Skeldergate Bridge

It’s impossible to choose one happy memory of York – there are just too many.

The joy of seeing my daughter again after several months of separation. To hug her and hold her tight makes me happy.

A walk on the city walls on a summer’s day, the warm breeze on my skin as we gaze over York Minster and out towards the hustle and bustle of the streets below. Glancing into people’s back gardens and imagining who they are and how they live makes me happy. A nice cup of tea at Dyls under Skeldergate Bridge. We sit in the shade and listen to the traffic hum above us. We try to read the names of the little electric boats passing by as the ducks on the river bank start to quack and move about – and this makes me happy too.


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