Quick, book Prince Andrew for ‘Strictly’...

I’M just back from an idyllic weekend outside Bath. I was there visiting an old college friend who recently moved out of London (aka doing a ‘Lexit’) and now lives a dreamy life in a beautiful farmhouse with her husband and two kids surrounded by trees, babbling brooks, sheep, horses and white middle-class people called Malcolm and Hattie.

Sophie and I have very different lives now (hers is nicer and involves less microwave meals and more expensive sheets). While I am envious of aspects of it, life with two small kids has its downsides — namely having to bear witness to the dark art that is Hey

Duggee on repeat and then there is a lot of talking about and dealing with poo.

“You might have to watch Strictly with us, we are those people now,” she texts. “Fine,” I reply, “but we need to watch the BBC Newsnight interview with Prince Andrew afterwards. I am still that person.”

After two bottles of Prosecco, we watch both programmes back to back on her couch. During Strictly we act as unappointed, unqualified ridiculously harsh and very drunk critics (I did ballet till about eight years of age and moved like a baked potato). Despite the amateurs doing their best to pull off extremely difficult dance routines we shout “rubbish!”, “God, it’s like he’s dragging a mop around with him”, and “Oh do shut up Tess” every 30 seconds. Then we change the channel and sit silent and open-mouthed as the Duke of York tries to convince the world that his long-term friendship with convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein was all above board, that he is “too honourable”, and most bizarrely that he has a medical condition that means he can’t sweat. I suggest they should book him for Strictly next year to test that out.