History has the upper ground.

I arrived in Stirling intending to see the castle. It was easy to locate: up. This was excellent for medieval defence and less thoughtful towards someone whose brakes consist of hoping.

I began with confidence. FRW kept straight, FLW investigated alternatives and the bottle provided an increasingly detailed commentary on the surface. After a modest advance I stopped, ostensibly to appreciate the town. The town was still beneath the castle. No useful change.

I had read about royal rooms and a Great Hall. My own great hall is a wire basket, usually occupied by potatoes. I felt that a comparison might broaden me. Unfortunately, broadening was not the difficulty. Gaining height was.

A visitor passed in excellent walking shoes. I have four points of contact with the ground and she had two, yet the arrangement seemed entirely in her favour. I tried to identify the advantage. Muscles appeared to be involved.

The cobbles gave everything a convincing historical atmosphere. They also gave BRW something to complain about individually. I paused again. From a distance, repeated pauses can resemble a serious interest in architecture. I was becoming exceptionally cultured.

Eventually I abandoned the ascent. This was my decision, not a refusal at the castle gate. Actual visitors have access information and assistance arrangements to investigate. I had turned up with a receipt and an unjustified belief in momentum.

Below, ordinary life continued with considerably less ceremony. Someone carried a sandwich. A delivery arrived. Nobody was being crowned. I found this version of Stirling easier to enter.

For years I had believed that getting higher meant getting further. Looking back at the castle, I wondered how many good afternoons people spend trying to deserve a view.

I settled for the one from below. The castle remained impressive. I remained below. At last, we had reached an arrangement that suited both of us.