I realised a few years ago, when standing on the bench in my bedroom to paint the higher sections of the wall, that I'm not specifically afraid of heights. I'm afraid of falling.
Therefore, one metre off the ground I can go into panic mode.
Walking down a spiral staircase I manoeuvred my way up without thought suddenly becomes a job undertaken in a crab-like posture (just ask my ex about such experiences in La Sagrada Familias and Caernarvon Castle).
An attempt to venture onto The Balconies in the Grampians National Park had me experiencing vertigo - feeling as though everything below was moving and whirling, and I had to drop to the ground to feel like I wouldn't fall off the edge.
So I ventured as far as I could with Phil and Aaron at Shady Rest. They walked to and stood at the furthest edge of the property at that point. I had to stop short from nausea. The best I could manage was to photograph them standing there, as though they were waiting for a bus, or an elevator, or something equally innocuous that doesn't involve falling to their death.
It sounds dramatic to say that, but every second day on the stairs in my house I almost over-balance from this fear of falling. I almost did today.