How has August almost vanished, and in such a dizzy whirl of activity?  I blame myself.  When I first started staying in London for the summer season I was astonished to discover how empty it was.  Would that I had kept THAT to myself!  Now everyone without children is refusing to leave which at least means the roads are clear of Prozac-ed mothers in Chelsea tractors, parking with gay abandon across corners and zebra crossings and it is safe to venture onto a pavement without the risk of being mown down by a surly toddler called Bertie on his scooter and his iPhone.

However, all the proper grown ups appear to have stayed on and are determined to enjoy the freedom.  There is a feverish feeling like Delhi after the memsahibs have left for Simla.  (Remember I went to school in Tunbridge Wells where such things were spoken of with reckless abandon.)

My friend Deborah, Doris to my Elsie for those of you who were glued to the wireless during the Blitz, is here from Australia and we have a couple of years of nattering to catch up on – doings of husbands and lovers, children and grandchildren, neighbours and colleagues – mountains of goss all to be washed down with industrial quantities of red wine.  We’re exhausted!

On the plus side the bloody sales are over and shops are filling up with gorgeous Autumn/Winter stock.  We have the bumper September Vogue under our arm and shopping can commence.  I have already invested – code for buying something way out of your budget – in a pink suede trench coat and following on the success of last year’s thigh length red boots,  I have updated to the same thing but in royal blue velvet.  To die for, people and it’s no good thinking you can pop into the shops when you get back from the seaside.  The wise virgins (sic) have got there first.

Today’s event is an organised walk entitled ‘Decadent London’ with my oldest friend who is probably just revisiting the haunts of his youth, aka the years between  20 and 65. Whilst the word decadent has a certain appeal – a possible first outing for the Boots – ‘walk’ is far from my favourite activity.  We are lunching first so I may suggest we have a second bottle and go Christmas shopping instead.  The first cuckoos of Yuletide, the bumper tins of Quality Street,  are already on display.  No time to waste.