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

Five travel writers share their favourite holidays at home, from gravel biking in Scotland and a steam train ride in Yorkshire to rowing all the way from Oxford to London

One of my best UK holidays was the week I spent in June 2013 rowing from Oxford to London with two friends, James and Tom.

We hired the boat from a company called Thames Skiff Hire that mainly caters to people recreating the fictional adventure of the characters in Jerome K Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat . Our boat – Ewen – was a 26ft, 130-year-old mahogany skiff. It came with two pairs of oars, a rudder, a cooking stove, a boat hook, and iron hoops that supported a green canvas roof over the hull.

After an hour’s briefing at a slipway by Donnington Bridge, we were off, piloting the boat 80 or so miles downstream to London. That June was blustery and wet. The first day was deceptively fine, but on the second, we got soaked on the stretch of water between Abingdon and Day’s Lock, and came close to packing it in.

Even with the current helping us, the miles ahead seemed like folly. It’s not generally remembered that Jerome K Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat ends in disappointment and recrimination as the companions abandon their sodden skiff at The Swan in Pangbourne.

But we kept going. And, over the subsequent days, the weather improved, we got better at rowing and it turned into an extraordinary and memorable adventure.

Looking back, the trip appears to have been packed with incident. We visited lovely riverside pubs, brewed tea on uninhabited midstream islands, and popped into a meditation centre run by an ascetic Hindu sect. We passed Medmenham Abbey, the headquarters of Francis Dashwood’s Hellfire Club ; Monkey Island, where the doomed romance in Rebecca West’s The Return of the Soldier unfolds; and we moored for lunch one day at the luxurious faux-gothic hotel Oakley Court , immortalised as Frank-N-Furter’s castle in The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Logistically, the trip was never entirely straightforward. Although the Thames skiff was designed to be slept in, it was not big enough for three and the rules around wild camping made things more complicated. I also remember feeling a certain anxiety when mooring the boat to go to the pub. We had been instructed to hammer iron spikes into the riverbank and fasten the skiff to them. But it always seemed weird to walk away from this precious antique and assume it would be there when we got back.

Negotiating the locks that regulate the water level of the river was also tricky. Someone had to remain in the skiff with a boat hook and keep it from bumping against the sides as the water poured out of the sluices. And, of course, rowing that distance, even with the current, requires a certain stick-to-it-ness.

Paradoxically, the minor hardships of the trip probably made it more relaxing than a holiday whose explicit goal is relaxation. The overall pace was slow and reflective. And even within commuting distance of our own beds, it always felt as if we were very far from the daily grind.