Yesterday was ground hog day. Lots of admin. Yawn. Boring.

Today the weather is mixed. Tonight, I am playing tennis in the new Racket Centre with Geoff, followed by a quick dinner in the cafeteria, called the Harness Room, as the first international polo match between England and the United States was played at the Hurlingham. Sloanes revere horses and all pursuits involving them. They also revere dogs. All other animals they can take or leave. 

Yesterday, I described how younger Sloanes have integrated global fashion into their attire; you will now see Cartier love bracelets on wrists, Louboutins on feet, Hermes Birkins over arms and Tom Ford sunglasses perched on ears. Are they usually worn by London dwelling Sloanes?  My guess is yes.  Sloanes may still don a string of pearls, but they may be Chanel.

In the 1980s, Sloanes did not, on the whole, wear foreign brands apart from Gucci loafers. Look at Diana. (She was born the year before me.) After her marriage in 1981, her style was ruffled collars with a ribbon adorning her the neck (Elizabeth I inspired), feathered and netted hats, puffed sleeves for long and short shirts, and gathered skirts with gold belts.

When Andrew Morton published “Diana: Her True Story” in May 1992, we all, sadly, learnt that the fairy tale marriage was over. Diana’s wardrobe changed tack overnight. Her evening dresses became figure hugging and cocktail dresses were even slinkier, shorter. More of the décolletage was shown. She was best friends with Versace, a designer and a foreigner.

Older Sloanes don’t really like foreigners. Think of the war! She sat beside Elton John at the designer’s funeral. Elton is a pop star. World class photographers like Patrick Demarchelier and Mario Testino photographed her for VOGUE, a glossy mag, with her hair gelled back and looking like a supermodel. Not very HRH.

By the time of Diana’s sad death in August 1997, she was very different from the young girl marrying Charles in St Paul’s cathedral, physically and in all other senses. She was, however, always a wonderful mother. I think that the Sloane evolved, largely because Diana evolved, and she was a fashion icon for them. 

Although Sloane pheasants have on the whole morphed along with fashion trends, there are some stalwarts, that have, refreshingly, stayed frozen in the 1980s/90s mould. And I love them for it. Look at the Queen. Never changing. The hair, always, as if someone has forgotten to remove the rollers from her bangs. And the black handbag and sensible shoes. 

So when I met Geoffrey in August 1988, I was crafted on the pre-divorce Diana, the uber- Sloane. He eventually rang me and asked if he could show me the sights of London. By then, I had landed a job as a solicitor in the City (big C for the business sector around Bank Underground), and I had splashed some cash on clothes for my new job. He suggested we meet at the Savoy on The Strand, near Covent Garden (featured the climactic scene in the Hugh Grant movie “Notting Hill”). I arrived first. This was a grand establishment. I was bouncing around nervously inside like a kangaroo, although I tried not to fidget. 

Many moons ago.

The last time I’d seen Geoffrey he was in shorts, but this time he was in a tailored suit, tie and polished black brogues. He glided through the revolving doors, and smiled as he spied me sitting on one of the stuffed leather sofas. I thought, “Strewth, I am out of my comfort zone.” He said, “You look smart,” which means clever in Oz and nice in Britain. I thought he was commenting that I looked ready for work.

So we headed for the American Bar where someone was playing the grand piano, and once seated, he asked me what I’d like to drink. I had sometimes had gin and tonics with Susan’s parents, so I ordered one of those. As I lifted the glass to my lips, my hand was shaking so much that I thought that I was going to spill it down my ‘smart’ clothes.

Next we went to see a West End show, in theatreland, “Me and my Girl”, and after to Smollensky’s Balloon for steak and chips. By the end of the meal Geoff, smiling, said, “I feel like I’ve known you forever.” Oh dear, panic. Impossible to fall for a Brit. Well it is possible and I did. I’ve lived more than half my life in Britain and it has been a good life.

Picking me up from Frere Street, Battersea

Tonight I’m catching up with Gill from Australia with her husband Gary and we are going to a pub in Edwardes Square, Kensington, and tomorrow I’ll tell you about falling for Geoffrey Wilmot Esq.