IT’S not often I compare myself to Al Pacino in The Godfather, but we do have one thing in common – just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in.

I was born in Worcester, in the now sadly demolished Ronkswood Hospital, and lived here until migrating over the border to Cardiff for university.

But, like so many others of my generation, when my studies were done I found myself with little choice but to move back in with my parents.

After a few more years living in the lap of luxury with free meals and laundry service courtesy of Chateau Craig, I realised it was about time to get my act together and ran off to sunny Nottingham to do the student thing again.

This time I was a little but luckier and got a job in the depths of Gloucestershire as soon as I was finished and it seemed like I had left Worcester behind for good.

But just two short years later I found myself once again a Worcester resident – although this time, thankfully for my sense of independence and their laundry bill, not living out of my parent’s spare room.

My point is, having spent the best part of 28 years here, you would think I had experienced everything Worcester has to offer.

And to a large extend that’s true – with exception of spending a night in the cells at Castle Street I thought I’d experienced every quintessentially ‘Worcester’ experience there was.

So it was a bit of a surprise on Sunday to find myself doing something I’d never done – climbing the 235 very steep steps to the top of the Cathedral tower.

The most surprising thing I realised at the top – aside from just how horribly unfit I am – was just how different everything looks from almost 200 feet off the ground.

Buildings which dominate the skyline from ground level such as The Hive and the St John’s tower blocks did not seem nearly as imposing while the green spaces such as Fort Royal Hill and Worcestershire County Cricket’s ground in New Road seemed so much bigger.

The city I thought I knew back to front was suddenly somewhere completely unfamiliar.

From 200 feet up you can’t see the pizza boxes littering Sidbury, the cigarette butts carpeting the ground outside every pub or the dilapidated industrial buildings in Shrub Hill.

Worcester is a fairly pleasant place to live anyway, especially compared to some other places, but seeing it as a whole made me realise how lucky we are to live somewhere so picturesque.

But maybe I was just high on the endorphins from scaling the 235 steps.