I Should Polo

You know those people that never leave the city? With their slightly grey pallor and over cynical response to everything? I was starting to worry about turning into one of them, what with having not even left zone 1 in over a month, and actually having only been as far as zone 6 in the last year. I felt like the time had come to venture where my ballet pumps had rarely trod – the countryside. Yes it's dirty and there are bugs and it takes a really long time to get there and all that fresh air burns my poor Victorian London lungs, but I was promised champagne, lunch and tea and finely primed boys on ponies hitting balls with sticks. So I went.

Leaving my N1 enclave at an ungodly hour in the pouring rain, I have to admit, there were second thoughts, and doubts and I even conceded to dig out the old ugg boots (I remembered about the mud) but once we were ushered into the blinged-out marquee at Hurtwood Park Polo Club by the very lovely and tres hospitable people from Kuoni, it was as if Hoxton Square was all a nu rave dream.

And there were celebrities. People who had a cameo on Eastenders in 1989, someone who looked like she might have read the news – we weren't sure, Shane Ritchie, Anthea Turner - the first lady of cleaning – and in a great little Liz Hurley homage outfit (white stretchy jeans, some sort of beige on top, a lot of layers in the hair). And, Bobby Davro. I am not kidding. It took us all afternoon and a load of Laurent Perrier to figure it out, but Davro was in the house. Well, marquee.

Also it's not just boys who play polo (damn it), girls do too. Even supermodel ones can whack a divet or two (I have no idea whether that is the correct term, but I think it sounds like I know what I'm talking about, obviously, I don't). Anyhoo, Jodie Kidd was playing. That pricked up my ears I can tell you. She looked v fit and tall (and good in jodhpurs) and had on one of those pink Arab scarves they sell in Urban Outfitters – clearly still cool in Surrey.

We had a lovely day mingling amongst the glitterati (though I was GUTTED because the Redknapps were supposed to come but pulled out at the last minute), but as ever, all good things must come to an end and sooner than you could say tally-ho I was back in my favourite dingy Camden pub watching Sadie Frost sup red wine with her latest man-child. Davro would've made a fine joke about that.