Intro to: Pilgrimage - A husband, a wife and their dog walk the Thames Pathway

There I was, sitting comfortably in front of my television set binge watching the second season of Squid Games on Netflix – accompanied by a large glass of wine and an even larger packet of crisps – when a curious challenge was presented to me, in the form of Whatsapp messages from my two daughters, Danielle and Charlotte.

'Hey, dad, why don't you walk the Thames Pathway, it's only just over 180 miles.' You see, I'd been threatening to walk the south-west coastal path but, at a staggering 435 miles everyone I know knew it was too far and too strenuous for someone at my current level of physical fitness.

I mulled the idea over. The River Thames – that majestic, murky ribbon of water that's served as both the backdrop to my life and been the very lifeblood of London since the Romans decided togas and sandals were appropriate attire for British weather. At first I thought my bluff had been called and that, given my arthritic knees and knackered back, it wasn't something I would really do. But the more I thought about it the more I liked the idea.

Why, you ask?

And that would be a good question.

Partly for physical health (because apparently, sitting on the couch eating crisps doesn't count as exercise), and partly for mental well-being. Us old sods can get a tad overly nostalgic and spend too much energy railing against the absurdities of modern life … maybe even turn a bit Victor-Meldrewy. If you're not certain what that means, it' a new adjective I've just created, named after the irascible and pessimistic Victor, the tragi-comic lead character in the TV series 'One Foot in the Grave'. Victor sees the worst in everything and everyone and vents his frustrations with his iconic catchphrase 'I don't believe it.'

So, right off the bat there were two good reasons for doing the walk; physical fitness and slowing down – stopping it may not be possible – my relentless metamorphosis into Victor Meldrew. As I thought about the idea of walking the Thames Pathway, alongside the knowledge I was getting on in years, I turned to my wife, Pam, and asked her if she thought I was turning into Victor. She smiled, lovingly, and said something like: 'Well, not totally.' Damned by faint praise, as they say.

I asked her about the idea. 'Why not,' she said. 'Why don't we both do it for charity?'

Why not, indeed? On further reflection, the idea grew in me. It would be about more than physical and mental well-being, it would be a journey as much about the present as the past, a journey about rediscovering ourselves in an age where GPS has replaced natural navigation, and Instagram stories have supplanted actual stories. Not that I'm opposed to those things – indeed, I will/have used them to spread the word about this book – but spending too much time on social media instead of living in the real world has had a detrimental effect on us all. And in an age where they keep telling us AI will soon replace all our jobs, and that soon we'd all have our mind and memories loaded into the cloud and live happily ever after, for eternity. This talk of tech and an AI dominated world – despite the fact I have a background in computer programming – doe make me feel a little queasy. I wanted to create some real memories of my own – even us Victor Meldrews can still live a little.

Any Star Trek fans out there? The AI dream reminds me of an episode involving Data, the super smart AI robot form the Next Generation, the series with Patrick Stewart as Captain Picard. Data, as clever as he is, has no ability to understand emotional experience but nevertheless is driven by the urge to experience it. When the Federation decide he needs to be taken apart in order they can understand his abilities and make similar robots, Data puts his foot down. No way, not going to happen, he insists. Using the kind of dialogue the character became famous for, he opines: 'There is an ineffable quality to memory which I do not believe can survive your procedure,' he tells the 'medic' tasked with taking him apart.

It's not often I side with an AI robot, but I think Data maybe onto something. Mind, memory and experience is embodied, bound tightly to our physicality. Which means, I thought, it's time to put one foot in front of the other and do the walk.

So Pam and I aren't just walking for exercise (though my doctor would be thrilled to know I'm finally taking his advice seriously); we're walking to reconnect—with each other, with people we invite and walk with or just meet along the way, with history, and with the landscape that has shaped our nation's story … and the personal love story that has survived a forty year marriage.

There's something deeply romantic about following a river to its source, like tracing a love story back to its first spark. So this is indeed a labour of love, a multifaceted love story: between Pam and me, between London and its river, between the present and the past. It's also, I suspect, going to be a story about blisters, wrong turns, and the eternal optimism required to believe that pub sign that says 'just one mile further.'

So we embarked on a quest to walk the Thames in its entire length. The walk starts (or ends) in the the concrete jungle of Woolwich and continues out to the bubbling source of the river, Thames Head, near Kemble in Gloucestershire. The 'official' start/end point in London is the Woolwich foot tunnel, that Victorian marvel of engineering that allows us to begin our adventure by walking under the very river we're about to follow. From there, we'll be working our way upstream, against the flow of history itself.

Now, you might wonder why we're going that way and the answer is simple. We're starting in winter where the path is concrete in London and when the country path outside the capital resembles a swamp more than a trail.

As we meander along, I'll be sharing tales of the Thames' past, peppered with our own misadventures and personal musings. So not just a walk; a love letter to a river that's seen it all. From the Frost Fairs of the 17th century, where elephants once paraded on the frozen river (health and safety, anyone!), to the Great Stink of 1858 that proved even politicians have functioning noses.

The Thames has always been a thread binding together the fabric of English life, from the Viking longships that once struck terror into Saxon hearts to the pleasure boats that now ferry tourists past the Houses of Parliament. It's witnessed the rise and fall of empires, carried kings to their coronations, and ferried condemned prisoners to the Tower. These days, it's more likely to transport commuters to their Monday morning meetings, but the old river's capacity to surprise and enchant me remains.

The Thames Path is 184ish miles of history, beauty, and adventure, punctuated by convenient pub stops (thank you, medieval ale houses!). From the maritime giant of the Thames barrier at Woolwich to the modest trickle in the Cotswolds, every mile has a tale to tell. Some are grand historical epics—like the signing of the Magna Carta at Runnymede—while others are small personal dramas, like the time I tried to convince Pam that my phone reading GPS kills were superior to her directional intuition (spoiler alert: they weren't).

As for which charity, the question was an easy one. Both of us watched as our mothers were destroyed by Alzheimer's.  So the Alzheimer's Society it was, the leading voluntary health organization in Alzheimer's care, support, and research.

So join us as we embark on this watery pilgrimage, a journey of body, mind, and soul along England's liquid history. Who knows? By the end, we might just have walked off those crisps, found enlightenment, or at the very least, developed some impressive calf muscles. Onward, to the source!

#thamespathway