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Still shaking

Let me preface this entry by saying that I'm not good with open heights. Natural features of the landscape, like Arthur's Seat or the Falls of Bruar are fine. Enclosed heights, in a helicopter or the second-highest part of the Eiffel Tower, are also fine. But whehn thwe wind's whistling and a fall would turn me into pavement pizza, I royally brick it.

For some reason, I keep dragging myself up high places. The top of the Wallace Monument in Stirling, for example. Or, as today, the top of the tower on York Minster.

Why do I do these things?[0]

I've a pint of BFG and a laphroaig in front of me, to steady my nerves before going for a hog sammitch.

There must and shall be pig!

[0]: J. drags me up there really, but always says "you don't have to come" afterwards...

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