As Paul lived in Nottingham and I worked there, it was convenient for us to meet in my lunch break every now and then. Our favourite venue was Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, a watering hole apparently dating back to 1189 and reputedly the oldest inn in England. The fine beer and ambience was very pleasant, but the feature that attracted us was that the pub is built into the sandstone cliffs that support Nottingham castle. And I mean literally built into the cliff – several of the bars are caves hacked out of the soft rock and one has a desperate-looking and probably unclimbed jamming crack across the ceiling.

Drinking here, it was perhaps inevitable that the conversation should drift towards the nearby climbing potential. After all, the cliffs into which the bars are cut and on which the castle stands are very steep and about forty metres high. In fact, these cliffs have a fine mountaineering pedigree. After the first ascent of the South-West Face of Everest in 1975, Doug Scott – being a Nottingham man – was duly honoured by being granted the freedom of the city. After some clarification this honour was acknowledged to extend to freedom to climb on the ‘no climbing allowed’ cliffs beneath the castle, and so Doug was able to make the first ascent of many fine lines on these steep cliffs. His climbs attracted considerable local press coverage which his father kept and which Doug still has today.

But, Doug moved on, climbing became frowned upon, vegetation and pigeons prospered, and the cliffs slumbered in vegetated obscurity. Then, on Christmas Day 1996, water pressure from a burst pipe caused the retaining wall of the castle terrace to fail, and a large section collapsed.

There had been such falls before, notably in 1969 when a substantial rock buttress collapsed on to the road. To hold everything together, a patchwork of concrete structures and steel bands had been put in place. This time, the damage was close to the main castle wall and the cause of much consternation. There was much dither and debate between the environmentalists – who ‘delight in a greening of the rock by natural tree growth’ – and the geologically minded, who ‘prefer the boldness of bare rock’. The bare-rock lobby prevailed and Paul and I closely monitored progress of a remarkably thorough deforestation programme.

To our amazement the vegetation clearing and renovation work lasted nearly ten years, and, by the time of our post-Manamcho lunchtime meetings, had revealed a series of fine crack lines in glorious golden sandstone that reminded me of my early days on the outcrops south of London. It also resulted in a new terrace; a steel frame inside one of the man-made caves that riddle the rock, and areas where the surface was reinforced with fibreglass were embedded with sand grains for a natural-looking finish. A further important result of the stabilisation programme was the appearance of a flake that gave the most prominent line on the newly cleaned area of rock. The contractors presumably felt the flake was unstable and, rather than try to remove it, had effectively pinned it to the cliff with a large number of steel bars which now spanned the crack and would clearly offer excellent protection.

At long last the contractors finished their work. With the rock clear of vegetation, workmen and – presumably temporarily – pigeons, this could be a chance of a lifetime. The time had come.

Being a city-centre location, a bit of discretion was required. A 5.30 a.m. Sunday start meant no one was around to pay any interest as I fought my way through nettles to the start of the first pitch. It soon became clear that the contractors had cleared off all the loose rock but had not considered clearing dust and debris from the holds. In the damp morning air the dust had congealed into a slippery mud and the climbing felt difficult and insecure. The first reinforcement bar was a fair way up and the possibility of failure was great as I carefully inched higher and higher until finally I could place a metal wedge in the crack and clip it into the rope to protect myself. A few feet higher I was able to thread a sling round the first bar and stand on it to bring up Paul. From here the crack steepened and became more difficult, but also safer as there were more reinforcement bars. A fine lead by Paul saw us established beneath overhangs, which I avoided with a traverse and a bit of thin slab climbing leading up to the newly constructed smooth walls supporting the castle balcony. Initial concern about a lack of belays was resolved when I discovered that the drainage holes in the wall were just the right size for our camming devices. The sun was shining by now and it was feeling a fine and memorable way to start the day.

I had never visited the castle grounds before and had not realised that they were so extensive and so difficult to escape from. We wandered around uncertainly. The main gate was a huge cast-iron affair that was firmly locked, and everywhere we looked the grounds were surrounded by vertical walls that dropped on to the streets of Nottingham. Eventually an abseil from a convenient tree branch made for a landing next to a statue of Robin Hood. By now early risers were about but a nonchalant stroll with all our clanking equipment attracted no attention. Back at the car we contemplated what great outings might be had so close to home.

I dare say the private nature of the climbing and the fragile rock dissuades most climbers. It perhaps says a lot that Paul and I both consider the unusual nature of these little adventures as being right up there among our most memorable exploits. I suppose it adds up to a similar approach to climbing more generally: seek out something special, accept the challenge on offer, try your best and keep climbing unless there is an exceptionally good reason to stop.