Some people go on Spa weekends for their hen night. Others jet off for a fancy weekend in the Marbella sunshine or cosy up with friends and food in a cute little cottage in the country.
My friend Jenny, lovely and amazing and fabulous though she is, decided to take us on an assault course. In the mud. On a wet weekend in winter.
I'd almost erased it from my memory, until this photo appeared on Facebook earlier today (I don't really get Facebook, but I like looking at people's photos on it).
Now it's all coming back to me... my fingers were so numb from the cold that I couldn't undo my trousers to get them off, the smelly stream I landed head first in was downstream of a field of cows and full of their stinky poo, my legs were still covered in bruises at the wedding three weeks later...
And day two? This involved more cold water, this time doing this. But me and my mate H had had enough of being cold and wet. As the other girls threw themselves into the icy swollen river, we sat on a grassy bank ogling the not-too-hard-on-the-eye, black-haired, blue-eyed 20-something instructor - her smoking a fag, me eating a tube of Pringles.