On Wednesday, December 25 I am heading out once again on a big charity trek in memory of my amazing and fabulous husband Stephen.

I am going to trudge the half marathon circumference of the RSPB reserve at Loch Leven in Fife with my Labrador Bear to raise funds for this important charity which was very close to Stephen’s heart.

The RSPB manages some of the most magical places in Scotland, you see – 77 reserves in total spanning 72,000 hectares of mountains, moorland, Caledonian pine forests and rugged coastline.

Your charitable donation would help to maintain those reserves which you can visit in the hope of spotting Golden Eagles, otters and Red Squirrels, alongside wintering geese and seabird colonies.

My husband was highly regarded as a journalist due in part to his sharp writing skills but also his rather sharp brain … his knowledge of all things wildlife was equally impressive.

He was committed to conservation and specifically asked me to raise funds for the RSPB in his name. I hope to do him proud when I literally walk the 13.1 miles of Loch Leven in his footsteps; it was one of his favourite routes and full of happy memories.

I lost Stephen to cancer on December 25, 2022. It was traumatic and it was devastating.

I do not celebrate Christmas or exchange cards or gifts, so any donation, no matter how big or small, will mean the world to me.

Or even a message of support!

I received so many messages of support when I completed a charity trek last year in aid of Maggie's, Fife (this had been my husband’s first wish).

That generosity and kindness carried me through the first anniversary of Stephen’s passing.

Thank you for keeping my husband’s memory alive.

Thank you for thinking of me.

Thank you for throwing a lifeline.

Thank you for keeping me afloat.

“As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves,” an elderly gentleman has written.

“When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. All you can do is float. Stay alive.

“In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float.

“After a while, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function.

“Somewhere down the line, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart.

“You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage … but you'll come out.”