DAVID EDLER
discovers that even a a short narrow boat trip is enough to gently wash away the stresses of life.

I CONCEDE it's unlikely that there will be a TV travel show fronted by an ex-Monty Python star featuring the delights of my voyage along the Oxford Canal from  Stretton-under-Fosse, Warwickshire, to Braunston Junction. But perhaps if Michael Palm was tempted to present one, instead of voyaging up the Amazon, more people would sample the delights of these under-rated holidays. I took a short spring break, starting at 2.30pm on a Monday and finishing Friday at 9.30am, on the good boat Rumba, a 60ft long narrow boat with space for six people. We began our trip from the small village of Stretton, just a few miles south east of Coventry in the grey West Midlands ­ not an obvious starting point for a great journey. With the motley crew of five ageing from seven to 76 gathered at the Rose Boats yard, we loaded Rumba with our provisions, a small box of food, a large vat of wine and a huge selection of Bratz dolls, and were itching to cast off.

First of all the boat yard staff had to give us a rundown of how to steer the boat (the tiller is pushed in the opposite direction to that which is intended), how the central heating works (essential in an English climate), and daily maintenance procedures, which include checking the oil and water and twisting a knob to grease the shaft. After the yard boss was happy that we were happy ­ and we had been accompanied for a short while to prove we could manage ­ we chugged off at a gentle 4mph, and so began our three-and-half-day journey which would cover just 16 miles.    For some people, the journey to somewhere hot is a means to an end, a necessary inconvenience in order to achieve that perfect tan. On a narrow boat, however, the journey is the holiday.  It's a case of meandering from nowhere in particular to somewhere else and then returning. The moment I climbed board, the horizon shrunk and the 21st century ebbed gently away. At 4mph there is no hurry to get anywhere so I rediscovered that precious commodity so often lost in our frenetic world­time.

I had time to rediscover a landscape that is personified by Ambridge, neither breathtaking or awe-inspiring but one that is quintessentially English and, at such a slow speed, the boat and I became part of that world that flashes past while driving at 70mph along a motorway.  Our boat had six berths, two toilets and a decent shower. At 60ft-long and just six-feet wide it was comfortable and, in many ways, just like a floating caravan, only more stylish. We were on the northern end of the Oxford Canal which was built in the late 18th century to link Oxford with Coventry and the   Midlands' coalfields.  As well as the attractive landscape of Middle England, the canal offers an interesting variety of industrial heritage. With competition from the Grand Union Canal affecting trade, the Oxford Canal was subject to a vast improvement programme to straighten out bends and build embankments and cuttings. The upshot of this is a legacy of graceful iron bridges by the side of the canal which now seem to have no purpose at all apart from looking pretty.  In such a short period, we were never going to get very far so we headed off to Braunston Junction, 16 miles and three locks away. The brochure told us it was about six hours from the base so it was going to be a very leisurely few days indeed. The only major town of any note that we went through was Rugby, famous for its school and that game. We could have stopped and explored the town, but as the canal skirts it, indolence took over and we stayed within the sanctuary of Rumba and our own little world.  Braunston Junction is a place that "bargies" get very excited about and in the summer months it can get very congested. There are overnight moorings available, but although the British Waterways lady acted like a traffic warden and took the name of our boat and the time we arrived just to make sure we wouldn't exceed the 48-hour limit, to be honest we couldn't see why anyone would want to spend more than a night there.

The village on the hill was pretty enough but the beauty of boating is to be able to moor up anywhere ­ it's so much nicer to moor up outside the town and walk in, or, even better, moor in the middle of nowhere with only the ducks for company.  Of course, one of the big attractions of boating is that it's one of the few modes of transport that are drivable while also having a civilised drink and there are usually plenty of fine canal-side pubs to stagger to and even moor up beside.  After Braunston we had to turn round, which is easier said than done with such a long boat, but there are various places on the canal which are deliberately made wider to enable turning. The worst thing that could happen is that the boat runs aground, but that's easily fixed with a long pole and much heaving.  Both my children had a go at the steering the boat, the other adults of the crew proving reluctant, and the three locks that we went through were easy to work and added a bit of interest for all the crew. Everybody loved it when we went through a tunnel: it's very therapeutic shouting at the top of your voice when going through the dank darkness.  But the highlight of the break for me had to be waking up early on a sunny morning, sticking my head out of the window and watching the rush hour ­a mother duck and her brood hurrying by.

So if the perfect recipe for a short break is to finish up totally relaxed and unstressed, what are you waiting for ­ go boating!