For the Pussy Paws shoot today, Poppy took us shopping. It was belittling to have to refer to the terrible photographs, but with the girls’ good humour, I got through it. We bought wigs. A long, dark one for Faith and a long, blonde one for me. Right now, Faith is wearing the blue silk shirt I wore for the episode with Lucy earlier this week. Fitted and gorgeous on me, it’s like an unflattering art-smock on her. She’s behind the bench, her long legs hidden, stirring an empty saucepan. Camera at the ready, I’m perched on top of the bench, facing the front, in a short black leather skirt, and tan-coloured tights, a tiny red top that gives me a heaving great cleavage and slutty black boots that come up over my knees. I’m sporting two sets of false eyelashes.

Over and over for the camera, I seductively feed a suit-clad executive spoonfuls of Pussy Paws cat food from a can. Flash, click. The man is a bit-part actor on Harry’s books, pale-skinned and dark-haired, about Jordan’s age and build. Flash, click. A bag of flour – the word cocaine isn’t mentioned by anyone – is sprinkled around all over the set and all over each other, as if we’re baking up a storm. Flash, click. Flash, click. Flash, click.

All in, we’re on set almost all day, longer than it takes us to film an entire episode, for what will be only two photographs used in the final finishes. We all head off separately at the end of it.

Sunday, I make it to the gym and the garden centre and get in some baking for the freezer. For me – yes, just me – to enjoy at some later stage, I lovingly prepare cheesy-top lasagne cups, savoury muffins with freshly grated vegetables and chocolate protein balls jammed with healthy goodness. My beautiful flat sparkles and shines with cleanliness, and it’s so easy to maintain these days because I tidy as I go. My life, I realise, is becoming the best of the new me and the best of the old.

Nigella, eat your heart out.

For our next episode, Maximillian is back in London and on set to play Faith’s date number eight – which may not go down entirely well when he gets back to his hotel, given the papers this morning suggested he’d reconciled with his mermaid girlfriend, Esmerelda. Max is a fine specimen of masculinity and, surprisingly, given his cringy voicemail message, quite the charmer. Running with the ‘King of the Sea’ theme, we cook up an extraordinary platter of monkfish and scallops with creamed spinach and piped potatoes, an extravaganza for this series – a discrete nod to myself about how far I’ve come since the same feast flopped on the last episode of my old show. For kicks, Faith chatted about all the naughty things she and Maxi might get up to with his trident!