and as if by magic…

Personally, I prefered the floating bridge, I loved it to bits; there was a big black ball that went up and down as the barge floated to-and-fro, which I found funny and so I would giggle. Then they built the Itchen Bridge, and you made me walk over it. I was six years old Mum, and if you look at that picture you’ll see how just bloody long that bridge is! That’s a lot of little steps – although for Marsha, it was a few hundred steps more.

Boy, was I mad at you. I sat down on the pavement and refused to budge if I remember rightly. Marsha was all mummy’s favourite and didn’t say a word but I was having none of it, which got me nothing me than a clip around the ear and a frightful cold (ah, the breeze that whistles off the Solent and across the bridge is a fucking chilly one).

Since Dad called last night, I’ve thought of little else; just this little memory of you, me and Marsha on that windy day on the Itchen Bridge. Funny that.

I love you Mum.

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