Have you ever wondered what it would be like too hurl yourself from the top of the Grand Canyon and plummet into the rocky ravine with nothing but a scream and length of Vanessa Felts’ knicker elastic?

Keep wondering! The best we can offer is the buzz afforded by the humble bungee jump!

By the way, if any girls are contemplating this jump, just one piece of advice. Don't lie about your weight - it wouldn't be the first time a delusional salad-dodger hit the dirt in the pursuit of vanity.

Click here to visit Sky High Bungee

Parachute jumping is a 3 stage process. Huddled in the belly of a tiny fuselage wearing Rick Waller’s leisure suit, you begin by questioning the sanity of jumping from a plane that's working just fine strapped to a stranger.

Then you’re plummeting to earth at more than 120mph, praying that the guy you’re strapped to doesn't have a dodgy ticker or unhappy home life. Your stomach contents are threatening to walk out on you and you swear you’ll never do it again.

But before you know it, you’re the King of the World. As your feet kiss the freshly cut grass (unless you’re unlucky enough to have landed in a tree next to the M25) you feel unbelievably alive. And you want to go again…

If you’d like to experience the ultimate bad hair day, Click here to visit TandemJump.co.uk

They’re small, they’re fast and even a blonde could parallel park one. Yep, the trusty go-kart is one fun machine - if you can escape the thought that your testicles are skimming the tarmac at speeds in excess of 40 miles an hour; tarmac that was probably laid by a man wearing a sheepskin coat and riding a pony called Jesse.

All this is forgotten as you don your helmet and gloves and settle into your trusty machine. The flag goes down and you mash the pedal to the metal. Unleashing the Jensen Button in you, the arena becomes a blur as you concentrate on taking your friends from behind.

It’s a truly unforgettable experience - hairpin bends, chicanes, tyre walls and a bevy of buxom beauties waving you on from the pits (who said there’s no place for women in motor sports?!)

Click here to visit go-karts.co.uk

I have often pictured myself white water rafting. Dressed in nothing but faded khaki shorts and a weather-beaten cotton shirt, I paddle furiously through mighty river waters, a classic struggle of man against nature, me versus the elements, the sweeping majesty of the Chilean mountains barely noticed as torrents of water and foam drench the trendy stubble of my rugged features.

But, as I imagine myself sitting cross-legged on the thin rubber base of our raft, boldly contemplating the rapids ahead, I am irrevocably struck by the proximity of my family jewels to the river bed below and I hurriedly head back to the Land Rover, foiled once more.

Made of sterner stuff? Click here to visit rafting.co.uk

Is there anything quite like scuba diving? Exploring the vastness of the undersea kingdom can be truly awe-inspiring – if you can get past hearing yourself breathing erratically and your new-found subconscious ability to play the Jaws theme over and over in your head.

An affinity with all things fishy and a penchant for plundering old wrecks is a necessity – which pretty much qualifies most blokes after 3 or 4 pints and a Donor Kebab.

If you fancy yourself as some kind of diver, click here to visit simplyscuba.co.uk

Rock climbing is a lot like pulling. First, there’s the preparation. Never leave home with poorly maintained equipment and pack relatively lightly – losing the contents of your sack before you reach the summit can be embarrassing and seriously affect your ability to climb again. And no, it doesn’t happen to everyone sometimes.

Then there’s the quality of your lines. They should be as strong as possible – your very happiness may depend on it and you’re unlikely to penetrate the most impressive valleys without them. Finally, never underestimate your fingers – they can be used to devastating effect both above and below the tree line.

Follow these simple rules and you’re sure to reach the climax, collapsing between Mother Nature’s impressive peaks, exhausted but content. Just remember - The Passage to India should only be tackled by extremely confident climbers.

Click here to visit cressbrook.co.uk

Now we’re talking! Jet Skiing is true Boys Toys territory and nothing beats the thrill of accelerating across Britain’s choppy seas, waving at the beach babes in their duffel coats and dodging the occasional floater.

Hot-dogging like your instructor taught you, you break into a truly righteous move and, as the wind clutches at your hair and the salty spray lashes your face, the crowds begin to roar – you’ve mastered the Monica Lewinsky!

Caught in the heat of the moment, you mash the throttle and head out to sea, determined to reach the shores of Holland. Hours later, when the helicopter finds you and you clamber gratefully aboard with nothing but a cheesy grin and a bout of pneumonia, you’re assured of a bitchin’ story to tell your mates.

Picture yourself with one ankle strapped to an ironing board tumbling around in your Mums old washing machine and you’ve pretty much got the feel for surfing.

I confess that the allure of freezing my backside off bobbing in the waters around Cornwall with nothing but the urine trapped in my wetsuit to keep me from slipping into a purple-lipped coma is somewhat lost on me.

But we all know that’s not what surfing is really about. Surfing is listening to the Beach Boys even though you’re 19, driving old Volkswagens with narley neon skirts and bitchin’ tinted windows, strutting along the beach with the top of your wetsuit hanging coolly about your waist, wearing luminous sunglasses and, of course, the babes. Oh, and lets not forget the obligatory Fat Willy’s Surf Shack sticker in your rear windscreen.

In short, surfers are cool and cool people get laid more often. What are you waiting for Dude?