I CAN’T remember anything but happiness in my childhood. My father was a GP, my mother his receptionist. She envied women who got rid of their husbands in the morning. But they had a good relationship, which survived family holidays cooped up in a small boat. I had the upper hand with my brother. My great weapon was my scream. Now he’s a High Court judge and he’s been knighted. It’s not been easy for him when Neil and I have been in the news.

I gravitated towards boys. My parents had no idea of all I was getting up to. At 18, crewing a boat at Poole Week in brief shorts, I was seduced by a debonair man of 45.

I was flattered. We had dinner at the Dolphin Hotel and he booked a room. I thought, “Why not? You’ve got to lose your virginity some time.” I’m still attracted to good-looking older men. Studying at York University, I met George, the Greek, twice my age and delicious. I kept our affair secret as he wouldn’t have fitted in with student life.

I met Neil in 1969 at a Conservative student conference. He was charismatic with bushy sideburns. I thought, “That’ll be all right for the weekend.” He thought I was with someone else and it wasn’t until I draped myself across the piano he was playing that the penny dropped. It was a powerful attraction. He was studying in Aberystwyth, so there were lots of passionate love letters. He was quick and witty and a mine of useless information. But when I became Sir Gerald Nabarro’s secretary, I broke it off with Neil. I’d outgrown him.

I had a one-night stand with the future editor of The Sunday Times, Andrew Neil. It was pure sex, born out of a heady atmosphere, but has never embarrassed either of us. At Westminster I met Andrew Faulds, a married Labour MP, well-known Lothario and Shakespearean actor. My justification was that I wasn’t the one who was married, which is morally incorrect. We talked for hours, he taught me a lot and was a wonderful lover. It would have been pathetic if I hadn’t seen other men during those two years and I even slept with the odd one. When I met Mr S. through work, he ticked all the boxes. He was Mr Right. I was full of hope and fear, and then he dropped the bombshell: he was married, if childless. But I was in too deep. This was love. Much later his wife found out. I went hot and cold. He said he would get a divorce but, faced with the reality, I realised in a flash that it wasn ’t what I wanted.

Two years later Neil, who had been in touch over the years, came to dinner. The attraction was instantaneous. We fell in love that night. I wasn’t expecting him to be unencumbered but he just couldn’t bring himself to split up with his old girlfriend, Sarah. Things came to an end when we both turned up to support him in Bradford at the 1979 election. His softness was such that he wouldn’t put our engagement notice in the paper in case she was hurt. I was irritated rather than jealous. We married in 1983. We’d known each other for so long, it didn’t change our relationship.

It’s impossible to know what our marriage would have been like without the public traumas, court cases and Neil’s bankruptcy, but none of that has forced us apart. We’ve snapped at each other when we’ve been on a knife edge. He’s analytical, I’m impetuous. People think that I’m dominant because I’m loud. I rush in like a labrador and cover everyone in sloppy kisses: he’s more reserved.

It was Al Fayed who started the rumour that Neil is a homosexual. There’s absolutely no foundation to it. I don’t think he’s attractive to gay men. I’m the gay icon.

It would finish our relationship if he was unfaithful. It’s not just the act, but the lies and deception. Sex is still important to us and there’s no imbalance there. I have a headache some nights, but so does he. We take each other for granted in the nicest possible way. We’re like a pair of old socks. I fit the right foot, he fits the left.