A MONTH IN THE LIFE OF…

radio DJ, writer and president of the Ramblers Stuart Maconie

The BBC Radio DJ, writer and president of the Ramblers walks us through his rites of spring

I never thought I was a spring person because I love crisp winter days, but recently I’ve been looking forward to it. I co-host the weekend breakfast show on Radio 6 Music and, most mornings, I amble along the canal from the station to the studio in Salford. By the end of winter, I’ve had enough of walking to work in the dark. There’s more of a spring in my step in the sunshine.

The BBC designated me a key worker, so last year I worked through Easter. My family is mostly vegetarian, so Easter lunch will be a big tagine or a stew. Then, on Easter Monday, we go to Greystoke village hall near my home for a big cooked breakfast. If I get time off, I’ll head for the hills in Cumbria or Pembrokeshire.

Some walkers get up at dawn, but not me. I’m a ‘put-thesausage-rolls-in-the-oven-about-10 o’clock’ kind of guy. I’ll wrap them in foil, sling them in my rucksack and make a flask of hot sweet coffee before heading to the fells. I live near Gowborough Fell in Ullswater and in the spring, it’s full of daffodils. It’s where Wordsworth wrote I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud.

People often think of walkers as bearded men in Barbour jackets and woolly hats, but that’s totally wrong. As president of the Ramblers, I want to show that the countryside belongs to everyone. The same argument has been raging for years. Back in the spring of 1932, 400 walkers, mostly from Manchester, took part in the Kinder Scout Mass Trespass, an act of wilful trespass in the

Peak District, to campaign for their right to access our hills and fields. We should all embrace it.

Like many of those trespassers, I’m not from a walking family. I was a council estate kid from Wigan, and holidays meant Blackpool and Butlins. As a young adult writing for the NME,

I spent my life on tour buses craving open space. One day, I walked up Loughrigg Fell in Cumbria and thought, ‘This world is inaccessible to the person in a car.’ It was a real epiphany.

Now, walking is part of the regular rhythm of my life. I try to do 12,000 paces a day and avoid cars or public transport when I can. I love early evening strolls in the twilight, listening for the wind whistling or birds singing.

Lots of men head for Scafell Pike because it’s the biggest fell, but my most well-trodden Lake District routes are Carrock Fell, Blencathra and High Pike. I don’t equate walking with hardship. It’s not a contest. Afterwards, I might head to a pub for Cumberland sausage and chips, and sticky toffee pudding.

When I’m not recording or walking, I’m writing. I’ve written eight books and, when I reach an impasse, a stroll can help me crack the next paragraph. In my most recent book, The Nanny State Made Me, I wrote about the village of Eyam in Derbyshire going into quarantine to prevent spreading the Plague. I asked whether we would do that now. It was weirdly prophetic.

The pandemic made me realise how much I enjoy rambling in groups. I’ve climbed all 214 Wainwright Fells and completed the final one with 19 people, popping champagne at the top. I’m looking forward to walking with others again, cherishing the simple pleasure of being shoulder to shoulder with friends. STUART MACONIE’S LATEST BOOK, The Nanny State Made Me:

A Story of Britain and How to Save it (Ebury Press, £9.99) is out now. For more on the Ramblers, see ramblers.org.uk.