012

Ben's fingers slipped on the white glass pane as he tried to find a grip somewhere along the black iron frame that ran across its face. His feet were nestled securely into a couple of niches in the brickwork below but the easy part of the climb was over now. No more brick, no more obvious grips, now he was going to have to improvise. He looked straight up and saw that he had twenty minutes to finish his ascent. Two hundred feet below he could hear the murmurs and occasional screams of the ever-growing crowd that had gathered to watch him. He didn't dare look down for fear of losing his concentration, and hold, but he could sense what felt like hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into him – some offering encouragement, others waiting in anticipation of a grim anticlimax.

He tried once more to get a secure grip around the large metal V above his head and found that if he stretched right up and wedged his fingers hard enough round the back of it, he would have enough support to pull his body and legs up a few feet higher on to the black iron cross that sat beneath the V. So this he did. His path was becoming more obvious now; he was going to have to crab along sideways, using the giant numbers and the rows of metal encircling them to make his way indirectly to the top. He felt a wave of confidence wash over him that almost distracted him from the burning cramp in his arms and legs. Sweat ran down his face in heavy streams, stinging his eyes and making his t-shirt cling tightly to his body in the winter's chilly midday sun. He should've worn some gloves. Red marks and blisters had erupted all over his body. His chest heaved and sank in irregular rhythms. Still, he was convinced, he was going to make it to the top.

The letters to his left looked easier to climb, so he stretched out a hand towards them and slowly edged his body over there. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a helicopter following the course of the river towards him. He remained there, motionless, as he waited for it to get to him. It hovered about fifty metres away, another passive observer of his climb. It didn't make any noise, other than the steady thrumming of its rotors, and he couldn't make out any insignia on its side, so after a few minutes cautiously watching it, he moved his left leg over to where his left and right hands were resting and continued his journey. He was keeping a steady pace behind the large hand, eager not to try and overcomplicate things by trying to overtake it, and cautious about what would happen if he tried to use it to support any of his weight. Just under twelve minutes to go.

It was when Ben was at possibly the easiest point and heading directly upwards, manoeuvring towards the IX above his head, that his right foot slipped on the iron railing below and his whole body slumped downwards. Out of instinct, his fingers tightened their grip around the top bars of the sideways X, but that wasn't enough to stop his hands slowly sliding down along the sloped diagonals until they bumped into each other at the centre and started squeezing hard together. His feet dangled and flayed beneath him, scrabbling for some support. His face was pressed up tight against the glass and iron and he couldn't see or move and was rapidly feeling the panic overwhelm him. He thought he could hear a lot more screaming from down below. The helicopter sounded like it was moving now, possibly to get a better angle on his position, or maybe there was more than one of them now. The pain in his hands and along his arms was getting unbearable. This was it. In a few seconds, he knew, his own body would force him to let go and he'd plunge. And just as it was all too much his feet finally hooked in to some secure bit of metal and he was able to relax the tension in his arms.

He looked up. Five minutes. Shit. One last final squirt of adrenaline rushed through him and he found unknown strength in his limbs. He could hear a cheer rising up from the crowd below. He was so close now. Not even concentrating, just letting his arms and legs move in the same gradual motions that they had been for the last few hours. Until. Finally. There he was. Poised, hanging, next to the giant hand as it moved slowly towards the upright little hand that was pointed almost directly at the XII above it. And as they swung together, and the bell in the tower chimed, Ben moved his body across and sat on top of the hands and shouted, 'Who's the Big Ben now?!' and even as he said it he knew that it hadn't been worth the effort.