Browsing leisurely in a bookshop, working my way from one interest or passion to another, is a luxury I rarely have time for now I have a 3 year old as well as a job. Occasionally, my husband and I, in some reckless desire to behave as we did BC (before child), torture ourselves by popping into Waterstone’s in Piccadilly.

The miles of books wink, whisper and call to us. Read me. Read me. Read me

Like many of my friends starting a family in their thirties, I embarked on the journey with the unshakable confidence of a woman with her own income, a challenging job, a great relationship and an indepth knowledge of city chic life. Until, of course, my little bundle of joy arrived with his own ideas. Jack is now three and I’ve acquired the blasé attitude of a mummy whose child eats his own food and can’t remember the last time he wore a nappy.

I think I must have spent an embarrassingly large proportion of my time before the arrival of Jack in Harvey Nichols – much of it in the company of my lovely friend Eileen, chatting, browsing and cooing over beautiful things. So, naturally, as I started to feel more like the pre-pregnancy me, I persuaded my husband to venture into Knightsbridge on a Sunday. Well, someone needed to look after Jack while I was trying on shoes