Today was to provide perfect conditions for examining the nature of pure fear.
The man from Martin Plant Hire arrived first thing with the 'Cherry Picker' (mobile access platform), then immediately had to go away again. The machine was completely inadequate for the job as far as a height requirement of about 60 feet was concerned. Half-an-hour later another machine arrived. The man from Martin Plant gave me a briefing on the controls as we went up in the air, but only to the extent that his own personal comfort zone allowed, this was still well within mine, "Ha, I can see my house from here!" he quipped, nervously. The chimney stack only seemed marginally closer from this vantage point...
Once alone with the contraption I found that Pure Fear began at about the level of the 2nd storey, I kept the control lever up as the platform wobbled its way further from the ground. Looking down, the trailer unit with its hydraulic supports jutting into the morning traffic in Rose Terrace, looked about the size of a 50 pence piece. Mr B, down in the street, was now out of earshot and only contactable by mobile phone. This wasn't like abseiling or parachuting with one simple surrender and no further say in the matter. Fear increased in direct proportion to the height from the ground as did the sickening wobble caused by the play in the various moving parts. I could maintain complete control over the height but not my heart rate. This resulted in an interesting battle between rational thoughts and irrational ones.
"We've never had one topple over" had been the last words of the man from Martin Plant.
1 comment:
They never had any trouble with the one they had on *Trumpton* (or was it *Camberwick Green*?)
Hope you had the brown trousers on.
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