What people say.

We checked the calendar on the website in January, saw the treehouse was free on our anniversary and booked it on the spot; the calendar was right, which it never is anywhere else. Twelve metres up an oak with a copper bath and the river under you. We did not come down for two days.

Four of us and the dog in the cabin for a wet week in April. A bathroom with a door, a cooker, the barn full of board games, and the children in the river in wellies every time it stopped. The price for every night was on the pods page and it was what we paid.

Twelve of us, all four pods, the fires lit when we arrived and the long table on the meadow under the lights. Canoes on the Saturday, the barn as our kitchen, and no bar, which is why we chose it. £1,950 for two nights for twelve people and nobody else on eleven acres.

The breakfast hamper arrives at half eight carried down the field by Tom, you cook it on the fire, and the eggs were laid that morning by hens you can hear. The tent is a proper bed under canvas with a stove, fifty metres from anyone, and the valley in the door when you unzip it.

The hut is perfect and the sunset from its door is the best I have seen. Four stars because the shower block is fifty metres across a dark meadow at eleven at night and the solar path lights had given up in the rain; take a head torch. Tom has since put in proper lights, he says, and I believe him.

Symonds Yat to the beach in a day, through the rapids with the children shrieking, picked up at the start by the hire company who knew exactly where the site was. Next morning Tom walked us up to the Dyke and told us who built it. Walked, paddled, slept by a fire. That is the whole holiday.