On Friday the fence was installed and I did in fact make the men endless cups of tea. The weather was beautiful, so I cleared the driveway of twigs and found excuses to stay outdoors with Domino frolicking around.

We built a big bonfire on Sunday afternoon, with as much garden refuse as we could lay our hands on. Geoff almost blew himself to smithereens when he was too generous with the petrol. I stood and fed the fire for hours in the sunshine, making sure that the last twig was incinerated. If only you could burn up life’s problems so easily.

On Friday, I told you about Susan and David’s nuptials. Getting ready with the expert help of the hairdresser and makeup artist was a new and luxurious experience for me. I wasn’t very into grooming in Australia. Never had a manicure or pedicure. Randomly had my haircut. The sun highlighted my hair in the summer. I was a tomboy.

I soon noticed that grooming was a part of London Sloane life. Pheasants went to the hairdresser regularly and had their locks coloured. My hair fast lost its goldenness and I resorted to highlighting it. I still do.

When we moved to Chelsea in my early forties, the pressure to be well turned out pumped up. Sloanes and foreign residents in the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea were well groomed. I had to up my game.

The issue was brought to the fore when I met my new neighbour, Caroline Stanbury, almost fifteen years ago. She was a stylist then, but now she’s the star of “Ladies of London” on Bravo television. Caroline was, and still is, the most glamorous person I have ever met. During the time we were neighbours in Chelsea (she moved onto to better house after a few years), I admired her effortless ability to look chic, whether in a pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater to go to Starbucks or in an evening dress about to attend the Summer Party at the Serpentine with Cem (her husband), who was looking like James Bond. She accessorised perfectly. Her hair was always expertly blow-dried and her nails gleamed with glossy nail polish.

We became an odd couple. I would help her housekeeper with cooking tips and Caroline would give me fashion advice. She was also generous and handed on designer clothes to Anna, a budding teenager. She explained that I needed to treat my wardrobe like a library. I needed so many pairs of jeans (good quality, not Gap), tailored black trousers, a selection of day and evening dresses, flat and court shoes, evening and day bags. You get the idea. And it all needed to be filed properly in the right place so I could access things quickly. The first thing she told me was that my jeans were far too big and that I should get properly measured. I didn’t have a huge budget, but she said to buy investment pieces at the sales, at places like Harrods and Harvey Nicholls. Thank you Caroline. I’m indebted.

After we’d been living as neighbours for a bit, she bumped into me with Anna on the pavement and asked if I’d consider doing a makeover with her for the Daily Express. Anna said, “Go on Mum. It will be fun.” Well, the day came and we were chauffeured to where I would be transformed. Nando, who works for the royal hairdresser Richard Ward, cut off all my hair into a layered bob. Next, makeup. Then, dressed in Zara clothes and a pair of Caroline’s Valentino stilettos. Finally, photographed with Caroline (looking like a supermodel) and then interviewed.

Both Caroline and I were not amused when the article came out. The journalist put words into my mouth and into Geoff’s. They rang him to find out what he thought of his gorgeous new wife. He said, like any gentleman, “That’s none of your business.” He was reported as saying that he couldn’t get over his wife’s new glam look. And the headline was “Cash Strapped Housewife in a Style Rut”. And I think they photoshopped me to look older. I was appalled. The good news is that from then on I had my hair cut and coloured at Richard Ward and it has been worth every penny.

Tomorrow I am meeting up with Gill my Sydney friend of almost 50 years to see the Botticelli exhibition at the Victoria and Albert Museum in Knightsbridge.