Walking The Edge: Monday, Walk #1 A sleepy, green afternoon. We climb down, from leafy avenue to river bank to walk one side of the water. We think the boundary must be drawn through its centre. There is no way across. Doesn't a river move? Not just the water – the whole thing, over years? Not that you'll ever see. Plus this one has manmade edges, keeping its curves in check. We cannot see what lies either side, up these steep banks thick with sweet elderflower and whispering grass. We know the road is coming – it beats the sound of running water – but it is still an assault, a right-angled twist up into concrete, railings, a different kind of sky. At the edge of this second river someone has placed two wooden reminders: a heron, beak aloft; and on the other side, a fish leaping from a patch of grass. But the river already feels another world ago. On one side, traffic hurls itself out towards the motorway; on the other it slows to miss the camera's blink, readies itself to slide into the city. There is no way across. We walk on. Houses hunkered back from the carriageway; brambles reaching up a tired fence; a church with its clock face polished blue and gold. Another right angle, past the curried scent of a meal longed for through an endless summer's day; past queues of bins; houses so big they struggle to keep themselves whole; to this stretch of life – the glitter of glasses behind bars, all these promises. Thanks to Matt, Emma and Ron for joining me on the walk. The next public walk starts at 10am on Wednesday 24th June, see events info for details.