Ladders. not heights, just ladders. We used to have a cottage with ivy growing up the front. It needed cutting back every year, and I used to have to tie the ladder to the wall, and get Mrs Cube to hold it while I climbed up and cut as far either side of the ladder as I could, bearing in mind I was actually hugging the ladder and pressing my face into it at the same time.
A lad at school had an absolute phobia of foam rubber. Never once did we fill his bed with chopped up cushion fillings, nor did we ever chase him with a piece as he ran screaming and sobbing along the corridor, for that would have been evil.