Princess Diana (my new best friend) and I lounged side-by-side for our girly chat. She permitted me to ask her anything I liked so long as the conversation didn’t descend into tabloid interview. I thought that I was doing OK until she pointed out that I seemed a little over-obsessed with her rumoured OCD.

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It was one of the most beautiful days of the summer, yet I couldn’t explain why I had decided against sunbathing outside our wee railway cottage. However my preference for organising my collection of high-heeled patent leather shoes indoors probably saved my life. When I heard the screech of the brakes I ran to the window. Scattered over the ground I saw half a dozen bodies and various disconnected limbs. Soon afterwards I spoke to my mother on the phone to assure her that we had not been hurt when the train derailed. She told me that the BBC was reporting the fatalities just outside Stevenage. I had no idea that we lived so far south.