Bumped into Sara at the school gates, looking as if she was on her way back from film premiere, wearing a very spangly, fairly brief dress.

"Have you been working?" I asked, not because she works in the personal services industry but because I also have tendency to totally overdress on occasions when work is outside house, rather than in front of computer screen, in small broom cupboard (now called my office).

Last week, for example, had to interview well-known, tres chic French fashion designer who, I had presumed, would be looking tres chic and French and I must therefore make effort to wear something suitably European and ironed.

This is more difficult than it sounds, as have got into habit of working mainly in pyjamas which are comfortable, don't matter if they get children's breakfast all over them first thing and can have coat and boots thrown over them for purpose of taking children to school.

Smart clothes are now mainly reserved for occasional forays in the evening and, since have little opportunities for dressing up, tend to be rather over the top.

Deciding that French fashion designer would look as if she'd just stepped from the catwalk, I'd decided that velvet strapless evening dress plus tiny lacy cardigan wouldn't be too over the top for said interview and, according to husband, went up to London, "looking like a high class call girl".

(Husband thinks members of the Royale family are presentable - so what would he know about the world of high fashion).

As it turned out French fashion designer was looking extremely chic and elegant, in jeans and a white T-shirt and even though I was hugely overdressed still managed to make me feel like a scruffy heap.

Anyway, back to Sara who, it turned out, had neither been working in her chosen career as TV documentary maker, nor as high class call girl but had had appointment in her own home with Tony, the muscular housecleaner/odd job man.

"Was he dressed up to the nines as well?" I asked, raising an eyebrow to imply incredulity at the amount of time she must have spent getting reading for arrival of cleaner (not to mention the amount of time she must have spent cleaning house so not to repulse muscular cleaner by fact of living in virtual pig sty).

"No, he looked rather like the man in the washing machine advert," Sara mooned. "The one with the stethoscope who looks all concerned but handsome as he listens to the spin dryer to determine whether it's heart is beating properly."

"Wearing jeans and a white T-shirt?" I asked - jeans and a white T-shirt becoming a familiar theme.

"Yes," she said, dreamily. "The T-shirt was a bit ripped actually."

"So what exactly did he do?" I asked, hoping the answer would just be vacuuming and replacing washers on the shower.

"Well, he did take the shower apart," said Sara cagily. "But he said the house was looking very clean (I knew she would have spent hours cleaning it). So we just chatted after that. He's very interesting you know ...

I said I could imagine that he might be, at which point the children emerged from their respective classrooms and Sara seemed rather anxious to be off.

"Are you meant to be somewhere?" I asked.

"No, no," she replied. "But I need to get home and get changed before Peter (her husband) gets home from work ... "