CHAOS - Too. Week A

Abseiling

Is it technically a sport? Let's hope so.

Before I begin, let me make one thing clear. I will NEVER do a bungee jump or skydive. I have a son, and the thought of him growing up without a father (which is the most probable outcome of either of those activities) is too much to bear.

Despite this, I am not too concerned about heights - which helps as I'm 6'3" for starters anyway.

So, when a good friend of mine from Belfast (let's call him Gerard because, well, that's his name) contacted me to ask whether I fancied doing an abseil for charity, I agreed. He then informed me that we would be abseiling down the Europa Hotel in Belfast, at one time the most bombed hotel in the world. A cursory glance at that always-reliable source of information Wikipedia (tongue very firmly in cheek) confirms that it has indeed been subjected to bombings 28 times during 'the troubles'. Apparently Bill Clinton has stayed there twice - not that I'm suggesting that's why it was bombed. But, if it's good enough for Bill to stay in, then it's good enough for me to throw myself off the roof of - attached only to a thin rope.

My mate (Gerard, not Bill) did not, however, inform me that the Europa's thirteen stories place it as the 14th highest building in Belfast at 167 feet. Ok, it's no World Trade One I'll grant you, but it's enough to terrify you when you're teetering on the edge of it.

Nevertheless, I'd agreed by this point to do it and I may be many things, but a quitter I am not. I'm still a County fan for Christ's sake, and I've been married for 10 years, so it's clear I don't give up on lost causes easily.

So I flew to Belfast a few months later and, upon arrival, Gerard suggested we grab a beer or two. Having read that, if the organisers of the abseil suspect you of being under the influence they will not let you take part, I suggested we take it easy. "Sure," he replied "we'll just meet up with a mate of mine first."

So, we went to this mate's place of work and, shortly afterwards, a ginger-haired lunatic bounded/leapt/skipped out of the building. The man was clearly deranged. "What does he do for a living?" I asked as the ginger-nutter approached at frightening (and bouncy) speed. "He's a doctor." came the reply. Oh.

So our 'quiet night' began, and then ended, predictably, with us crawling into a Lebanese kebab shop at 3am. As I tried to shove as much of this hospital-waste (I swear the kebab rotisserie still had a shoe on the end of it) into my mouth to sober up, I was taken to see the hotel we'd be climbing down the side of the next day. And f**k me it looked big.

With a tremendous hangover, we nervously approached that same hotel the next morning and, following some extremely brief training ("so you just lean back and then walk backwards") off we went. They'd set up 4 platforms to start from so, as I waited my turn and then approached platform No.3, I stupidly took a look over the edge. Gawd almighty it was high up.

I was clipped onto the safety line and informed that, even in the worst case scenario that I passed out, they would simply lower me down like a sack of potatoes. At this point, that sounded quite appealing.

The platform had a tilting ledge so that, as you leaned back, your feet automatically tilted to ease you into setting off down the side of the hotel. Leaning back, I tried not to look down and maintained eye contact with the guy who had my life in his hands. As instructed, I took one hand off the safety barrier onto the rope behind me. Taking the second hand off, and relying solely on the rope, proved a little more difficult however. This wasn't helped by the fact that, when I did eventually do it, there wasn't space on the rope for this second hand to go so, panicking, I made a grab for the barrier again.... completely misjudging it and punching my instructor in the face. Of all the people to punch that day, he was way down the list.

He seemingly saw the funny side (although I suspected he was only laughing to get me started down the building, at which point he would maniacally laugh and cut the rope with a knife) and this time I set off.

Once I was travelling down the side of the hotel, it wasn't that bad so long as I didn't look down, and I even got into a little SAS-style bouncing at one point, until I took it too far (and too fast) and panicked - crashing into the side of the building and letting out a little girl-like squeal.

I also realised that people were in their hotel rooms and were somewhat shocked to see a pasty Englishman sobbing as he briefly blocked their view of Belfast. The Milk Tray man I was not.

But, after what seemed like a long time, I made it to the bottom - and raised over £600 for Action Cancer (a Northern Ireland charity) in the process. So it was all worthwhile in the end.