The last time I was in
At 170m tall (558-feet, non-metric lovers), the Spinnaker Tower may be very much Burj al-Arab in Dubai’s kid brother, but it still has a striking effect in a town who’s architecture has never really recovered from being flattened 60 or so years ago. So up I go.There is a glass plate floor in the Spinnaker, allowing one to step across the clearest of glass, beneath which the dirty water of the docks splashes against the quayside some 360-feet below. I have mixed feelings looking at this glass plate. A significant part of me has no interest in such things, but an equal part of me feels I am letting the side down – and rendering the whole visit to such places pointless – if I don’t get stuck in, regardless of how little I enjoy it. I slip my shoes off and step out into the centre, forcing myself to look down as I take each step, rather than cheating my brain by staring off into the middle distance. I surprise myself at how little fuss my amygdala is making: I’m not relaxed, I’m not entirely comfortable, but I am not in terror. Another thing I am not is keen; keen on the children buffeting me that is, making my already exaggerated sense of imbalance that bit worse as they tear across the glass, do rolly pollys, and skid across it on their knees. A couple of them gather in one point and begin to stamp, eagerly chirping to each other “let’s try and smash it!” as they jump up and down. Now, that sort of thing just makes me nervous.
I reach the end of the walkway, and urge it to shatter the moment my foot leaves it: right at that moment, there is nothing more that I’d like to see than their three little bodies tumbling through the air into the sea below, with its hidden spikes of jagged metal just below the oil stained surface. When I was going up the