TPR and I lived in a tiny, but gorgeous, penthouse suite perched on a cliff with beautiful views of the blue sea crashing onto the rocks 100 feet below. We liked to leap from the cliff edge into the water, and encouraged all our visitors to do the same, fully dressed. This was very dangerous so we usually wore our cycling helmets for such activity. GW also took the precaution of using climbing ropes.
One day my jump was so wide that I resurfaced in a railway station in Glasgow, with my cycling helmet in tatters.
How would I get home? I certainly couldn’t swim to the shore from here. It was my intention to buy a train ticket to Edinburgh. Sadly I was somehow conned into staying in Glasgow, where I signed a rental agreement for a pokey city centre bedsit strewn with litter.