My best ever British holiday: ‘I’ve travelled further, at greater expense, and had nothing like as much fun’

The trio embarked on their 80-mile downstream voyage aboard "Ewen," a magnificent 26ft, 130-year-old mahogany skiff, hired from Thames Skiff Hire. This specialised company caters precisely to those seeking to relive the nostalgic charm of a Victorian-era river trip, preserving the tradition of these elegant, slender vessels. Ewen, a testament to exquisite craftsmanship and a bygone era, came fully equipped for the journey: two pairs of oars, a rudder for steering, a compact cooking stove, a boat hook for mooring, and iron hoops supporting a verdant canvas roof, offering shelter over the hull. Following an hour-long briefing at a slipway near Donnington Bridge, the modern-day adventurers set off from Oxford, aiming for the heart of London.

Their initial days mirrored the whimsical misfortunes of Jerome’s characters. June 2013 proved to be uncharacteristically blustery and wet, a stark contrast to the idyllic summer usually associated with Thames holidays. The first day offered a deceptive calm, but the second brought a deluge, soaking the crew on the stretch between Abingdon and Day’s Lock. The relentless rain and the sheer distance ahead – eighty miles of rowing – momentarily made the endeavour seem like folly, bringing them perilously close to abandoning their sodden skiff at The Swan in Pangbourne, a fate eerily similar to Jerome’s companions who, as Theroux notes, famously ended their journey there in "disappointment and recrimination."

However, unlike their literary predecessors, Theroux and his friends persevered. The weather, in true British fashion, soon improved, and with each stroke, their rowing technique honed. What began as a challenging start transformed into an "extraordinary and memorable adventure." The journey, in retrospect, was packed with incident and rich cultural immersion. They frequented charming riverside pubs, brewed tea on secluded midstream islands, and even stumbled upon a meditation centre run by an ascetic Hindu sect, offering a surprising moment of spiritual contemplation amidst the physical exertion.

The Thames, a living artery of English history, unfolded before them. They glided past Medmenham Abbey, infamous headquarters of Sir Francis Dashwood’s notorious Hellfire Club, a secretive society of 18th-century libertines. Further along, Monkey Island, with its romantic associations from Rebecca West’s novel The Return of the Soldier, added another layer of literary intrigue. One day, they moored for lunch at the opulent Oakley Court, a faux-gothic Victorian mansion with a cinematic claim to fame as Frank-N-Furter’s castle in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, blending historical grandeur with cult pop culture.

Logistically, the trip presented its own set of challenges, adding to the authentic, hands-on experience. While Thames skiffs were historically designed for sleeping, Ewen, a vessel of classic dimensions, was not quite large enough for three men, making overnight stays a creative exercise. Wild camping regulations along the Thames, managed by the Environment Agency, added another layer of complexity, often necessitating careful planning or alternative accommodation. The responsibility of mooring the precious antique skiff also brought a "certain anxiety." Instructed to secure the vessel to the riverbank with iron spikes, leaving it unattended felt counter-intuitive, a peculiar trust placed in the river’s ebb and flow and the goodwill of passersby.

Negotiating the numerous locks that regulate the Thames’ water levels proved particularly tricky. One person had to remain in the skiff, using a boat hook to fend off the sides as the sluices released water, demanding constant vigilance and coordination. And, of course, the sheer physical demand of rowing eighty miles, even with the river’s current aiding them, required considerable "stick-to-it-ness" and endurance.

Paradoxically, these minor hardships contributed to the trip’s profound sense of relaxation. The effort required created a complete detachment from the daily grind, fostering a slow, reflective pace that is often elusive in modern holidays. Even within commuting distance of their own beds, the river felt like a world apart. There were long stretches of "extraordinary tranquillity," deep silences broken only by the sounds of nature, and an abundance of wonderful birdlife. Theroux vividly recalls the "flash of a kingfisher in the willows outside Abingdon," a momentary glimpse of vibrant beauty that encapsulated the trip’s serene magic.

The camaraderie extended beyond their own crew. Other river-users, accustomed to the unique culture of the Thames, often greeted them kindly. One evening, they were invited for drinks aboard a beautiful narrowboat, having struck up a conversation while queuing at a lock – a testament to the friendly community that thrives on Britain’s waterways. Their planned destination was Walton-on-Thames, but so engrossed were they in the journey that they pushed on to Hampton Court, savouring every last mile before finally turning Ewen around to return the skiff. For Theroux, it remains a trip he has always intended to repeat, a testament to its unparalleled joy: "I’ve travelled much further, at much greater expense and had nothing like as much fun."

A Birthday Break in the Trossachs

Shifting from the gentle flow of the Thames to the rugged beauty of Scotland, Kirsten Henton’s partner, Gary, a keen cyclist, had an instant answer when asked about his ideal birthday destination: "Gravelfoyle." This affectionate moniker refers to Aberfoyle, a picturesque village nestled at the gateway to the Trossachs, approximately 50 miles northwest of Edinburgh and even closer to Glasgow. Aberfoyle proudly bills itself as having "the UK’s finest gravel riding," a claim backed by an extensive network of well-marked trails that wind through breathtaking landscapes.

Having grown up in Edinburgh, Henton’s childhood holidays often involved camping in the majestic Cairngorms and exploring the wild expanses of Perthshire. This instilled a habit of venturing north and east, meaning Scotland’s first national park, Loch Lomond and the Trossachs, remained somewhat less familiar territory. Established in 2002, this sprawling national park encompasses dramatic mountains, pristine lochs, ancient forests, and verdant glens, making it a haven for outdoor enthusiasts.

The drive from Edinburgh, a mere 75 minutes, was a journey through Scotland’s iconic scenery and history. They passed the colossal Kelpies, towering equine sculptures that rear up alongside the M9 motorway, a modern engineering marvel and a striking piece of public art. In the distance, the imposing Stirling Castle, a fortress steeped in Scottish history, and the dramatic, Mordor-esque Wallace Monument, dedicated to the national hero William Wallace, added to the sense of grandeur. En route, they made a strategic stop at The Smiddy farm shop in Blair Drummond, near the safari park Henton frequented as a child. Here, they picked up cheese and chorizo scotch eggs, hailed by the butcher as "the best thing we sell," a delicious taste of local Scottish produce.

For their accommodation, Henton had booked a "snug-looking glamping pod" on the Cardross Estate near Port of Menteith, a short distance from Aberfoyle. Tucked away down a quiet single-track road, flanked by working farmland where kites soared overhead, the estate offered a slick operation, from the seamless self-check-in to the convenient trolleys for transporting luggage from the car park. Inside, the curved, wooden pod was a marvel of compact design, featuring a comfortable sofa, a pull-down double bed, a modern shower, and a fridge. Picture windows framed idyllic views of fields speckled with cattle and crops, rolling towards the distant, iconic peak of Ben Lomond. While the estate also offered self-catering cottages and B&B rooms in Cardross House, the glamping pod felt like the most decadent way to immerse themselves in the outdoors, especially once the fire pit was roaring and a celebratory glass of fizz was in hand.

Their first foray into the famed "Gravelfoyle" trails was the 18.2-mile (29.2km) Lomond View route. Recent rains had transformed it into a wet and muddy affair, adding an extra layer of challenge and adventure. Afterwards, at Aberfoyle Bike Co, a local hub for cyclists, the owner, Liam, was ready with a hose to clean their bikes and hot drinks to warm their spirits – a testament to the welcoming and supportive cycling community.

The following day brought a change of pace with a hike from the nearby town of Callander. They explored the 3.5-mile (5.3km) circular Bracklinn Falls route, crossing a picturesque bridge over the thundering waterfall and pressing on through thick, ancient forest. Returning to Callander, they refuelled at Mhor Bread, a local institution, with baguettes generously oozing delicious fillings. The afternoon’s inevitable Scottish downpour provided a perfect excuse to retreat to their cosy pod, where Henton indulged in the simple luxury of reading and a restorative nap.

As evening approached, the sun dramatically broke through the clouds, casting a golden glow over the landscape. They toasted their adventures in the flower-strewn garden of Scottish celebrity chef Nick Nairn’s namesake restaurant, Nick’s at Port of Menteith. Swallows and house martins swooped gracefully overhead as they enjoyed a delicious meal of classic fish and chips and seafood linguine, showcasing the fresh, local produce of the region. Over three days, their birthday break was a rich tapestry of activity and relaxation: cycling and hiking diverse routes alongside shimmering lochs and through vast, forest-clad valleys, savouring fabulous, locally sourced food, and soaking up the profound, nurturing goodness of being utterly immersed in the wilderness of Scotland’s magnificent first national park.

At the Edge of North Wales

For years, Andy Pietrasik had treated Ynys Môn (Anglesey) as little more than a transit point, a blur in the darkness as he journeyed to Holyhead to catch the night ferry to Dublin. The island, the largest in Wales, was an unexamined landscape. That changed recently when his daughter, a student in Bangor, suggested an outing. This inaugural visit proved transformative, revealing the captivating beauty of an island steeped in history, rich in Welsh culture, and boasting stunning coastal vistas.

Their first destination was Newborough Forest, a unique nature reserve on Anglesey’s south-west coast. This enchanting landscape, characterised by its Corsican pines, shifting sand dunes, and a sweeping beach, offered panoramic views of the majestic peaks of Eryri (Snowdonia) across the bay. The afternoon was spent walking over to the small tidal island of Ynys Llanddwyn, home to a charming lighthouse and the atmospheric ruined remains of Saint Dwynwen’s church. Saint Dwynwen, the Welsh patron saint of lovers (akin to Saint Valentine), lent a romantic aura to the discovery. For Pietrasik, it was "love at first sight," and a plan was immediately hatched for a longer return visit.

On their subsequent trip, they rented a cottage with impressive floor-to-ceiling windows that perfectly framed the distant mountains, located on the road out of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. The famously long place name, a marvel of Welsh linguistic ingenuity, added a touch of whimsical grandeur to their base. What they discovered during this extended stay largely resonated with the observations of HV Morton in his classic 1932 travelogue, In Search of Wales, where he described the island’s interior: "The long roads run through flat, green country, linking quiet, stone-built little market towns together."

However, it is at its "edges" that Ynys Môn truly reveals its dramatic character. On their first full day, they hiked a section of the Wales Coast Path along the cliffs at Rhoscolyn on Ynys Gybi (Holy Island). Holy Island, itself an island off an island, presented a rugged, breathtaking coastline adorned with dramatic sea arches. The experience evoked a profound "feeling of apartness, of almost floating out to sea," a sensation of being at the very frontier of the land.

Another day saw them park at the popular beach of Rhosneigr, known for its golden sands and as a hub for watersports like windsurfing and kitesurfing. Following the clear signs for the coast path, they meandered through the marram grass and gorse of the dunes until they discovered a sheltered cove, perfect for a refreshing swim in the cool Welsh waters. Afterwards, they drove across the island – an island once famously known as Môn, Mam Cymru (Anglesey, the Mother of Wales), due to its historical reputation for growing enough corn to feed the entire country. Their destination was Red Wharf Bay, another sweeping beach reached down a single-track lane. While corn was not on the menu at the charming Boathouse cafe, they indulged in delectable crab meat crumpets and fresh mussels, savouring the island’s rich seafood offerings.

Leafing through HV Morton’s book back at the cottage that night, Pietrasik stumbled upon a line that brought a pang of regret for all the years he had "rattled through this glorious little island on the boat train," seeing it only as an embarkation point for Ireland, rather than a destination in its own right. Morton’s prescient words about Holyhead, the port town, highlighted what he had missed: "Holyhead is an excellent place for a holiday … you have bathing, fine cliff scenery, and all round you is excellent flat walking country with a supreme view of the whole Snowdon range." This realisation underscored the profound joy of discovering the hidden gems often overlooked in the rush of travel, affirming Anglesey’s status as a truly captivating corner of North Wales.

North Yorkshire with 42 Pals

Twelve years ago, a casual conversation in a primary school playground between Jill Mead and her friend Vicky sparked what would become an enduring annual tradition: a mass group holiday to North Yorkshire. "I’m thinking of taking a few friends up to Yorkshire," Mead proposed. Vicky’s instant reply, "I’m in," set in motion a movement that quickly swelled to include 42 friends and family members, all bound for the charming Cote Ghyll Mill on the edge of the picturesque village of Osmotherley. Once a youth hostel, Cote Ghyll has since been transformed into a welcoming B&B, but its capacity and location at the foot of the North York Moors made it the perfect hub for their large party. Mead and her son Ned even crafted a giant "Welcome to Yorkshire" banner, complete with Blu-Tacked handwritten names on bedroom doors, setting a festive, communal tone for what became their beloved "June tradition," a cherished ritual sadly interrupted only by the Covid pandemic.

One memorable day, Mead’s parents took charge, leading the enthusiastic group on a six-mile circular walk from Grosmont through the fairytale hamlet of Beck Hole. This secluded village, historically known as a centre for the traditional game of quoits, offered a delightful glimpse into rural life before the trail ascended across the rugged beauty of the North York Moors. Mead fondly recalls her mother, "ever the feeder in our family," opening the boot of their car to reveal a feast: her homemade fruit cake alongside a stack of enormous sandwiches collected from the renowned Danby Bakery. Her father, meanwhile, had crafted several short thumbsticks – traditional walking sticks made from hazel branches – for the children. Florence, now 19, still treasures hers, while her mother, Julie, repurposed it for a particularly awkward light switch at home.

Halfway round the walk was Dad’s favourite pub, the Birch Hall Inn in Beck Hole, a tiny, historic establishment that doubles as a sweet shop, a charming relic from a bygone era. His drink of choice was, without fail, a bitter shandy. The group emerged clutching paper bags filled with old-fashioned sweets bought by the ounce – lemon sherbets, cola cubes, and pear drops – while young Ned meticulously chose Barratt’s liquorice sticks for his grandad, a sweet tradition within their own tradition.

Part of their walking route crossed the North Yorkshire Moors Railway (NYMR) line to Whitby. Watching a majestic steam train chuff past ignited a collective desire to experience the magic for themselves. The NYMR, one of the world’s most popular heritage railways, offers a truly enchanting way to see the moors, its carriages telling stories of their own. Couples shared romantic moments, children chattered around tables, and happy heads hung out of windows, eager to catch the evocative smell of coal and steam. The journey, however, wasn’t without its minor drama: eleven-year-old Eleanor caught a considerable amount of coal dust in her eye, necessitating a trip to A&E in Northallerton, though thankfully she was fine.

Upon reaching Whitby, a historic coastal town famed for its abbey, connection to Dracula, and Captain Cook, Ned’s friends gleefully buried him in the sand on Tate Hill beach. Despite thorough brushing and shoe-emptying, he left "a little trail of Whitby" all the way back to the station and onto the train, a tangible souvenir of their seaside escapade.

The trip would not have been complete without a visit to Mead’s own "boozer of choice," the Sun Inn, or Spout House, in Bilsdale. This quintessential rural pub boasts an infamous cricket field with a dramatic slope where fielders on the boundary can literally disappear from view, a quirky detail that adds to its local legend. Mead’s old primary school friend, Audrey, is now the landlady, carrying on a legacy of community and warmth. Audrey, whose father was the village milkman and whose ponies Mead once rode, possesses a remarkable ability to make every patron feel "as if they’ve come home."

Audrey organised a spirited domino tournament, and laid on "the most amazing Yorkshire platter," with cakes worthy of any country show. Competition was fierce, with local diehard domino players, mainly farmers, joining in. In a delightful twist, six-year-old Harriet emerged victorious, beating the lot of them, prompting tears of triumph from her and peals of laughter from her mum, Steph. This charming scene perfectly encapsulated the intergenerational joy and community spirit of their holidays.

This year, the tradition is set to resume. Mead casually asked Ned, now 21, "Do you think anyone might fancy going back to Yorkshire?" His immediate "Absolutely, Mum" sealed the deal. They are returning to Cote Ghyll Mill this month, the original "Welcome to Yorkshire" banner has been unearthed, and Harriet, now 18, is fiercely ready to defend her domino title. These annual gatherings are more than just holidays; they are vibrant celebrations of friendship, family, and the enduring charm of North Yorkshire.

A Quick Dip into Bristol

Embarking on a train journey from Kent to Bristol on one of the hottest days of the year proved to be a test of endurance for Max Benato. Sweltering heat, coupled with train cancellations and delays, meant she arrived in the vibrant city "hot, broken and miserable." Yet, less than an hour later, her mood was completely transformed as she glided through the cool, inviting waters of the city’s historic lido, smugly congratulating herself on booking what she considers "one of the best summer city hotels in the country."

Benato’s visit to Bristol was prompted by the opening of "Polly Braden: Against the Tide," an exhibition at the brilliant Arnolfini arts centre. This leading hub for contemporary arts is housed in a magnificent 19th-century warehouse on Narrow Quay, nestled beside Bristol’s historic harbour. The harbour area, once a bustling industrial