New Brighton

The walk around the Wirral is one of those classics that include disjointed memories from my childhood and recent life. This promenade is at New Brighton where Christine used to come for day trips when she was a girl living in Stockport. It is where Margie saw the distant end of the "150 mile" trek she had undertaken from West Kirby. It was where we got the phone call that informed us that Piccadilly had died. It was where we watched open mouthed as 20ft breakers came over the sea wall in a long forgotten Easter Gale. It was where we paddled and ate ice creams as we froze in short trousers and the ice creams melted. Above all else when we were in New Brighton we were on holiday. Not that we understood the importance of that, or even why anyone would want to come to this unusual place for a holiday. I am sure we will be back.