I'm a bit nervous tonight, the Eve of my first ever totally welly-wearing weekend. I've got the hat, the big cosy Fishermans Rib jumper and, of course, the co-ordinating designer wellies (not your cheap Tesco variety here). But I doubt the weirdy-beardies in the party will be impressed with my attire, my gardening abilities or my witty anecdotes - I shall just hope they aren't very good at cards or drinking so I can at least come away with some cash if not a lot of dignity.

I'm taking myself off on a National Trust Working Break. I've sensibly chosen a location pretty close to home so I can escape if the going gets tough and the wellies get lampooned. I had expressed an appetite for strong Mellors-types in my list of preferences, but the Course Leader that called this evening to introduce herself gave me the impression that I'm more likely to encounter a diet of pasty, under-cooked weeds. Hohum! The diets we put ourselves through.

This is my attempt at having a Single holiday. I would much rather be heading off for a sun-kissed beach on an island laden with history, fabulous landscapes and delicious waiters, but given my anxiety for getting killed when alone, I decided that my fitness levels had to be topped up before I could consider exploring foreign places alone.

I can see the CrimeWatch re-enactment now - a couple of Scandinavian tourists chance upon a lone English woman with a red face wearing posh wellies and a fluffy hat, collapsed at the side of a beaten track - the last siting of her by a group of japanese tourists with footage of her doing star jumps and trying to ask where the nearest rugby club is in the local Greek dialect. Shudder!

The booklet that accompanied my booking confirmation suggested taking Insect Repellent - I've just checked the weather forecast - I'm opting for thermal underwear.