The winner takes it all

Well. It’s almost summer. Which means social engagements . So this weekend I trotted on down to gin & jag-land for a barbecue with old friends from my days in the Raj.

Arrive late, mildly hungover, forgetting to bring anything but myself. Everyone else has brought homemade muffins and a husband.

Who cluster around the barbecue. Wives flutter around children. I loiter near the fishpond swigging rosé and wanting a fag. Make a new best friend, Spike, aged 4.

The children eat. Are praised for getting down their fruit and veg. I polish off two portions of grapes.

The table is laid.

‘Oops. We’re used to even numbers. Darling, get Lady V an extra chair.’

I perch on a stool. The women all refuse a top-up. I abandon all plans to be good.

The conversation turns to schools and loft conversions.

Spike and I go to play on the trampoline. We bounce extensively. He falls over.

‘I feel a bit sick.’

‘So do I’

‘You’re not like a mummy are you?’

‘No darling.’

I push on through the afternoon. As I leave, Spike is confused.

‘Are you a lady or a girl?’’

I repair to my boudoir to tart up for friend’s husband’s fortieth. Theme: eighties. Me: Jackie

Endure excruciating tube journey in fishnets, leopard skin frock, bling jewels, red nails, stilettos, feeling like a hooker.

Arrive at the party. All men are dressed as Rocky IV or Don Johnson in Miami Vice. Girls are hot as Toyah Wilcox and Anneka Rice. Everyone says yah and talks about how naughty they are to be out without their kids.

I wonder what kind of 80s party it is without piles of snow powder. Ski on through with a white wine spritzer. Decide I am on the piste.

Two hours later I am limboing under a broom with a woman in an Alice Band and a taffeta strapless frock.

Two hours and thirty minutes later I am lurking in the garden chatting about IVF to yummy mummies. Apparently it's very chic in Wandsworth.

Three hours later I am doing an impromptu karaoke to this and feeling Agnetha's pain.

Twelve hours later I am doing the walk of shame.

Lucky bitches.