As many of you will know, (if you read my last post) I cancelled my training last week in preparation for my Bronze Duke of Edinburgh expedition. I needn't have bothered. There was no training on Earth that could have prepared me for that weekend.
I was packed and ready and got up early on the Saturday. We got to the squadron head quarters early and then got on the minibus, the 6 of us were a bit tired but we thought ourselves ready. How wrong we were. Of course Saturday wasn't too bad, we only got lost the once, ending up in a sheep field instead of Keevil, and the public footpath (as was not specified on the map) went straight through a field of cows. I thought cows were docile creatures, but when a person in your group insults them by saying their meat is worth 99p in McDonalds, they charged at us. 5 of us panicked and ducked under barbed wire (successfully) to get into a neighbouring field, but 1 of our group stayed slap bang in the middle of it, nose in the map, she just continued to walk. We were all shouting at her to come back, but she was being, what I call, selectively deaf. The cows amazingly just slowed down and congregated around her, then proceeded to follow her around in a fashion more suited to sheep then cows.
It was Sunday that finished me off however. It was longer then Saturdays journey, it was after a very bad nights sleep in a freezing tent, it was over 2 big hills and it was going through even more fields. This was horrendous. Never in the history of the universe has anyone hated hills as much as I did on that Sunday. The first hill was hell, the second hill was worse. At the top of this hill was our finishing point, it was the steepest and biggest hill and I almost died going up that muddy, slippery slope. I got to the top, met the assessor (our flying Officer) and cried.
I barely survived.