An old pal of over four decades has just sold her gorgeous Victorian house in a leafy corner of old London Town. Down the years, hot gossip and saucy nudge-nudge, wink-wink titbits in her pretty city garden had become a firm and fabulous fixture in our social calendar – washed down with way too much fancy fizz. And so came the finale, our last performance. I shall miss it.

For the girl from the Welsh valleys who became quite the leading lady in high-end fashion, clearing out the accumulated designer wear and wares of a life in the fast lane was daunting – what to keep, what to flog, what to chuck – from Conran chairs (keep) and Vivienne Westwood (flog) to back issues of glossy magazines (chuck).

As we travelled down the memory lanes of many good times past, we spotted a 1994 dog-eared edition of Vanity Fair in the chuck pile with the smarmy face of Don the Con splashed all over the front cover with his unfortunate second wife, Marla Maples, and the headline ‘Trump Family Values’. The irony was not lost. Our garden party hostess is moving back to Wales to keep a closer eye on her mother. That’s what I call ‘family values’.