So, we had to make our way to the top of the bridge and, just as I’d feared, there were staircases to climb. I’ll be honest with you, I was so exhausted just getting to the first set of steps that I thought that was it. Over. I had to keep stopping to rest, but the guys from ACE were (once again) extremely patient and didn’t rush me at all. They gave me time to catch my breath, and by the time we’d got to the bridge, my sister and her friend, Scorey (the stand-in) were already over the edge and ready to go. I had wanted to go first, to get it over with, but was in no state to do so. A last minute kiss off my mam and Lyndsey was on her way. Her mouth never stopped all the way down…or when she got to the bottom, for that matter! Scorey, despite being well-hungover, went down like he’d done it a million times. Maybe it was the lure of the hot dog van at the bottom?

What did everyone tell me not to do? Look down. What was the first thing I did? Peer over the top of the bridge. What kind of idiot am I? That was rhetorical - don’t answer. At that time, I knew I definitely couldn’t go through with it. Then, down went my mam, like a pro! Sarah went next. As she was going over, I was asking the poor instructor twenty questions. I told him that I didn’t think I could do the bit where you have to lean over the edge, backwards (god, I feel dizzy just thinking about it). He got me to practise at the other side of the bridge. It was even harder than I’d anticipated, and the bloomin harness dug, painfully, into my ribs. I can’t do this, I thought. As I was telling him I couldn’t do it, he was telling me the best way to get over the railing. I numbly followed his instructions, my brain having lost the ability for independent thought due to fear. If you are able to access the video footage, or watch the dvd, you will quite clearly see me say, “I really can’t do this,” as I’m lying on the railing, high above the Tyne.

Once I was over the edge, I kept having to ask for a minute. Pausing for calm, I call it. Procrastination, others would say. My legs were shaking so much - it wasn’t just fear, but also the physical exertion. As you know, I call getting up off the settee exercise. The instructor was fabulous, and managed to convince me that I wouldn’t plummet to my death if I leaned backwards. I vaguely recall asking if I was safe, and he said that the bridge would fall down before I fell (cue memories of that TV programme I watched the other day…about the bridge falling down). Sarah was beside me and had slipped - fortunately, I hadn’t seen that, so focussed was I on my own shaking legs. After the initial fall, she sailed down.

Then it was me. There were no more minutes to get myself together. I remember leaning back and the harness digging into my bony little ribs. I leaned back as far as was comfortable and stepped off. Then…I slipped! I don’t remember being scared or any kind of thought going through my head at all. The instructor was ready to pull me back up and my brain snapped in to self-preservation mode! “No, I just want to go down. Down, down, down!” I remember shouting. “Faster, faster,” I yelled, but it was my own lack of ability that was slowing things down - my gloves were caught in the metal thingy the rope went through. I can’t remember much about the actual descent, but can remember how jelly-legged I was when I got to the bottom. I honestly thought I’d never go through with it - even when I was teetering on the edge of the bridge.

I wouldn’t have done this for myself, but am happy to have done this for two great charities and for all the people who’ve supported me. Would I do it again? NEVER! Would I recommend other people having a go? Certainly, particularly if Adventure Challenge Events are involved - if they could get me off a bridge, they could convince anyone!!!

Woke up on Saturday morning, feeling sick with dread. Went to collect some medals I’d had made up for the participants (I felt they should have something to remind them of the day), then my sister, my mam and I went to my auntie’s house for a pre-event worrying session. My mam was cool as a cucumber, unlike the rest of us. My friend, Sarah, was in touch via text, and also seemed pretty calm. None of this helped me, as I was filled with absolute dread and barely managed to eat all day.

Against expectations, I slept well on Saturday night, but woke at 5.30am. I got really upset and tearful when I realised that I’d somehow have to make it from the car park/registration area under the bridge, to the top of the bridge. I have difficulty with staircases, and find them exhausting. It had suddenly dawned on me that my fundraising event may be over before it had begun. Cue further tears.

Had a bath and two Hovis crackers (all I could stomach), then had a call to say one of our team was ill and couldn’t make it. A last minute volunteer was quickly located (my sister’s friend, although hungover, agreed to fill in) and then it was off to my mam’s to meet my auntie. I knew as soon as I got to my mam’s house that I wasn’t going to be able to go through with it. They were all pretty relaxed, and I was the exact opposite.

When we got to Newcastle and saw the Tyne Bridge, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to go through with it. It’s so bloomin’ high! We parked under the bridge and another group were just getting kitted up to do their abseil. Sarah was already at the Sage, so we headed up the path to meet her in the cafe. I made the mistake of stopping mid-way to watch the abseil that was underway. The participants were almost at 90 degrees to the bridge. I knew, for certain, that I couldn’t go through with it, as I have trouble with my neck/shoulders so knew I could never maintain that position. I felt so ill at the thought of letting people down.

We went in for coffee (Sage prices: dear, in our opinion). Couldn’t believe Sarah was sitting there with something sweet and cakey, when I couldn’t even manage a sip of coffee. Lyndsey was eating a bacon sandwich, and there was an air of joviality. Then there was me, rigid in my seat, overcome by terror. Then it was time to register, and off we went to the loo. I wonder how many of us toyed with the idea of pretending to be locked in.

The team from ACE (Adventure Challenge Events) were absolutely fantastic. I’m sure they even took on board my suggestion for an Imodium stand in conjunction with their registration desk. I asked them about a million questions, and they probably thought I was a complete idiot, but were very patient. I told them that I usually cross the bridges with my eyes closed, which was a little dangerous, as I drive a bus. One of the Instructors, didn’t immediately realise I was joking, and seemed quite surprised! Even when I was being fitted with my helmet, harness and gloves, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do the abseil. Then, it was time.

Thought I’d better post a quick message so that you know I’m around. I did actually slip from the bridge, but I’m OK - a little bruised and sore, but glad that it’s over. More details, some photos and a video that is likely to make You’ve Been Framed, to follow. Once I can get out of bed!!!

Where are those brown trousers? I’m not exaggerating when I say that I am absolutely terrified. Let’s call it ‘Brown Alert’. People (who aren’t abseiling) tell me that I’ll be fine and there’s nothing to worry about. People (who are abseiling) tell me I can’t chicken out as I’ll be letting everyone down. No pressure, then? Obviously, they don’t understand the panic that is brought on by the mere thought of being at that height, let alone being suspended from it! I wonder if they understand that I also fear being ill tomorrow and having my choice taken out of my hands, as to whether I participate.

I’ve been watching You Tube videos of Tyne Bridge Abseils, trying to pick up an idea of what to do. Some abseilers had electrician’s tape wrapped around their shoes, to give them a bit more grip - I don’t have any of that. Can’t imagine Sellotape being much good. I think it must be terrifying to feel as though you are slipping (even though you are attached to a rope). Your brain must think, “Oh my God! I’ve fallen off a bridge,” in the millisecond before the harness takes your weight. It may also think, “What the hell am I doing on the wrong side of the railing on a bridge?”

My sister wants us to go down at the same time. I’m not so sure. She has an infectious laugh and, if she sets us all off, we have a chance to be consumed by hysterical laughter (leaving me unable to function). It’s a little like the giggle loop from Coupling. You try and compose yourself, but you just can’t!

I wouldn’t condemn anyone who thought they could do an event like this, and then couldn’t, when the time came. It’s human nature to judge people by your own standards, but every once in a while, you have to put yourself in someone else’s shoes. If their shoes were perched, precariously, almost 100ft off the ground, would you?

For now, I’m off to panic. I’m still gratefully accepting sponsors (link at the right of this blog). Hopefully, I’ll speak to you soon.