Where I realise again that a 'short walk' is rarely short.

My awareness of distances in London isn’t great, mainly because for years, I always travelled by Tube, and never really went out of the centre.

We’re having our first cocktail of the evening in Verve, and when I’m assured by Dean that the restaurant ‘isn’t far’, I foolishly believe him. I’ve already changed into the shoes that I cannot walk in*, to stand and pose in the bar, and decide that, if it’s not too far, I can walk in them, and not have to go through the hassle of changing them again.

‘Not far’ turns out to be about a mile. Halfway, having been assured that we were nearly there, and of course, because you just have to make an entrance, Coza also changes her shoes, which happen to be the same as mine, just a different colour. She’s soon wondering how I’ve managed to walk so far in them already.

By the time Piccadilly is in sight, I’ve slowed down a lot, and my feet are complaining, but, quite surprisingly, I’m not. I have discovered that walking in them is helped by having had some alcohol.

Meanwhile, Director Boy is some distance ahead, having realised that walking anywhere takes considerably longer with girls in heels. Finally we cross the road, and arrive at the restaurant (which is fabulous, and sadly doesn’t allow photography**, so I can only show you the link).

I have to admit that the seat, and the glass of champagne is extremely welcome!

*I walked across two roads, and into a theatre in them in January, and that was quite enough.

**which is why I'm posing with Beau Brummel