My husband Paul asked me if I prefer mornings when I get up and put a swimming costume on, or mornings when I get up and put underwear on (it’s around a 5:2 ratio in favour of the costume).

The costume mornings usually involve a stupidly early alarm call and, usually involve some form of hideous (admittedly self-inflicted) torture to become comfortable with cold, long-distance swimming, in sea monster territory.

So my response was more to do with just cursing whoever’s ridiculous suggestion it was that I had agreed to go along with in the first place. And that’s how this story started.

So, cut to three weeks to go and, as most of you now know, I am aiming to swim the 22 miles across the Channel from England to France, weather- and tide-dependent, somewhere between 11th and 18th July.

Firstly, no, I will not be covered in goose fat (it’s OK, it’s the first question everyone usually asks). Imagine being in a swimming costume, in the sea, for anywhere between 14 and 20 hours - I'll be more concerned about I can layer myself in to protect me from the sun!

So secondly, no, I won’t be wearing a wetsuit – to be officially recognised, the swim must be unaided and wetsuits add buoyancy and buoyancy adds speed. ‘Unaided’ also means I won’t be able to touch the boat. So no, I won’t be able to get out and have a break - my ‘loving’ crew will merely chuck me ‘food’ to have as quickly as possible in the water during the swim.

People have always said swimming the Channel is 80% mental strength. I thought it couldn’t possibly be that high, but, having just completed a ten-hour training swim where I cancelled the whole stupid idea in my head between hours three and four because I was cold, I was hating it and I was wondering why on earth I thought I could do it, I now get that they have a very valid point. The only reason I didn’t get out and sit on the support boat was so as not to break the faith and time people; my family, my swim-family, my friends, have invested in me.

To add more pressure to not just simply get out of the water when the going gets tough, it’s dark, or if I find myself swimming through smacks of jellyfish (my particular Achilles heel), I am raising money for two charities; Macmillan and Mosaic.

Macmillian support people living with cancer and is a charity whose seems to be, sadly, needed by everyone at some point. For my family, unfortunately, this time is now.

Mosaic is a local charity close to my heart that looks after bereaved children following the loss of a parent or other loved one.

The people who receive care from these charities slam my "first world" swim-problems into sobering perspective, requiring incredible mental strength and resilience just to get through their day.

100% of any money raised will go to these two charities.

Less than 2,000 people have ever successfully crossed the English Channel as a solo swimmer, I can proudly count a few of that number as my friends and I’d be well chuffed to be able to add my name to that list.

Your support, along with the desire to raise money for these two vital charities, will help keep me going and will outweigh the 2,000 or so reasons that I expect I will have going through my head persuading me to get out.