AGED 35

I AM in my mid-30s and very happy. Yes, my cleavage is huge, but what you don’t see is an even larger bulge hidden under the table: I am pregnant with my son Oliver some 18 months after my second marriage to newspaper editor, Nicholas Lloyd.

The event was an exclusive star-studded dinner, for which I’d bought a long pregnancy evening gown — it looked like a tent Pocahontas might have lived in.

As I left the bedroom I took one look at me in the tent and decided, No. I didn’t want to be invisible. I poured myself into an old, low-cut dress of mine and sallied forth.

As I arrived, I was introduced to the late, great Larry Hagman, at the height of his fame as JR in Dallas.

When my husband arrived (late as usual) he was ushered to the other end of the long dining table next to the no- doubt long- suffering Mrs Hagman.

My triumphant feeling may have been immature, boastful and completely shallow, but being pregnant and not invisible, for just one evening, was great.