I never cease to be surprised by the fascination people seem to have with my 46-year relationship with my husband David, the father of my two children.

We are good friends, we talk to each other, we like the cinema, the theatre and eating out together. However, it’s not just the enduring camaraderie that intrigues, but the fact that, while still faithfully married to each other, we live many miles apart.

David never seemed to share my passion for the capital but as an ambitious Yorkshire woman, London has always been the place I want to be. David loves the sea and happily inhabits the South coast.

There’s quite a distance between us but that doesn’t mean our relationship is over. Far from it. The independence we each enjoy makes coming together a comforting pleasure rather than a dull daily grind.

We met in 1980. I was 30 years old, working as a reporter/presenter at BBC South’s early evening news programme, South Today. I’d been married to Brian Murray whose surname, at the age of 21, Jennifer Bailey had been silly enough to adopt. We’d divorced amicably and remained supportive friends until Brian’s death four years ago.

I was free and unattached when the invitation to a party in a beautiful house just outside Southampton came from a young naval officer who had a relationship with a friend of mine.

I had a wonderful time dancing and drinking with no one in particular, choosing to stay the night (alone) as driving was not a good idea. It was only at the breakfast table the next morning that I was bowled over by the man who would become the love of my life.

David Forgham, a naval officer, was gorgeous. He was broad- shouldered and fit – a committed rugby player – and during that breakfast never ceased to make me laugh. We competed at telling the best jokes. He won every time.

Jenni Murray and her husband, David, have been together for 46 years but live miles apart

The couple with their sons, Charlie and Ed, when the Daily Mail columnist was made a dame

No approach for a dinner date was made that morning, but I’d learned he too was divorced and unencumbered. I was a little alarmed that he was only 26. Would a four-year age gap be too much?

When the call came to my place of work the day after that Sunday breakfast, I had no doubts about accepting a dinner invitation. He’d been on my mind from the moment we met – age gap or not.

Dinner was a delight. We enjoyed the same kind of food. We drank wine, but not to excess. We were open about our background – both from strains of working class Northerners. He was Cheshire, I was Yorkshire but who cared about being divided by the Pennines? He’d been to Oxford then graduated in electronic engineering at the Navy’s own university. I was not so elevated – no Oxbridge for me – but a good degree in French and drama at Hull.