I tried not to wish that I wasn’t here alone, that I could hand control to someone else to decide for me. That Dream Man would be so good at reading a map, he’d have us on the right path in no time. Either that or we’d stumble upon a perfect, fairy-tale place to pitch the tent around the next corner, including a pool with a waterfall and a rock for sunbathing, a patch of wild strawberries to replace the squashed box in my pack. Oh, and a miraculously clean public toilet.

I hefted my rucksack onto the grass and sat down, trying to ignore the prickle of tears behind my eyes, the scornful thoughts that assured me that this was bound to happen, of course I was lost and scared. What a stupid, ridiculous idea, thinking that a sleeping bag and a mini-stove could turn me into an adventurer.

No psychology degree needed to figure out why those thoughts adopted my mother’s voice.

‘It’s hardly a disaster!’ I announced, mostly to myself. ‘We may be completely lost, tired and fed up, but we aren’t injured, it isn’t raining, and Nesbit has behaved like a very good boy. All I need is to come up with some sort of plan to figure out where we are.’

I thought about Joan, and her warning, and in remembering The Hobbit, I came up with an idea.

‘We should get up high, and look for the forest!’ I said, jumping up and shrugging back into my pack. ‘It’s a thousand acres. Surely we can’t miss it?’

‘Woof!’ Nesbit agreed, tail wagging furiously.

‘And if we can’t see the forest, we’ll be able to see something that will help.’

Endless long, sweaty minutes later, I finally scrambled to the top of the highest hill that I could see from the hollow. Twice, I’d thought we’d reached it only to find another peak mocking me over the crest of the false summit.

We stood there, my ankle throbbing from where I’d twisted it in an animal hole, slowly spinning around in search of Bigley Forest Park, or at least some sign of life. The dark clouds that I had failed to notice rolling in due to keeping my eyes lowered to avoid another ankle twist suddenly erupted with the intensity unique to summer storms as an almighty clap of thunder exploded above our heads.

Nesbit squealed in fright, scrabbling to climb up my leg so that a spurt of nervous wee landed right on my brand new walking boots, which turned out not to be one hundred per cent waterproof, as promised in the guarantee.