I sit on the balcony of my flat in the early evening sunlight. Here, over two hundred floors above the ground of what was once central Cumbria, the air is cool, but even so the intense radiation means that I will have to close the shutters after an hour or so to. As I look into the distance between the glimmering glass skyscrapers of Keswick I catch a glimpse of the undeveloped green belt far away on the horizon. The sight brings me out in a cold sweat and my heart beats faster. I remember that it is only a day since my last fix but that's the problem with such highly addictive drugs, you need them more and more regularly.
Behind me in the flat, the 3D weather girl appears in the corner of the room to announce that the scheduled rain will commence in five minutes. This news tips the balance in my mind, and I give in to the craving. I walk to the railing and carefully scan the horizon for any signs of police activity in the air around the skyscrapers, but find none. I am under no illusions regarding the seriousness of my predicament. If the hardware in the tiny room in my flat is found there will be no trial, no jury, just automatic and permanent banishment to the flatlands of the East. A risk I have no choice but to take. Carefully closing the shutters with a furtive last glance, I retreat to my darkroom.
The room is tiny, perhaps only 2m by 3m. Along one wall are the banks of computer equipment that support my addiction, but the centre of the room is dominated by the suit. It hangs suspended from the centre of the ceiling by almost invisible cords, hanging limp like some bizarre latex mannequin. From the small of its back a bundle of optical fibres as thick as my wrist runs to the hardware along the wall. Shaking slightly, I power up the computers and climb into the suit. I try to calm my breathing and then pull on the helmet and await the brief spasm of pain as the helmet locates onto my central nervous system.
The first thing I always notice as I come into the scenario is the smell, or rather the lack of it. Clean air, rather than the polluted atmosphere of Keswick. Then, suddenly I can see again and, as always, it takes my breath away. The computer has selected UK cragging, and I immediately recognise the base of Froggatt. I decide to warm up with a good slab route and so wander to the foot of Downhill Racer. The friction, and of course the weather, are perfect. Touching the rock it is cold and hard, and although subconsciously I know it isn't real, in the game the illusion is perfect.
I solo up the route, feeling good, and all too quickly arrive at the top slightly out breath. Walking the few yards to the next route I pass seamlessly through the transition and arrive at my favourite route, Comes The Dervish. Although quarried away in the late 1990's, the route appears to me in a perfect clean state without so much as a chalk mark. Here in the shade the rock is cold to the touch, but as I look across the valley, The Old Man of Hoy is basking in the sun. Approaching the overlap, I can see the awkward stretch I always have difficulty with. I know the moves off by heart having climbed the route thousands of times, but even so the adrenaline begins to flow. Moving up carefully, I lay away off the hairline crack and place my foot on the tiny ledge next to my lower hand. Gently, I rock over onto the foot but as I put my weight onto it the friction suddenly gives and it shoots off into space. Suddenly I am tumbling over and over in the air. I hit the slab but feel no pain through the adrenaline which floods my system, the ground rushes towards me with frightening speed. Instinctively, I try to cover my head before the impact. Crushing pain sears through my neck momentarily, then nothing, only darkness.
Pulling off the helmet I am drenched in sweat but grinning from ear to ear. The rush never weakens, but that's why its so dangerous, not to mention illegal.
Bang, Bang, Bang, a muffled shout from the hallway. I whirl round, my brain still racing, "someone at the door - Drug Squad, oh God no, No, Not Now, not East Anglia, Please..NOOOO!"