The music starts. The hubbub of chatter dies down and the faces of the audience seem to light up. From my position at the doorway to the side room, I have an uninterrupted view of the runway, and I’m poised to signal to each model when it’s time to come out.

Charlotte is first, sashaying out in a gauzy floral dress accessorised with bright wooden beads and a white floppy hat. My gaze skims the display panels covered with photographs, magazine cuttings, posters and original advertising paraphernalia from the Girl Friday shops. It looks wonderful.

With an impressively proficient catwalk turn, Charlotte strides back, and I check the rapt expressions of the key members of staff: Isla, Hannah, and the others who worked on the graphics, displays and publicity. Everyone pulled out the stops, when it counted. ‘Museum time’ certainly sped up.

Andy is on the front row with Izzy sitting beside him. Millie, Spencer’s girlfriend, is on Izzy’s other side. Both girls look entranced, and even Andy appears to be watching intently, turning away only to murmur occasionally to our daughter. Jules is here, with Maeve, plus Shelley, Chrissie and the baby, Tim and Ludo, Spencer’s friends who built the runway, and a whole bunch of my mum mates from school. There’s a significant number of younger audience members: the fashion and art students, and the girls and boys who have come out of curiosity, perhaps. And there are older women too, some of whom I know Nick tracked down and interviewed for his film. They are the original fans of Girl Friday: the customers, sales assistants and die-hard devotees. Some, I noticed with delight when they arrived, are wearing original Girl Friday outfits. A dapper woman whom I’d guess at late sixties is wearing a purple peaked cap.

The vintage shop owners, who lent the pieces, have come out in force, some from as far as Cornwall and London – and Tricia Spalding from Grange-over-Sands is watching with keen attention. Every press contact we emailed has turned up for the show; there are editors, journalists and bloggers, many of whom I know for a fact attend all the real shows in Paris, London, Milan and New York (hang on, ours is a real show too!). A couple of fashion editors are even sketching as Sammia strides past in the red trouser suit (as promised, I didn’t try to coax her into a mini), shortly followed by Grace in multicoloured patchwork dungarees. Erin appears, her blonde hair flowing as if in a shampoo ad, wearing a folk-art-inspired crocheted top and butter-yellow corduroy flares. As each model walks, Spencer follows her expertly with a spotlight while the music captures the spirit perfectly. In the side room, outfits are changed with impressive speed, with the hair and make-up artists fixing ponytails, reapplying lip gloss and powdering shiny noses and cheeks. The air is thick with hairspray.