It had to happen to one of us sooner or later; one of us had to fall in the drink.

We were even prepared for the occasion, and have a little silver trophy on board which we've been saving to award to the first person to go overboard. But who would be the inaugural recipient? Liz or me?

The first of us to voluntarily 'leave the boat' was me, but that was back in July when we were moored on the Yonne river at a place called Cezy. The weather was beautiful, the river clear, and so I donned my Speedos (look away! look away!) and went for a dip off Liberty's swim platform - the first time it had been used for that purpose. But as I said, that was voluntary, so doesn't count.

At other times though there've been plenty of opportunities for either of us to take an accidental dip. In the 11 months or so since buying the boat we've tied up to numerous floating pontoons, many narrow and some with even more slender 'fingers' off them. These little floating fingers in particular bob and sway alarmingly when you walk along them. The prospect of an unexpected dunking has therefore been with us for months and months, yet we've both managed to somehow stay dry. Until now.

But that's not to say we have broken some sort of record or anything; we happen to know of a friend of ours who 'went swimming' three times last year. No names, no pack drill of course, but you know who you are! Send money now and your anonymity will be preserved. The clock's ticking, W***.

Anyway, falling off a boat or a pontoon, or into a lock, just has to happen sooner or later. In the big deep locks on the Rhone, the wearing of life jackets is compulsory, a regulation introduced some years ago following a disastrous barge sinking when the gates at the Bollene écluse somehow failed and flooded the lock, taking a woman and her two dogs to their deaths.

But the rest of the time life jackets and bouyancy aids aren't compulsory, and we rarely see anyone wearing them. Nevertheless, every boat is supposed to carry them - one for each crew member - and the maritime authorities can fine you if you fail to produce them during an inspection. We have two on board Liberty, along with a life ring, but we've never worn a floatation aid of any sort while mooring the boat - they're too clumsy and restricting.

Which is why, when I was tugging on one of the boat's ropes today, trying to bring her a bit closer to the floating finger off the main pontoon, I went hurtling backwards and into the river, to disappear completely under the murky water. It happened so quickly - the rope just slipped off the cleat. I'd been pulling hard on it, so the momentum meant I didn't stand a chance, as there was less than a metre of pontoon behind me.

Splash! In - and down - I went. Liz meanwhile was inside the boat working on her CV for a job application, and didn't even hear me go in. I clawed my way back to the surface, banging my head on one of the pontoon's stainless steel floats as I did so, but managed to somehow scramble back onto the pontoon. I was a bit stunned, but more concerned about getting my watch dry as quickly as possible than anything else - it's one of the few things I've ever won in my life, and I didn't want this bit of bad luck to ruin that piece of good one.

I called to Liz and when she came out she saw a completely sodden me with blood pouring from a gash in my forehead all down my face. Superfluously I said, 'I fell in.' She helped me back on board, dried my precious watch as requested, and helped me clean up and dry off. It's a good job French currency is waterproof as I had 70 Euros in my pocket too. I told Liz I had liquidated the funds. You've got to laugh.

Anyway, I'm warm and dry now, with a plaster on my forehead and more bruising to my pride than anything else. And, I get to win the Silver Trophy for my mad escapade, an appropriate prize for being completely in-Seine.