LIFTING the wooden serving dome, my Bushtucker Trial looked straight at me, quite literally.
It was a bulging, slimy fish eye - one that I was told would pop as I chomped down on it otherwise I would likely choke if I swallowed it whole.
Holding the eyeball in my hand, I held my breath, and popped the ball of slime into my mouth.
It oozed with saltwater as I chewed it in my mouth before the inevitable squelch as I sliced through the lens with my teeth.
“Go on Emily,” I heard the crew cheer as I approached the last chomp of my lunchtime delicacy.
Scrambling for my water bottle, I rinsed the sticky eyeball down with a gulp before a sickly waft of fish bubbled in my throat.
But it was not over just yet.
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The second part of my trial came in the form of a shot glass - something that three years of university had prepared me for.
It was a thick, brown smoothie topped with an orange gunk that had risen to the surface.
While the fish eye swirled in my stomach, I thought I should finish it off with a Jungle apéritif.
The crew smiled proudly as they offered up the latest addition to the Bushtucker Trial menu - a blended camel testicle.
Posing with the shot, I felt obliged to clink glasses with my fellow campmates before tossing my head back and throwing the liquid into my mouth.
Before I could even get a whiff of the blitzed camel’s nether regions, it was over - and I would go as far as to say I have tasted worse shots on a night out in south London.
And while I hope I will never encounter anything as ghastly on my dinner plate, I will certainly not be able to look a fish in the eye again.
.