By the river, on the river, in the river

I grew up near a river and spent so much of my childhood on it, by it and in it. Canoeing or punting, I travelled miles and miles on the Cam, up river and downstream, along little tributaries and through pools and over locks. Later, when I had moved away I joined a rowing club which was by a lake… enclosed water is not as magical as moving water… and rowing was not as easy as either punting or canoeing. Maybe if I had been sculling on my own I might have got on better; but in an eight with seven other rowers and a cox was too difficult for me, I just couldn’t keep in time with my team mates. In the end I was left out of the boat, and there were only so many Saturday mornings I would give up and go and stand by the boathouse and watch the others whizzing round the lake.

I haven’t been on the water for years and years, but whenever I see boats of any sort, especially moored and waiting, ready for a passenger, then I get a little twinge of nostalgia and wish I could jump in.