Nick Allan

Mission accomplished!

Abseil Adventure: One Man, One Rope, Seventeen Floors... Done!

With the forecast for high winds ringing in my ears, I left Whitechapel Tube Station on Sunday 14th September and realised I had a choice. Turn left for a warm café, coffee and perhaps a pastry or a full English. Or turn right and head to the 17 floors of The Royal London Hospital, where I was scheduled to step off the roof with nothing but a rope for company.

There was never really a choice, of course. Too many people had sponsored me. Too much support for such an extraordinary cause. So right it was, towards the wind, the waivers, and my own questionable courage.

The London Air Ambulance team welcomed us with calm efficiency. There were eight of us from the West London Masonic Centre, all doing our best impressions of relaxed people whilst chattering at double speed. One teammate with a lifelong fear of heights claimed he was “looking forward to it”, but his eyes told a different story. I’m not sure his two children, in tears begging him not to go through with it, were helping matters.

The organisation was superb. We were led through the checks, fitted with harnesses and helmets, and then led up to the roof itself. Up there, the real star of the show sat waiting: the Air Ambulance helicopter, poised for its next call, ready to deliver roadside surgery or a blood transfusion on a street corner if that’s what it took. A machine and a team that genuinely save lives when seconds matter. That’s what this was all about.

Then came the edge. The instructor explained, with relaxed calm: “Step back. Trust the rope. Don’t let go. Apart from that, plain sailing.” I wasn’t sure “plain sailing” was the phrase I’d have chosen, but here I was.

And then, all too soon, the point of no return. Leaning backwards into open air, with 300 feet of nothing beneath me, the rope suddenly felt… alarmingly thin, surely too fragile for its critical role? Once I stepped off however, the strangest thing happened. It wasn’t terror I felt, it was exhilaration.

I tried hard to remember the instructor’s words, found a rhythm, and began to descend. The city spread out in the distance. Whitechapel below. The sweep of London on a bright September day before me. 

Then it hit me: inside the hospital, people were battling illness, injury, uncertainty. Down on the streets, accidents and emergencies could happen at any moment, evidenced by the speeding police cars and ambulances ferrying the sick and injured below. But thanks to the Air Ambulance Charity, a doctor and paramedic team can drop from the sky to save a life at a moment’s notice. I reflected that a friend is alive today because of them and the open-heart surgery they performed right there at the roadside after a horrific car crash. That’s why this mattered. Why stepping backwards off a roof suddenly felt like the least I could do.

The rest of the descent went all too quickly. Before I knew it, I was back on terra firma with the ground under my feet, the rope unclipped, and friends, family, and supporters waving and snapping photos. Relief gave way to a smile I haven’t been able to shake.

And here’s the best bit: together, our team contributed more than £6,000 of the £100,000 raised over the four-day campaign for the London Air Ambulance Charity, this time for the running cost of this vital service. Personally speaking, I’m beyond grateful for every donation, every kind word, and every person who believed in the cause (and in my ability to dangle without disaster). And a creeping gratitude that I wouldn’t have to hear any more puns about hurling or tossing myself off a building.

Would I do it again? Quietly, yes. Not because I enjoyed the nerves. Not for the adrenaline. But because every pound raised helps keep those helicopters flying, ready for the next emergency, the next life saved.

Thank you to everyone who supported me. You turned a foolhardy stunt into something that really matters.

Nick

“One man. One rope. Seventeen floors. Absolutely fine… (Definitely).”

Donations can still be made at:

👉 https://fundraising.londonsairambulance.org.uk/fundraisers/nickallan

Well, this escalated…

At some point, and I can’t remember exactly when, but probably after a second cup of coffee and a misplaced burst of bravado, I signed up to abseil off the top of a hospital. Yes, THE hospital. The Royal London. Seventeen floors up. Europe’s highest helipad! The home of the London air ambulance.

At the time, it seemed like a noble and exciting way to raise more money for the incredible London Air Ambulance Charity. After all, when those people drop from the skies, they do it to save lives when seconds count.

When I get hurled off… no that doesn’t sound right. When I step bravely off, I’ll be committing to a ‘free-hanging descent’. Whatever that is. Actually, I do know what that is because I made the mistake of googling it. In case you’re wondering, it means “no comforting wall to gently scrape down”. Just me, a rope, and the sky swapping places with the earth as I try to control my descent with not one but the two pairs of gloves I’ll be issued with. A safety feature apparently?

As the day creeps closer (14th September, still weeks away, gulp!), I confess, my bravado has shifted a bit. What once felt like boldness now feels a lot like… blind optimism? I mean, I’ve even had to sign a waiver!

I’ve started doing strange things. Like looking up. A lot. And down. Fortunately though, I have managed to stop searching for photos of abseilers. Why is everyone smiling? I convince myself that, “They’re are not just models. They’re actually doing the abseil, not just posing for pictures.” Aren’t they? Anyway, I wasn't sure it was helping.

Now I’m quietly wondering (read: panicking loudly): 

What if I freeze halfway down? 

What if I just dangle there like a forgotten puppet? 

What if they have to send the Air Ambulance to rescue me from fundraising for the Air Ambulance!

Oh, the irony…

The only thing that soothes my rising panic, if only a little bit, is the thought that if I raise enough money, I’ll have to go through with it. I mean, at that point there’ll be no backing out, will there? Oh goodness… backing out? Yikes! That's how you ‘leave’ the building apparently. Backwards!

But joking aside, this matters. 

These helicopters, and the phenomenal people who fly in them, don’t get funded by magic. They rely on donations. Inspired, perhaps, by foolhardy people like… well, me.

So if you’re able to, please sponsor me. Whether it’s a couple of quid or a proper show of support, every penny can help save a life.

Here’s the link to my page:

👉 https://fundraising.londonsairambulance.org.uk/fundraisers/nickallan

Thank you so much, it truly means a lot.

And if you’re free on the day, bring a camera. I’ll be the one in the corner, sweating, incanting inspirational phrases as I prepare to plummet… no, not plummet. Stepping off. With both feet. With style.

Best wishes,

Nick

“One man. One rope. Seventeen floors. Absolutely fine (probably)”

I'm Abseiling to help save lives in London…

On 13th September, I’ll be abseiling from the 17th floor of The Royal London Hospital, the home of London’s Air Ambulance Charity to help raise vital funds for a service that brings the hospital to the patient when every second counts.

Whether it’s a cyclist hit by a lorry, a child collapsed on a playground, or someone stabbed on the street, the Air Ambulance team can be there within minutes, performing life-saving procedures that simply can’t wait. 

Open chest surgery, blood transfusions, emergency anaesthesia not in a hospital theatre, but right there on the roadside, train platform, or park.

These are elite trauma doctors and paramedics, flying in by helicopter or rapid response car, giving people the best chance of survival and a life worth living after.

But this incredible service is a charity. It takes over £15 million every year to keep it running. 

Your support helps keep them flying, ready for whoever needs them next.

Thank you for sponsoring us. Every pound helps. Every second matters.