Today I am in Hampshire again and the weather forecast is fantastic for the weekend. Spring is on its way. A tree surgeon managed to smash the boundary fence when felling a 150 year old beech tree with a fungal disease. So today two blokes are installing a new fence. That means that every two hours I’ll make them a cup of tea. But isn’t it amazing I had a 150 year old tree, once.

Before leaving London, I had a quick circuit with Domino around the Hurlingham Club gardens, the venue for Susan and David Wilmot’s wedding reception on 10 September, 1988. The day is still crystal clear in my mind. Susan did not wear a meringue dress. She wore a unique dress she had bought the previous February with Joanna and me in Palm Beach, Florida. Louis and Joanna had relocated there after their stint in Sydney and I was invited to meet the future groom, David Wilmot, with Susan, travelling from London. The Kangaroo was out of her depth.

Palm Beach was a revelation to me. The sea was not unlike Sydney sea, but the town was not at all like Sydney town. It was all soft pastels and white; groomed elegant people like the Kennedys –  Jackie O was everywhere; mansions made out of coral; manicured perfect lawns and tropical flowers; serious yachts and on Worth Avenue, exclusive shopping, with immaculate children in Lily Pulitzer outfits. My eyes were out on stalks as I took it all in. I longed for the grit of Sydney, the kookaburra spirit of it. The Kangaroo was not at home.

Susan and David’s wedding felt like a mini Royal Wedding. And I was part of it. I was ants in my pants excited on the day. Susan was calm as a cucumber. The hairdresser turned up to transform our locks at dawn, but it was exciting to be getting ready for the big event. And Susan looked stunningly beautiful. Like a princess. The wedding service was a traditional and stately. It was not country wedding charming.  Joanna looked sensational in duck egg blue. The Queen would have nodded appreciation for her outfit. The flowers were dense and regal, not country garden pretty.

The happy couples

And the reception at the Hurlingham Club was buzzy. The forecourt entrance is so familiar to me now, but back then it felt grand and imposing. I felt like an extra in a film. But all through the day, was the dashing best man, Geoffrey, my Mr Darcy, occasionally catching my eye with a smile. The whole of his family were there too. All but one of his seven siblings were in attendance with partners if married and children in the bridal party. After a happy reception Susan, now Wilmot, changed into a lilac ensemble with the matching hat of course and then disappeared off into the sunset with David. It was my first Sloane wedding and exhilarating. Sloanes had a lot of fun on these occasions.

It wasn’t long until I’d be engaged to be the next Mrs Wilmot. On paper it was a dream coming true, but I am an Aussie Sheila through and through. I might try to be a princess, but I am not. I am just an ordinary kid from Down Under, who happened to meet a gentleman, who decided that he liked the way I laughed and the stories I told and thought I was a genuine person. Of course I had blonde hair, a regular face, but I think, I hope that it was the guts of me that captured my Mr Darcy.

On Monday over to Nicky Barber’s in Winchester for lunch and then tennis training at Steep Tennis Club.