It is sunny and dry today in London.

I am so pleased, as the guests for the Older Person’s Concert and Tea at St Paul’s, Onslow Square, this afternoon at 2.30pm, will not be rained upon as they make their way to the church. Many of them are transported to the event by bus, and some of the guests are in wheelchairs or have sticks or frames to help them to walk. In the last six years, we have only had rain once. Even if it has been chucking it down in the morning, the skies have cleared for their arrival. Thank God.

Yesterday I went for a long walk with Domino, and we met another blue long-dog, but a whippet, Molly. She was a beauty. It was love at first sight. Even though Domino is a smaller breed, Molly didn’t mind. They trotted along together, turning to kiss or smell each other from time to time. The owner was an extremely elegant older pheasant. She explained that her two daughters and son lived in Wandsworth with their families. Apparently, there is the greatest concentration of young children in Wandsworth, than anywhere else in Europe. Until Anna was ten, and Hugo was eight, we added to those statistics.

The pressure to get your child into a local school, state or private, was immense. I think it is even worse now. If you wanted to get your child into Honeywell, a leading state school, off Northcote Road, you had to live close by. That meant that house prices in those streets were at a premium.

We did not live on one of those streets. So our only option was private schooling. Or to move out of London. It is well known that some Sloanes register their children for school even when they are still in the womb. Or as soon as the child is delivered and the sex is known, possibly even before telling the grandparents the good news, they promptly register them for public school (senior school). An Etonian father (Eton College in Windsor where Will and Harry went), or a Harrovian father (Harrow School where Winston Churchill went), will do it immediately! We opted for Broomwood Hall, in Wandsworth, for Anna for the equivalent of primary school. Her cousin Sophie, Susan’s daughter, was already there. That made it easier for us to get her in.

The first stage was to attend an Open Day and look as keen as mustard. I dressed like a good Sloane. Long floral skirt and beige blazer. I stiffly linked arms with Geoff, in a jacket and tie. We had fixed smiles plastered on our faces as we toured around. We were enthusiastic about everything, even about necklaces made out of pasta, acting as if they were Cartier or Van Cleef.

The next stage was an interview with the headmistress, Lady Katherine Colquhoun, who was terrifying. She was tall, had auburn hair which she clipped back with tortoiseshell slides, wore Ferragamo shoes with bows and spoke with an intimidating posh accent. She looked like one of Diana’s red haired sisters. Lady C was married to Sir Malcolm, 9^th Baronet of Luss. She had married well. Together, they built a school empire in the area. It expanded over the years from one site to four sites.

At the interview, she served us tea in porcelain teacups. I was shaking so much, that I almost spilt the Earl Grey over my Laura Ashley dress. Geoff asked her what her husband did. She was obviously offended and curtly replied, “He has a house (which she pronounced ‘hice’).” She was telling us that her husband had an estate, i.e., he was landed gentry. There was a rumour that one prospective parent asked why there were no coloured children at the school. She apparently replied, “Because there aren’t any embassies nearby.” This was clearly a school strictly for baby pheasants and stags.

What chance did we have to get Anna in, if I had an Aussie accent as wide as the Sydney Harbour Bridge? Would Geoff’s credentials be enough to nail the deal?

Broomwood Hall sent letters to prospective parents on a designated date to let them know if they were in or out. On that day, I sat on the bottom step by the front door, waiting nervously for the postman. Clomp. Finally, there it was on the doormat; the starched white envelope that held my daughter’s education, and future, in its hands. I tore it open. Phew. It was a yes.

Looking back it is ridiculous how much we cared about getting Anna into that school. As it was, it didn’t suit her, and we moved her to a school in Chelsea, Queensgate, when she was ten.

And the truth was that Lady C isn’t really a pheasant. She’s a kangaroo from Canberra. She had reinvented herself and marketed the product well.