Walking is one of my favourite things. It’s where I escape, create, daydream. My regular morning stroll takes me along the choppy, brown waters of the River Humber, over chalky beach, past benches with names of lost loved ones on rusting plaques, past the rescue centre where lifeboats wait to be launched, and finally, under the Humber Bridge.
When the Queen opened this 1.38-mile bridge on 17 July 1981, it was the longest of its kind in the world. I was there, aged 10, with the Brownies, waving a flag. I’ve had a view of one of its grey towers from a bedroom window for most of my life. I’ve watched its concrete and metal structure emerge alien-like from a misty distance, a welcome sign, meaning I’m home.
But now, there are days I can’t walk under it.
