Hereward Brunswick was staying there too, with a young female minder, and he joined us for dinner the first night. Linny said afterwards her thigh was black and blue, but I’d warned her not to sit too near to him because I had got his measure at Mallard Rise.

I’d begged Linny to come to the writers’ panel event for support since I was quite nervous about being there with all those terribly serious literary types; but actually it was a big mistake, because when someone in the audience asked me whether I aspired to write something a bit better than chick lit one day and I replied that I didn’t consider myself a chick-lit writer in the first place (old broiler, maybe?), and this man persisted …

Well, then Linny stood up, all five foot nine of her, bristling with indignation (I keep telling her about that facial hair, she really should have kept those laser appointments), and said I was more dick lit than chick lit – but then he wouldn’t know about that, would he?

Then she turned scarlet and sat down suddenly and so did the man, and Hereward bobbed up at the back and shouted, ‘Hear, hear!’

There was this stunned silence – you could have heard a page turn in the next tent – and the chairman wasn’t doing anything except catching flies with his mouth, so I looked around and said brightly, ‘Anyone got any more questions?’

The chairman finally pulled himself together. ‘Actually, Ms … er … Devino, we’ve run out of time.’ Then he thanked the panel, though he gave me a strange look and I don’t somehow think they will be asking me again, unfortunately, because I enjoyed it in a strange sort of way. Poor Linny has probably been blackballed from anything literary for ever.

But I still had to do my little talk next day, so I suggested tactfully to Linny after the panel thing that perhaps she might like to go to one of the other talks rather than mine?

She said she was so sorry, she was absolutely mortified and she didn’t know what had come over her, even when I assured her it was worth it to see everyone’s faces, but she wanted to turn tail and flee for home.

‘No, we’re here for the duration, Linny, and we’re damned well going to enjoy ourselves!’ I informed her, and she was sulking a bit until she spotted an old beekeeper’s hat in an antiques shop and insisted on wearing it immediately with the veil down, and only took it off for meals.