I have stayed on two houseboats. One was a floating, ahem, “coffee shop” in Amsterdam where the fug of dope smoke mingled disagreeably with smelly socks. The other was a narrow boat on a trip in the Midlands, which was fun if hard work; all swabbing decks and opening lock gates.

I thought that was my lot, until children came along and a houseboat seemed a great opportunity for wholesome fun. So it was with infant-like excitement that I set off with partner Helen and son Bruno, 3, to stay on one of Europe’s first luxury houseboats available for hire in a fishing town in Denmark.

We took the ferry from Harwich to Jutland, the westernmost peninsula of Denmark. The sea was mercifully flat and it was a remarkably stress-free start to our trip, which started in countryside that looked a bit like Norfolk. On one side, as we drove out of the port of Esbjerg, was a flattish terrain of slow rivers, wind turbines and meadows where cows grazed contentedly; on the other was the North Sea: slightly rough and steely, but with beaches of such Danish punctiliousness that one couldn ’t fail to be impressed. There were no crisp packets in these endless dunes.

Finally, we arrived in Hvide Sande (it means White Sands), where our houseboat was moored. It’s an established fishing and boat-building centre, and alongside the houseboats there are several new holiday cottages, such as the fisherman’s huts where we were to spend the first part of our holiday.

These Fiskeriets Hus looked chic if a touch austere. But inside the interiors shone, literally. The big windows overlooking the fjord let in so much light that even when the weather was cool it was warm inside.

Our hut was a delight. There was a little courtyard for barbecues, a stove, small sauna, whirlpool bath, and a laptop with an ISDN line free of charge was a wonderful trustworthy touch. Also, with a deck that led on to a sandy track by shallow water, we could let Bruno run through the French windows with few concerns.

We played football with bare feet, and fished for tiddlers. I don’t know about Bruno, but it was bringing out my inner little boy.

We went to look at Hvide Sande. It was a small modern town, somewhat Scottish in atmosphere, with a harbour full of trawlers. At dusk, every boy in town fished at the huge floodgates that divided the sea from a large expanse of water called the Ringkobing Fjord.

Back home, we looked over the fjord, ate smoked eels and watched seals poke their heads out of the water. There was something about the scene that was utterly Nordic, maybe something to do with the evening light.

At any rate, Bruno, who usually goes to bed at 8.30pm, was still up at 10.30pm, running across the sandy expanse outside the hut. Why? “It’s not bedtime,” he said, quite reasonably when told it was time to turn in. “It’s still light.”

We so enjoyed our stay in the fisherman’s hut that we were almost sorry when it was time to move to our houseboat, which was moored on the fjord on the other side of a small spit.

Inside, it was fitted much as the fisherman’s huts with a little sauna, whirlpool bath, three bedrooms and veranda on both floors, with a barbecue on the top deck.

Bruno loved it. He wore a life jacket, for although strong railings made it nigh-impossible to fall off the houseboat itself, the jetty area was open. We had to be more vigilant than we’d been on land. But it didn’t compromise our fun.

Each day we did a bit of crabbing off the side of the houseboat and looked for amber in the endless beaches, or climbed a lighthouse that stuck out of the dunes. Across the fjord was picturesque Ringkobing, where contented-looking Danes cycled in dedicated lanes. Ribe, Denmark’s oldest town, was prettier still, while Henne Strand had Saharan amounts of white sand.

Here, we hired bicycles to ride through pine forests, then visited a Viking Village, which had boat rides through reedy rivers, and where students dressed in sackcloth helped Bruno to make scones out of dough on an open fire. Legoland, an hour or so’s drive away, was a must, and we also went to Aarhus, across the peninsula, mostly to visit the wonderful new art museum, the Aros, which opened this year, but also to see Den Gamle By, an open-air museum.

But the best experience was being on the houseboat itself, watching cormorants dip into the water and salty Danes setting off for a night’s eel fishing.

We’d wander up to fish at the lock, taking bottles of beer. On the fjord was a surf school and “put and takes” — stocked fish ponds where you cast a worm into a seething mass of sea trout, then buy your catch.

We probably had more omega-3 in Denmark than in a year in England.

The houseboats are becoming famous. Henning Davidson, who builds them, is frantic with calls from overseas developers, who he has to disappoint. His Hvide Sande boatyard aims to build ten a year. “In two years, we’ll have 20 houseboats all over Jutland,” said Henning.

Well, we’d like one, please. It’s a guaranteed little — and not so little — boy pleaser.

Need to know

Getting there: Oliver Bennett travelled to Denmark with the Danish Tourist Board (020-7259 5959, www.visitdenmark.com), DFDS Seaways (0870 5333111, www.dfdsseaways.co.uk) and Hvide Sande Tourist Office (00 45 9731 1866, www.hvidesande.dk/uk/). DFDS sailings from Harwich to Esbjerg cost £594 return between July 1 and September 4 for a car, two adults and two children in a four-berth cabin. Houseboats can be booked separately via the internet (www.vesterhavet.dk, Danish and German only) or the Hvide Sande tourist office. The average price for a week during summer is £545.

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