As soon as the tray of drinks and canapés arrives at our table Sarah Harding starts playing June to my Terry, filling my glass and proffering finger food. I think she might have called me “love” at some point. “I’ve always liked playing the host,” she says. “I love it when people come round to our house and I can arrange all the drinks and food.”
She is usually portrayed as the hellraising member of Girls Aloud, the 1990s ladette redux always falling out of some West End nightclub with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in one hand and a lucky fellow caner in the other. In person, however, she is actually quite the mild thing. She can’t be partying all the time. After all,