The Narrow Boat Diary: bottle this.

Well, no news has been good news. The potentially combustible mix of myself, Beyonce Knowles and Des O'Connor CBE travelling through the Northamptonshire waterways on our hired narrow-boat, The Kettleby Princess, has been rendered harmless by the combination of fresh air, good food and the happy routine of canal navigation.

As you may recall, some tension had arisen over the issue of washing up and the fair and reasonable distribution of chores on board, all resolved over one of B's cakes and a pot of Des's lapsang. We went on to navigate Foxton Locks, and with some panache, Des insisting on winding every sluice gate (some showing off perhaps; neither of us is immune) and a highly satisfactory evening at 'Bridge 61', a canalside pub.

This was interesting; like so many very famous people, my travelling companions have a capacity to turn it on or turn it off, seemingly at will. Des's fame is so complete and his face so familiar that people say hello to him all the time, as if he were their neighbour. In a way he's just that: he has been in the corner of our living rooms for over 40 years; he just never got around to asking for a cup of sugar. His easy charm was there for all to see last night, everyone in the bar assuming he was a friend of a friend, or someone they'd met at at a conference a few years ago but couldn't quite place. This could have gone either way, but Des chose to keep a low profile for the common good.

Beyonce's impact is different, and I write this as she sleeps, snoring lightly in her tiny cabin at the other end of the boat, her Paddington Bear 'Do not disturb; bear sleeping!' sign swinging slowly back and forth with the gentle swell of the canal. First there's The Look, the look that says 'I'm buying two pints of Marston's Pedigree and a packet of Quavers and I appear to be to standing next to Beyonce' look. What comes next is a mixture of disbelief, close inspection, wonder; then finally resignation. The sheer implausibility of the setting weighs heavily on the subject. To a man (and it's always a man) they choose disbelief over acceptance ('this just cannot be') and we continue with our evening, or our shopping trip to Somerfield's. In mitigation, wearing one of my old Gap shirts and a pair of Levi's, and free of make up, B could be any other attractive boatie wife (albeit Texan).

This lack of attention went down well with my guests, revelling as they were in the joy of a quiet pint in a Leicestershire pub. As the acknowledged king of showbiz anecdotes, Des had us in fits. Once we had explained the significance of Morecambe and Wise, Beyonce begged Des to go on, her enthusiasm no doubt fuelled by the three pints of Pedigree she had downed. At this point people were beginning to look over into our corner so we thought better of it and got out while we were ahead.

Back on board, cocoas, Calvados and a packet of fig rolls to help us on our way, the evening carried on in a similar vein; lots of giggles over the game of Ker-plunk we found in the cupboard under the bench, and Des giving us a fabulous 'Wrap your troubles in dreams' with me and B tapping out the rhythm on the Formica-topped fold-out table; bliss. We even danced. Who could ask for anything more?

Best,
Fred