They are so astonishingly lifelike that you almost wonder if they are actually not sculptures, but real people. Did he blink? This despite the fact that Wild Man, 2005 is a giant, and Spooning Couple, 2005 consists of two tiny figures you could hold almost in the palm of your hand. You want to go right up to them and examine every hair on their bodies, every fold of skin. Yet such is the realism, it feel intrusive to do so! Shh! Don’t wake them!

In the adjacent room, are ten works from the Frank Cohen Collection. There’s the haunting Between Men and Animal (2005), an oil painting of laughing, mocking faces by Chinese artist Yue Minjun. You can’t fail to smile at a life-sized polar bear balancing upside down nose to nose on a little boy in the sculpture The Big Kiss, 2007 by Chen Lei. Again, this exhibition finishes 11 April.

Today I went on a Technical Tour of that same aeroplane which, after five years standing out in the open, is now housed in the Concorde Centre. (Whilst this purpose built hangar protects the iconic plane from the wind and rain, it is unheated. The seven of us on our tour were bitterly cold for most of the 90 minute experience. If you are considering a tour, wait until spring!)

Our guide was enthusiastic and fluent, with a great deal of detailed knowledge which he seemed to take pleasure in sharing with us. He walked our small group slowly underneath the fuselage from tip to tail, explaining what each protruding sensor did, and describing the many design challenges which are unique to a supersonic passenger aircraft.

Compared with everyday airliners of course, Concorde is petite – it carried only 100 passengers. What I found surprising was that the four powerful Olympus engines which could propel her to 2,395 kph were also very small.

Our guide explained why the engine housings are rectangular, not round (because there have to be adjustable baffles in front of the intakes to reduce the velocity of air rushing into the engine). He also explained why the undercarriage is so tall compared with subsonic passenger aircraft (because Concorde took off and landed at an angle of some 13° compared with about 3° and so a stilt-like undercarriage was necessary to provide the necessary ground clearance at the tail).

The shape of the wings is a beautiful curve, with an almost imperceptible upward ‘flick’ of the outer trailing edge. This made it possible to fly at low speeds with wings designed to fly at twice the speed of sound.

Inside, we sat in comfortable leather seats with generous legroom. There was no provision for in-flight TV, and the overhead lockers are very shallow, with room for perhaps a briefcase or handbag each. The windows too are tiny, but it didn’t feel claustrophobic.

The washrooms were similar to those on everyday airliners, but the galleys were remarkably small. It must have been quite a challenge to serve 100 five-course haute cuisine meals on china plates from ovens the size of a child’s wardrobe.

Two-by-two we went forward to the flight deck and were invited to sit in the captain’s seat. Our guide explained all the displays and controls available to the crew – including the flight engineer who had his own wall of instruments to monitor. It was a cramped, austere environment with quite a restricted view through the visor.

Concorde is a magnificent technical achievement and beautiful too – a marvel which for 35 years could fly non-stop across the Atlantic faster than a rifle bullet. It is a shame that for financial reasons it was not possible to keep one or two in an airworthy condition for air shows and exhibitions.

Good. Not that I have any appreciation of the game. I watch a football match on TV with the same level of comprehension as our cat. We can both see coloured shapes moving around on the screen but that’s about it. But Urbis has been a white elephant from the start.

The exhibitions I have visited were disappointing and a bit well, thin. There’s just too much space and not enough to go in it. And too many staff. For example the gimmicky lift which goes up diagonally has its own attendant. And he or she is actually in radio contact with other staff. “I’m just going up now.”

So I welcome the proposal to put this building to better use. It will be a draw to the city and if I visit the Football Museum I might even become a convert to The Beautiful Game.

Dave and I were ready for breakfast by the time we returned, but once again we were frustrated; breakfast at the Saracen’s Head was served to residents only, and the landlord refused to be persuaded otherwise � even though there were plenty of empty tables.

Back at the campsite office we asked where we might eat. It was as if we were the first explorers happening upon a community isolated from the rest of civilization. �Nowhere round here.� But then the lad helpfully made a phone call to the Royal Lodge further up the road and pulled some strings. The hotel served a great veggie breakfast and even let us bring Ella inside.

Our misgivings about the campsite, the less than picturesque buildings and their unnecessary signage, and the difficulty of actually obtaining meals, were made up for by the helpful and willing young staff everywhere in Symonds Yat East.

We broke camp and got our canoe and equipment back down the steps and into the water. We could hear the rapids close by and, as this was my first time, I was a little apprehensive. What were Grade 2 rapids going to be like? What if we capsized and Ella was swept downstream? We knew the main thing was to not approach them sideways (!) and to both keep paddling through.

He also gave us a safety briefing and instructions for dealing with various hazards and features along the river. It was a lot to take in, and one person in another group was so fazed she changed her mind and decided not to canoe.

We packed two watertight barrels and dragged our canoe down the bank and into the water. Ella jumped in, and we were off!! The gentle current helped us along and we enjoyed paddling down the river which was crystal clear. We saw no fish, but lots of gently swaying fronds of weed which must have been two or three metres long.

At Lower Lydbrook we stopped for a lunch break. This meant dragging the canoe onto the mud bank already occupied by several others. Steps led up to a grassed picnic area and across the road, The Courtfield Arms.

Inside, this has the quiet comfortable ambience of an up-market hotel, with a menu to match. We didn’t want to pay �5.50 for a posh baguette after our hearty breakfast so we just sat outside with a drink. We watched with mild curiosity as two detectives got out of a police car and spent some time investigating something further up the road.

A quick walk around Lower Lydbrook – which we felt was a little run-down – and back to the river. We passed Welsh Bicknor Youth Hostel and church, then paddled under an old cast-iron railway bridge. Mark had told us to ignore the painted sign here and keep to the centre of the river, not to the left.

This time I took the train, a direct service from Stockport to Hereford where Dave picked me up. We drove to Ross-on-Wye and pitched our tents at the White Lion once more.

It was a warm, sunny afternoon and the river level had dropped by about two metres since our last visit. We had a pleasant evening eating, drinking and watching the sun go down over the river.

Since then, they have acquired Concorde (I watched its very last landing) and have added several other planes. So I thought it was time for a return visit. Now I don’t suppose everybody enjoys watching aircraft taking off and landing, but I find these commonplace machines awesome, exciting and beautiful.

On the way there we called in at The Airport Hotel. This has a large beer garden which is “the closest you can get to commercial operating aircraft in the world”. For the price of a drink (and �1 car parking) you can be about 15 metres from the runway as the aeroplanes come whooshing in surprisingly fast. And those taxiing onto the runway sit waiting so close to the fence that, as they turn, the bigger ones send a gust of warm air across the entire garden.

Over at the official Viewing Park we expected at least as much spectacle. Two people in a car costs �7 to get in, after all. The viewing mounds are still there, and the Portakabin selling aviation souvenirs, but you can only peer through the window at Concorde unless you pay for a tour.

The biggest surprise for us was that it was much quieter and less involving at this end of the airport, where the planes were taking off. Yes, you can get close to a roped-off Trident and an Avro RJX but if it’s aeroplanes in action you want, my advice is to head for the pub.

We were rather frustrated to see parties of canoeists – school trips I imagine – safely enjoying the stretch of river denied to us.

The walk took us up through the woods to the remains of a folly at the highest point. We stopped for a rest and took in spectacular views across to Wales in the west, and Goodrich Castle to the north � built in the 11th century to keep the Welsh at bay.

Back at the castle car park there was a line of twelve Morgan cars (some from France) and their enthusiastic owners very happy to engage in conversation. Eleven Morgans were the traditional design, but one, looking like a Batmobile, was an Aero SuperSports and only 90 minutes old! Its new owner excitedly lifted the bonnet to show us the impossibility of removing the oil filler cap without dismantling the front of the car.

A quick sandwich at the caf� and it was time for Dave and me to part company and leave this beautiful part of the country.

So we packed everything away and waited to be collected, a bit despondent. Back at Lucksall where we had left the cars, Ady didn�t want to charge us anything, although we insisted.

We picked up a walking leaflet from Lucksall Caravan Park reception and set off on a 9 km walk. At Fownhope we didn�t fancy either pub so we pressed on through Cherry Hill and down into a large old orchard. At Mordiford the only pub, the Moon Inn was shut (our own fault – we had been warned they were moving) so we ate crisps bought from the old post office whilst sitting in the Norman churchyard.

Back at the caravan park we broke out the stove and made some noodles, thinking we had better have some food before setting off for home. Dry for the first time, in the pretty caravan park setting with lunch inside us, our spirits began to lift. �If only there was a pub near here, I�d be tempted to stay tonight.� I said. So Dave rang the White Lion pub in Ross on Wye to see if its campsite was still full. Luckily, they had spaces so that�s what we decided to do.

The �campsite� is in fact a grassy riverbank beyond the beer garden walls. Actually a great spot provided you didn�t imagine the river rising still further in the night and washing the tents away. The landlord and landlady were friendly and the food good, washed down with local cider.

It was pouring with rain which � if that weren�t bad enough � meant that the river Wye was full and fast, and getting worse. Our original plan had been to canoe down to Monmouth over three days, but Ady felt that would be too risky. We could do a day�s canoeing to Ross on Wye and, weather permitting, carry on the following day but the campsite at Ross was full.

We debated giving up altogether but it had taken us three hours to drive to Mordiford and we really did want to do some canoeing! Ady said he could get permission for us to pitch our tents at Ross Rowing Club. So we loaded up two water-tight barrels and a dry bag with tents and provisions, persuaded Ella (Dave�s Labrador) to jump aboard our Canadian canoe and set off.

We were cold and wet, but soon got the hang of paddling and the speed of the river made for good progress. Poor Ella sat in the rain patiently watching the many swans and ducks glide past as we made our way downstream. Dave tried to rig up an umbrella for her but it kept getting caught by the wind so he gave up.

The scenery was very pretty and � not surprisingly � we had the river to ourselves but the rain was relentless.

At Hoarwithy we pulled in to the side where there were some treacherous waterlogged steps up the steep river bank. Nowhere to tie a canoe, so we had no choice but to haul it up the bank, which was not at all easy.

Trudged across a field to the New Harp Inn and stood in the bar dripping wet and shivering. Their food was overpriced and the staff not the most welcoming but we were just glad to be out of the rain.

Back to the canoe and Ella refused to jump back in � poor dog! We pressed on down a stretch of the river that was not particularly varied although we occasionally spotted a kingfisher or bird of prey. Passed by several dismantled railway bridges where only the stone towers remain.

We knew we were approaching the Ross Rowing Club as they were practising and we could hear a coach using a loud hailer from a motor boat. We lifted the canoe up the steps and up-turned it on the grass adjacent to the clubhouse. Next we had the job of erecting the tents but the rain just did not let up. At one point we saw Ella and realized exactly what �hang-dog� looks like � she really did look forlorn.

Managed to get the insides of the tents reasonably dry. There was little point in changing into dry clothes so we set off for some food. The nearest pub the Hope & Anchor was OK for a drink but we didn�t fancy a meal there, so we headed into the pretty town of Ross and found the Man of Ross pub, outside which is an attractive metal sculpture �Salmon of the Wye�. Very friendly staff and a great selection of food. They were fine with Ella who is placid and just likes to be near Dave all the time.

Back at the tents, we settled down for a cold damp night with the combined sounds of the A40 traffic on the Wye flyover and the tink tink tink of the Rowing Club�s flagpole halyard.