It is summer now. It is warm and wonderful.

Yesterday I went and had my hair cut, at Richard Ward, in the Duke of York Square, in Sloane Square, the Sloane mecca. There is a cafe vibe now in the vicinity. When I was first married, at the end of the 80s, there was virtually no cafe society in London. The EU changed all that. When the sun is out so are the people, dotting the pavements, drinking and eating outdoors. Socialising.

It is a lovely thing to do! Socialising in the sunshine. It is what Aussies take for granted. Outdoor entertaining is commonplace Down Under.

After my health scare in 1998, we took the children home to Oz, on a dream trip to Hayman Island, at the foot of the Great Barrier Reef. We also headed to Anna Bay with the Potts family for time on the beach. It was a stone’s throw away from where my high school best friend, Karen Nosworthy, now Brown, lived (still does) with husband Dallas, and her three boys, Mitchell, Nicholas and Denny. Karen was a young bride and started her family quickly. I was slow off the mark compared to her.

I rang and asked whether we could come and visit at their beach house near Taree, near the border of NSW and Queensland. Karen would never say no to anyone who asked to come and visit. She is selfless.

The morning arrived for our big reunion, after ten years or so. It was a scorcher of a day. Despite the extreme temperature, I put the children in their smartest London clothes: Anna in a smocked pink dress and Startrite blue leather shoes, and Hugo in smart shorts, shirt and Startrite blue leather shoes. For some unaccountable reason, I donned my best Sloane outfit for Karen. A striped Pinks shirt, with blue tailored shorts and Russell and Bromley shoes. The shoes were fine leather with tiny gold bears on them. What planet was I on? I was going to the beach!

We parked the car and knocked on the door. The door finally opened. There she was, my smiley, shiny-haired friend from Kingsgrove High School. She had not changed at all. Not physically or in character. I could tell immediately.

We were introduced to her three beautiful sons. They were sun kissed and athletic. Not a hint of pasty-white skin about them. Surfboards, and sand, were strewn everywhere. Anna was all of four. She fell instantly and completely in love with the eldest, Mitchell. When he sat down, she walked over to him and climbed into his lap like a koala bear. He looked shocked, but was flattered and chatted away to her in a broad Aussie accent.

This was a man’s house. Dallas had nailed, as a joke no doubt, a bull’s skull above the stove. Things were a little awkward at first. So much water under the bridge, but the ice finally melted, and it felt like old times.

I remember so many happy memories with Karen. She loved me unconditionally, no matter what teenage crisis I was going through. She was a steady and faithful friend in good times and bad. Getting burnt to a crisp sunbathing. I remember sleepovers with her. Talking late into the night, with the lights out, about our hopes and dreams. Doing our home work together. She had the most infectious giggle, and she always laughed at my jokes. She made me feel fantastic about myself.

She served dessert, pudding to the Brits, and it was a massive pavlova. I had eaten so many of these growing up. They are fantastic after dinner, but the leftovers, eaten straight out of the fridge for breakfast, are even better. The meringue somehow is even gooier in the morning, soaking up the fruit topping, whether it be kiwis, passionfruit or strawberries.

I looked down at my feet. Suddenly these little gold bears, sitting on pristine blue leather shoes, looked completely insane in this environment. Which by the way, was the environment that I was raised in. They were mocking me. I remember thinking, “How did those ridiculous shoes get on your feet ?” I looked at my children’s shoes, shackling them. I walked over and took them off and let their feet breathe.

It was a watershed moment. I realised, suddenly, that I had been trying so hard to fit into life in London, married to a stag, that I forgotten that I was a kangaroo and not a pheasant.

Things had to change. And they did. From then on.

Today I am having lunch with two Hurlingham friends at the Dining Room at Hurlingham. And we will sit outside in the sunshine. I will, however, probably be wearing pheasant shoes and sadly not flip flops. But I will always be, at the heart of me, the freckled faced, sun drenched Aussie girl, that snuck (stole) the pavlova out of the fridge for breakfast before Stan and Bev could catch me. I might even have let my dog Skipper have a spoonful too. And I would have been barefoot.