You join me as I hunker down in a hide up a mountain somewhere remote, eating moss and drinking from a puddle.
I haven’t washed for a week now, birds in the sky are going the other way and the less said about my toiletry arrangements the better.
No, it’s not a missold glamping trip, I am trying to immerse myself in the life of a competitor from Hunted, Channel 4’s extreme hide and seek show.
There has been a celebrity reboot of the show but this is with ordinary folk, 11 (very random number) of them swapping comfortable lives as dentists, police officers and plumbers for life as a fleeing fugitive.
Basically they are all dropped off on a beach on the Isle of Wight and have to avoid capture for 23 (another random choice) days and win a share of £100,000 (nice number).
Tracking them down are 30 assorted police and military personnel who can use all the powers of the state to spy on you and bring you home.
Leading this team is Assistant Chief Constable of Cleveland, Lisa Theaker, so my advice would be to go straight to Cleveland as she won’t be expecting that.
We’ve had a couple of episodes thus far and it doesn’t take long for you to start screaming at the screen at the sheer stupidity of some of those taking part.
I say ‘some’, I mean Amarinder, who has decided to go on the run with his mum, Shoba, and thought he could do well as ‘I’ve got an A-Level in Geography.’
Should be handy if he needs to draw a diagram of an Oxbow lake or identify the type of soil he is lying face down in.
After fleeing the beach, the fugitives, by hook or by crook, or boat and hovercraft as it turns out, have to get onto the mainland and then keep on the move.
Amarinder and his mummy flag down a kindly motorist who offers them a lift (and the camera operative) and who says that he can get them out at Cowes.
“What you mean they transfer cattle?’ asked Amarinder, clearly having overlooked the coastal ports of the south of England in his A-Level.
Then begins the tale of the five couples and Sarah, the lone wolf police officer, as they stumble across country trying to steer clear of the hunters on the ground.
After a few days we are in Wales, Wiltshire, Birmingham and Sheffield, clearly all heading for Cleveland.
But once they get hungry and nip out to use an ATM machine to buy some essentials they are basically done for.
Meurig and Elinor are the first to be scooped, describing themselves as a the ‘Bonnie and Clyde of Wales without the violence.’
Or indeed the wit not to go and hide at his sister’s house.
Bonnie Langford would be more like it.
Also don’t go to places you have plastered over social media, or your auntie’s house.
And when you are tracked down tell your accomplices to tell the hunters to ‘get stuffed’ when they look to come in and then take your phone.
If they do, ring the police, not in Cleveland, obviously.
The solution to slaying the sleuths is staring the competitors right in the face — the programme is sponsored by a cruise ship company.
When you left Cowes (the place, not the bovines), jump on a cruise for 23 days and come back and claim the dough.
In the meantime, I am half expecting them to turn up with Ainsley Harriott and Grace Dent in tow.
The chef and the food critic, or the flouncy woman off MasterChef as she is better known, are on a more leisurely run around the UK, in More 4’s Best of Britain by the Sea.
It is an enjoyable hour’s worth of them eating really nice grub and staying in fancy hotels, including one on Burgh Island in Devon.
Thankfully no lady in red was spotted, but you do have to pay a ferryman, a man from these parts called Richard who had a sea tractor that could take you across large expanses of water.
If only he had a franchise on the Isle of Wight…
But it wasn’t all comfort and eating lobster and hand-dived scallops, we were off to the tremendously named Buckfastleigh and an otter sanctuary where Grace got to fulfil one of her lifetime’s ambitions and feed the cute little creatures.
She then got to stay in a caravan, eat tinned food, and walk along a beach in a scene far too reminiscent of my childhood.
Still, a nice memory as the wind lashes me up here, I couldn’t half go an otter supper.