HELP me!

I need a really good excuse to get out of doing something and I need one quick.

It has to be something really convincing, though. I can't just say I have swine flu like I did last week when I wanted to stay in bed and watch Jeremy Kyle.

No, this time, I need a real excuse. Like, I have to go to a funeral in French Polynesia, or I'm being tried for crimes against humanity, or I ran out in front of a car and broke every bone in my body. (Actually, that last one might be do-able).

Why? Well, the thing is, I've kind of got myself into something of a pickle.

In fact, if pickles were problems, I'd be eating a lot of gherkins right now.

(Mental note to self: Do not write stories while hungry).

You see, I've agreed to do something really, really stupid. And the worst part is, it was all my idea.

It all started months ago when I was sat around the table of the office conference room with my news editor and chairman of the soon-to-be-launched (at that stage) Bottoms Up Appeal, Ian Phillips.

The idea was to try and raise £150,000 for Grimsby's Diana, Princess Of Wales Hospital colorectal unit, installing six high-observation beds in the unit's B-ward.

Here, patients recovering from major bowel surgery for conditions like colitis, Crohn's disease and cancer would be able to recover from complicated surgeries, allowing more operations to be performed without relying on the already strained resources of intensive care.

The Telegraph had agreed to back the campaign and our challenge was to think of ways to promote it to coincide with Loud Tie Day – a national campaign promoting awareness of bowel cancer.

Initially, we thought about adorning the Dock Tower with a giant tie, by either strapping a huge banner to it or projecting a particularly heinous piece of neckwear straight on to it.

Perhaps someone with more technical expertise would have had more luck than we did.

But after making a few speculative phone calls, we soon realised our best laid plans to incorporate the town's most famous landmark in the campaign were, well, not very well laid at all, as it turned out.

And this is when I uttered the fateful words by which I find myself in my current predicament.

"Don't worry, Ian," I said. "If all else fails, I'll just abseil down it."

Unfortunately, I don't think he realised I was joking.

In one sense, I suppose my reputation had preceded me. I had previously completed a skydive for the last major hospital campaign, the Pink Rose Appeal, and I suppose he assumed I was some kind of daredevil adrenalin junkie, always on the search for my next white-knuckle thrill ride to write about.

"You're so brave," said my friends at the time of my last hair-raising venture. "I could never jump out of a plane."

Yes, well. The thing is, I don't think I could either.

The simple fact of the matter is this: A charity skydive involves being strapped to a professional sky-jumper's crotch as they throw themselves out of the aircraft.

I didn't have to jump out of anything. In fact, all I had to do was sit back and wait to be pushed.

As a result, I remain no more able to fling myself from a moving plane than I am able to stick my hand in a pan of boiling vegetable oil.

And so here I am, faced with the prospect of scaling all 400-odd steps within Grimsby's most famous 309ft monolith, dangling myself off it and plunging all the way to the bottom on a little piece of string.

Terrified? You could say that. Just writing that down has made me shake, to be honest. Anyway, I digress. This is not why I need the excuse.

My lack of courage (and I accept, there does appear to be a distinct drought) is not the issue here.

After all, once I met some of the people willing to put their faces and their words behind the Bottoms Up Appeal, courage began to look awfully relative.

Take, for example, Paul Johnson and Maureen Hopcroft, two former bowel cancer sufferers who were the first to be featured as supporters of the appeal.

Or that of Charmelle Dixon who, at the age of just 29, was diagnosed with the disease that would eventually claim the life of her father.

Talking about the finer intricacies of one's digestive system is a difficult subject for anyone and who among us would not admit to taking their own eat/poop mechanism for granted on a daily basis?

But as these people themselves would probably tell me, there's no point being shy once you've been through what they have.

Bottoms are funny things and, at times, they told me their stories with great humour, but what really impressed me was how each of them had undergone unspeakable physical traumas as a necessity of surviving their disease, yet emerged on the other side grateful simply for being given a second chance at life.

For them, the choice between a life-changing operation or its morbid alternative was no choice at all.

All this, they shared with me with candour, honesty and true courage.

And once I'd met them, flinging myself off the Dock Tower was starting to look easy.

So Ian very kindly started making the arrangements for me, enlisting the generous help of the president of the Rotary Club of Grimsby, Dennis Dunn.

Dennis agreed to allow me to use one of the allotted slots during the Rotary club's own Dock Tower Challenge, taking place this weekend.

On Saturday, members of the public will ascend the tower for a £10 registration fee and, on Sunday, a bunch of people I now consider to be crazy are being sponsored to abseil down it. And it seems I am one of those lunatics.

All the proceeds from the event are going to Dennis's elected presidential causes, motor neurone disease research and St Andrew's Hospice, with anything I raise myself going to Bottoms Up.

So, after all this, I suppose you're wondering why I am now trying to get out of doing it.

Well, the thing is, if someone wants me to risk life and limb for their own amusement, I'm going to need a cold, hard, cash incentive. And I ain't got one.

For months, I made valiant efforts in pestering all of my old school friends (most of whom have much better jobs than me), bugging everyone I saw in the pub, prodding my work-mates and even squeezing a few pennies out of me ma (who, I might add, was not keen on the idea at all).

But, alas, my labours have gone un-fruited. So far, I've only managed to scrape together a few bob for the appeal. And, if I'm honest, it's embarrassing.

I can't turn up empty-handed and I can't back out now.

I even tried auctioning off the opportunity to push me from the top to the highest bidder (come on, admit it, a few of you wouldn't mind a go at that), but no one was willing to trump up the cash.

And that's why I need a really, really good excuse. Maybe I'll just go with the jumping in front of moving traffic thing. That'll work.

It's either that or I need some serious help.

I know times are hard, people. Hell, I'm eating expired food out of my fridge because I can't afford to buy more (the stomach upsets are helping me get to my target weight), but if any of you, either as an individual or a business, is able to sponsor me even a little bit of money, it sure would make all those hundreds of steps a little easier to climb.

And hey, if it just so happens that you find yourself at a loose end at 10.30am on Sunday morning, you're all more than welcome to come along. I'll be there, screaming for my mummy and wetting myself all the way down.

And that's got to be worth at least a fiver. Right?

Help her out

If you would like to sponsor Sharon for the Dock Tower Challenge, in aid of Bottoms Up, you can send cheques addressed to the Bottoms Up Appeal to Sharon Baker, Grimsby Telegraph, 80 Cleethorpe Road, Grimsby, DN31 3EH, or leave your donations at the front desk. Alternatively, you can sponsor online at www.justgiving.com/sharonbaker

If you would like to take part in the Dock Tower Climb, in aid of motor neurone disease research and St Andrew's Hospice on Saturday, call (01472) 826333 for more information.