There comes a point in a deal, and in life in general, when you have to stand back, put your hands up, think “I’ve done all I can” and, as one Italian friend says, “lasci fare” – leave it. I’ve never been good at recognising that moment, clinging on for just a little too long than is healthy, wise or even (in one case) dignified, but I’m pleased to say I reached that point earlier this week. I had delayed my holiday departure by a week to see through the imminent exchange on a Holland Park house, to further my political crusade and to juggle the two offers on the mega-house.

None had reached a point of satisfaction when Big Daddy’s secretary called and reminded me that it was “wheels up” at 11am the following morning. If I wanted a lift in his private jet this was the moment to let fate take over. I had done everything I could to keep things on a favourable course for my clients. And as for my political lobbying: if parliament could take an almost three-month sabbatical, I felt entitled to a 10-day one.