river. I expected our journey to be peppered with hearty lunches at old inns. In the event we saw only one pub the entire way and for much of the trip it was just us and the river.

As we got ready in a remote field near Hoarwithy, the rain started spitting, the wind picked up and both children waded in over their wellies. We launched our canoe, the current swept us off alarmingly and we lurched precariously before ending up imprisoned in a weeping willow.

During that first-half hour, if there'd been any possibility of escape, I'd have grabbed it. Paddling straight seemed impossible and our hearts sank as the wind battered us.

Eventually we rounded a corner, the sun peeped though clouds and we stopped to enjoy the moment. An otter surfaced and floated, gazing at us. We all stared back, entranced at his gentle little face just feet away.

Our spirits rose and the mixed weather proved rather like rain on a wedding day, ultimately unimportant. We picnicked in little coves, fed ducks, spotted a kingfisher and drifted sleepily with our hands skimming the water.

When we got the hang of it, the rain was actually fun and made negotiating the river more exciting. Everyone we met was surprised that young kids were aboard. Not because of danger, but an assumption about boredom.

We spent five hours a day in the boat and the children thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

When we caught sight of the spire of St Mary's which dominates Ross on Wye, we pulled into the bank and hauled the boat up what felt like a small cliff, before struggling through long grass to our B&B.

Later, we walked into town and found a lovely cosy pub for dinner. The following morning we had 15 miles still to cover.

Our technique had improved and we felt extremely proficient gliding along until a swan took an aversion to our presence and chased us. We failed to out-run him and I had to brandish my paddle pathetically against his outstretched wings.

I wasn't sure who was in more of a flap and from then on swans were given a wide berth.

As we paddled along, we discussed the last hurdle -- rapids. The water level was up by four feet in Hereford and much faster than usual.

I was panic-stricken, but when the moment came, we just went for it and had the most amazing and thrilling ride, which seemed the perfect finale.

I agree that, despite the weather, it really was an incredible once in a lifetime experience but unfortunately for Tybalt, I'm quite happy to leave it that way. . . Toulouse it is, then!

CAPTION(S):

Canoeing on the Wye was a quirky choice, and while it had its ups and downs, it was a wonderful experience for us all