With a plethora of challenges to complete and improbable places to visit, the only rules of 'LOST', RAG’s new charity hitchhiking event, were that we had 24 hours to get back to Cambridge without spending a penny of our own money. We were dropped off in a misty wood in Surrey, bleary-eyed and disorientated. Within an hour we had acquired, in the name of charitable intent, a free pint, a gym session and a necklace of questionable taste.

It was now time to accost the good people of Surrey and demand free travel. The tone of the day was set by a man we came to know as Delightful Dickie, whose back seat was taken up by two heaped crates of raw meat. Questioned about the providence of said meat, "Barbecue," was the response, although, as one later driver pointed out, the likelihood of this response being truthful was somewhat undermined by the fact that it was November.

Our daytime exploits were captured on film, for your viewing pleasure but the long hitch home was not without its own host of benevolent motorist wizards. There was the exuberant taxi driver who regaled us with stories of his attempts to kill fee-dodging customers; the horse fanatic who did a U-turn on an M4 slip road to pick us up; not to mention Ivan The Attractive Father, whose son was understandably wary when his dad came to collect him from Prep School rugby practice accompanied by a 6ft4in panda and a dishevelled she-tiger.

As far as the costumes were concerned, I think they served us rather well. Most Brits are delighted by the slightest evocation of an endangered species. Cute, unthreatening and with those devilishly enticing trompe l’oeil fluffly ears, we sailed through the day, enrapturing lonely men, delusional musicians, and improbably large hoards of Aryan children in our wake.

It turns out, however, that the potent charm of the exotic animal all-in-one, so endearing by day (“Look!  A panda! Who is also a Man!”) is severely diminished come nightfall. Looking at the footage of us illegally hitching on a major, yet incomprehensibly deserted, roundabout, I resembled nothing more than a nightmarish vision of a long-forgotten Dom Jolly sketch.

Actually, the real issue was Max, whose once empathy-inducing panda eyes now, under the eerie electrical light of a solitary streetlamp, looked like two black abysses running through his head.

So, the wet-wipes were put to use and within minutes we were picked up by a woman who only stopped because she had momentarily thought I was her daughter. I wasn’t.

As we nestled ourselves in amongst the steel pans and brass bugles of our penultimate lift, we spoke about the joys of living in a tube station and the merits of learning Yiddish.

All was well in the world, as Tiger, Panda, and Mick hurtled towards the South Mimms service station, via the dazzling lights of the M25, and as we chatted about the day that had been, we were delighted to remember the money we had raised for charity - the philanthropic icing on the endangered-animal-hitching cake.

...And now see the footage!