It was very hot yesterday. Even Domino was panting and exhausted after his run around Hurlingham Park, the public park at the end of the road. You can let him off the lead. At the Hurlingham Club, however, he must be on a lead at all times.

Yesterday I had tea at Carlucccio’s, Chelsea, to go over details for the Older Persons’ Concert in June at St Paul’s Onslow Square, South Kensington (details on HTB website). The event coincides with the Queen’s 90^th birthday celebrations. We are going to do something special to mark the occasion, with Union Jacks and cake decorations to match. For Her Majesty’s Diamond Jubilee, Camilla (Duchess of Cornwall), married to Charles (Prince of Wales), came for tea. She was charming. And although I am a diehard Diana fan, I couldn’t help but like her.

When Camilla turned up in her escorted Range Rover, I stood last at the end of the short receiving line waiting for her outside the church. The vicar of HTB, The Rev. Nicky Gumbel, was first to say hello with his wife Pippa, and when she reached me as the least important, she inquired,“So what’s your role in all this?” I quipped, pointing to Fi Costa who is the musical director, “I help her!” She laughed. She is a jolly person. The guests adored her. The same guests who, if polled the day before, may have voted no to her being Queen with Charles, due to loyalty to Diana.  Audrey, one of our regular Chelsea Pensioners from the Royal Hospital, was on television on the day of the Thames Diamond Jubilee Pageant, the flotilla down the Thames on 3 June 2012. She could be seen chatting to Prince Harry as he made his way onto the royal barge. It was a dismal and wet day for the boat parade. But the sun shone when Camilla visited us. She did not, however, replace Diana in my affections by the end of the tea.

I had two encounters related to Diana. The first was Christmas 1989. I had been working late at Barlow, Lyde and Gilbert to make deadlines, as Geoffrey and I were leaving the next day to go to Oz. As I made my way to the underground, it was hard to see ahead as there was a soupy fog. I had reached the corner near Bank and out of the fog came a cavalcade of policeman on motorbikes, blue lights flashing. I could see a royal car in the middle, so I bent down to get a good look in as the car turned the corner. It was Diana. All by herself, dressed in an evening gown and tiara. She was breathtakingly beautiful. She must have seen me and told the chauffeur to slow down to a snail’s pace. I waved madly to her and she waved back with a dazzling smile.

The second encounter was with her mother, Francis Shand Kydd. It was after Diana had died. It was the time when Peter Jones in Sloane Square was being renovated, so they had outsourced part of the store to their warehouse at Brompton Cross, near the Conran store. There was a complimentary shuttle bus between what became known as PJ1 and PJ2. I had parked my car near the bustop at PJ2 and I recognized Diana’s mother from reading too many trashy celeb magazines. She was on a walking stick and looked frail. She was agitated that the bus was taking too long to come. I walked a few steps over to her and offered her a lift. Without hesitation she accepted. I helped buckle her in. At first she wanted me to take her home, but then changed her mind and asked to be taken to PJ1 in Sloane Square. Maybe she thought I would send the paparazzi. Off we went on our short journey. She made two comments that I will always remember: that she would never shop at Harrods (that was the elephant in the room) and that she didn’t like Peter Jones since they stopped allowing dogs in. A true Sloane loves their dogs more than anything. To think that the Queen has hundreds of staff, but feeds the corgis herself. She offered to give me petrol money. She said that I had a lovely car. I looked around at the empty juice and crisps packets left by my children. She was being polite.

Today I’ll head back to the Old Rectory.