Ice Creams at Carrington’s. Alexandra Brown

café, on the fifth floor of Carrington’s. It’s my day off, so I thought I’d pop in to see how she is before meeting up with Tom later for lunch.

      ‘Hey, this is a nice surprise, how are you?’ Sam pops her head out from inside the kitchen. After wiping her hands on a navy-striped apron, she lifts the hatch in the counter and dashes through to give me a huge hug.

      ‘I’m fine thanks, getting busy with the regatta plans – but, more importantly, how are you?’

      ‘Knackered, for a change.’ She shrugs. ‘But come on, let’s get a booth; I could do with a break and a bit of a gossip. I’ve got half an hour before I have to collect the girls from the crèche and then take them to a play date before their baby ballet class later on … it’s a full-time job in itself trying to keep up with their hectic social life.’