Postcards from the edge

With colleagues A and B, I avail of a day off at the team camp in Montecatini to hop on a train and visit one of the great cities of the world. We are not disappointed. We do the Duomo. (Awesome). We cross the Ponte Vecchio. (Magical). We have pizza for lunch. (Tasty).

We have almost made it through the afternoon intact when, on passing Giotto’s Tower on our way back to the train station, we notice that the lengthy queues of earlier in the day have shortened. Colleagues A and B, both sporty types, decide that nothing will do but we should ascend the great tower to the top terrace. Your correspondent, not a sporty type, ponders the famed 414 steps of its narrow, spiral stone staircase, and inwardly recalls that the last time I exerted myself to such an extent was almost exactly four years ago during Euro 2008 when, in sprinting for a tram in Zurich, I “tweaked a hammer”, in the immortal words of Mick Byrne. It was bad enough that an old lady offered me a seat when I finally hobbled on board, worse that I took it.

So, of course, not wanting to lose face and being a big eejit to boot, I agree that, yes, it would be a capital idea to climb Giotto’s Tower, thinking, sure if it all gets too much for me, I can always stop now and again for a cigarette break.