This morning I was greeted by warm sunshine, flooding into my cosy Fulham bedroom. We are having such a damp winter. Rain, more rain, and then even more rain…most days. Even at the pinnacle of the South Downs, where you expect good drainage, you will find a mud-fest at present.

Yesterday, I watched close friends renew their marriage vows on their 25^th anniversary. Everyone in attendance had been at their wedding at Holy Trinity Brompton, Knightsbridge, in 1991, and here we were all again. Except of course their two daughters.

The same vicar presided. His opening comment was that everyone must have sent their parents in their place. Polite chuckles could be heard. I thought, “Thank God for hair dye.” Some were thicker, and some were thinner. And many of the same crowd had been at my wedding 27 years ago.

Like any animal in a new terrain, my senses were on red alert during the early years in London. I studied the Sloane species with a metaphorical microscope, working out their speech, habits and manners. If only Downton Abbey had been on TV then. I wanted to blend in for the sake of my new husband, Geoff.  To be honest, I just wanted to blend in.

Nevertheless, I was a kangaroo in a field of pheasants and stags. And they could tell that. No amount of Russell and Bromley shoes, leather with gold buckles, or Alice headbands that I wore, could conceal the Aussie Sheila within. Like a kanga, I was always jumping and bumping into the wrong things. Or people.

Living with Nicky St John helped my education enormously, but the kanga was still peeking out of its pouch. You can take the Aussie Sheila out of Australia, but you can’t take the Aussie out of the Sheila. I found after a while that I was saying words like “absolutely” instead of “yeah”, and “super” instead of “great”. Trying to adopt the lingo (language).

And weddings were a big part of the early years. Life was like Four Weddings and a Funeral, but without the funeral.  On travels back to Australia, I had silk outfits made in Bangkok in bright colours – orange coral, canary yellow and blue turquoise – with huge padded, bouffant shoulders. I wore large brimmed hats that eclipsed my sight. It was impossible to kiss people hello. And a nightmare that Sloanes kiss twice; one on each cheek. Princess Diana was my role model.

Looking forward to this coming back into style..!

Our friends’ wedding day is a vivid memory. The couple had a glamorous reception at the Accademia Italiano, now defunct, just off Hyde Park. The backdrop was Canaletto paintings framing us, as we sipped vintage champagne and scoffed bite-sized canapés. 

But to this day, I can remember the feeling of being an outsider. Like I was watching everything through a glass barrier. And I felt lonely. I had my handsome new husband who adored me, but I needed friends.

Rumour had it then (and still now!), that the Establishment is reluctant to open the gate to their paddock, whoops, sorry, field and let outsiders in.

I thought that if you didn’t know how to shoot, fish and ski, you were done for. If you didn’t know that there were certain words that would make the pheasants and stags wince, words like serviette, lounge, toilet. Well, I soon learnt to stop saying those words, and I substituted their ones.

And yet as I sat in the church yesterday, I realised that I had forged a good life in Britain. I had worked out that wherever you are, whenever, it is better to be yourself. No-one likes a fake. I have met a lot of pheasants and stags that have opened the gate to me, and welcomed me. You know who you are and I am very grateful.

So today, I have a tennis match at the Hurlingham Club, and then the mice man is coming. We have mice. End of terrace houses, apparently, are prone to them. And soon I’ll tell you about how I met my husband and ended up living in Sloane Land.