I'm also not sure what wingwalking is, so the kind ladies at Guinot gleefully show me a video. Wingwalking is, quite literally, what it says it is.

An intrepid adventurer (that's me) stands on the very top of a Boeing Stearman biplane (read: light, shaky aircraft) while it flies around at 150 miles per hour, squillions of feet above the ground.

I immediately accept. Why not? I am Anneka Rice in her heyday. Maybe I'll get to wear a jumpsuit. Everyone will think I'm daring and great (except my mother who I must NOT tell until this is all over). And most importantly, it's two weeks away. A lot of things can happen in two weeks.

Except somehow, nothing much does. And suddenly it's the day before and Liz from Guinot is calling me to ensure I'm going to be at Weston Aerodrome at 10am the next day, along with a photographer to capture me in all my glory.

She jokes that if I hadn't answered my phone she was going to assume I had pulled out. I laugh a little hysterically as if this idea had never occurred to me. Then I go to the pub.

I hate to say that drinking is the answer, but in this situation it really is. A good solid mix of alcohol and denial is doing the trick nicely. Three drinks on, the fact that I am going to be standing on top of an airplane in the morning seems slightly ridiculous.

The next morning, it's still a bit unreal. But that's more to do with my raging hangover than anything else. This was definitely not part of the plan. Anneka Rice didn't do Challenge Anneka with a throbbing, drink-induced headache and Mark, the