How Harry and I Spent a Weekend Floating Down the Thames on Inflatable Crocodiles

I met Harry at his new house in a small town on the banks of the Thames and he excitedly waved a couple of boxes at me.

'Guess what I've gone and bought?!'

'Some fluffy slippers?' I said.

'Not even close. Ta da!' He spun the boxes round so that I could see the massive smiley crocodile faces on each one.

'Great.' I said. 'What are they for?'

'We're going to float down the Thames on them.'

Of course we were. Standard Harry!

So we packed up a bag full of wild camping gear (and crocodiles) and headed up the Thames footpath for half a day. We ate some dinner in a lovely pub on the river and eventually found ourselves a lovely little camp spot in a field nearby. There was even a small copse that had enough dry wood for a small fire. Bliss.

Then, like a glorious ball of flaming gases, the sun came up. In the early morning fog we packed our camping gear away and stashed it in the copse for collection later in the day. It was then that we realised that we'd fallen asleep in a field full of young male cattle.

Bullocks?

No, I'm telling the truth!

Luckily they were the young sedate version and not the trample you to death in your sleep variety.

We carried our deflated green floatation friends down to the river and blew them up. I was first in the water and while the last of the morning mist danced across the surface I slipped aboard my reptilian vessel.

The water was surprisingly mild, as in it wasn't ice cold. Which was lucky because Bruce (as my croc was quickly christened) sat low in the water. So low in fact that it was like my plums were taking a really long cold bath. It got even worse when I realised that Bruce already had a significant hole in his right fore paw.

Chuckling with glee, Harry clambered aboard Sheila (naturally) and we slowly started a sort of haphazard paddle down the river.

About 45 minutes later we climbed out at the pub where we had had dinner the night before. We'd gone all of about 500m. This was going to be a cold slow day. Traipsing through the dead Sunday morning streets of Wallingford clasping our rubberised pleasure craft and almost shivering to death with hyperthermia we found heaven. It was in the shape of a Costa Coffee that was serving hot teas and toasties.

Suitably warmed by caffeine induced cheesy goodness we made our way back to the Thames. It was actually a pleasure being back in the mild river. Being out of the water for even a few minutes meant that we were instantly teeth-chatteringly freezing.

We had another problem though. Bruce's small hole had grown into a gargantuan rip and gas was leaking out of him like a never ending fart. I was without a mode of transport. Thankfully, Sheila stepped up to the plate, or rather waddled on four inflatable crocodile feet, and we both managed to climb aboard her broad back and we were off again.

It was actually much more efficient this way as Harry and I could paddle like a traditional canoe. Although most of the people we met asked us if we needed saving. Did we look like we were sinking?

I think when Harry ordered the crocodiles he expected them to be a bit larger than what they were.

We even got a few smiles from the extremely serious members of the Oxford Brookes Rowing Club. And I swore there was a disproportionate number of Aussies chugging past in canal boats. Or maybe they were just putting on the accent for us.

We also saw a plethora of wildlife. It's amazing what you see as you float slowly down a river. Swans stretching their wide wings as they bathed. A kingfisher watching the water from his perch on a jetty. A heron flapping his vast wings as he took flight. Ducks. Geese. Moorhens.

Actually, come to think of it. All we saw was a load of birds.

Oh, apart from the fish that we saw a friendly fisherman whip from the river.

'What type of fish is that?' asked Harry innocently.

'Roach,' said the fisherman.

'How many have you caught?'

'One hundred and twenty one,' said the fisherman as he yanked another fish with his second line.

'Wow!' said Harry and I in unison.

We floated on further and eventually made it to the pub where the wedding had taken place.

Did I forget to mention? Sorry. So the day before on the walk from Harry's house to Wallingford we had passed through a pub which fronts on to the river and is slap bang in the middle of the Thames Way footpath. What could we do? We couldn't walk round. So we decided to do what any other normal person would do.

We sneaked straight through the wedding venue.

The only problem was the ceiling was very low and I had two massive paddles sticking out the top of my bag.

So there I was dressed as Crocodile Dundee crawling along on my knees through a wedding JUST AS THEY WERE DOING THEIR VOWS!!

Oh well.

So we were back at the pub again the next day. The place was littered with half filled champagne flutes and discarded confetti but we barely noticed them. We were already freezing and still had a fair walk to go. So, shoving Sheila under his arm, Harry and I made our way back to his house and back to reality. What a mad and fun adventure.

Lessons learned:

Rivers are actually surprisingly warm in September
Check the field for cows before you go to sleep
Don't gate crash people's weddings dressed as an 80s movie icon.
If you are going to float down a river, do it on an inflatable swan. They're much bigger.