Cutting ribbons, judging cake, polishing cutlery, eating bonbons in bed: there are many activities that the term “Lady Mayoress” might conjure in your mind. It certainly did in mine.

Focus instead, therefore, on what the spouse of a very senior civic leader spent her year doing: supporting the Armed Forces (and not by hosting bake sales); raising money to end homelessness in the UK by sleeping outside on stone (I would have preferred a bake sale for that); gala dinners in the Guildhall; walking the streets of the City to count rough sleepers; attending numerous church services and events like Trooping the Colour; inviting in charities to help raise awareness for their causes; hosting Monsieur le President, Emmanuel Macron, and the utterly charming Brigitte Macron; and meeting both the Emir of Qatar and the President of the United States.

At a conservative estimate, I would say I hosted roughly 20 000 guests from the City of London’s livery companies, business, government and charities to Mansion House; of course, I had help from the Lord Mayor as well. If the year sounds busy, it was. Not for the sake of busy-ness alone but to facilitate the purpose of the office of the Lord Mayor: to convene.

How can I write this up for my new-look CV? Here the language starts to sound incredibly twee unless translated to some corporate speak. The by-products of bringing everyone together, looking presentable and having a nice time at parties obfuscates a serious issue – meaningful conversations do not happen by accident, and power rarely convenes itself. And who turns down an invitation from Mansion House? Well, members of my family it turns out – but no one solidly on their rocker would.

The necessities of getting everyone under the same roof to engage in some solid conversation is a civic responsibility and one taken on with extreme vigour by the office of the Lord Mayor and the City of London. By being separate from government, the UK government gets serious benefit from a voluntary organisation that has an annually-changing leadership from professionals with experience in the industries paying £1 in seven of the UK’s bills. Not looking so bake-sale like and twee now, are we?

So that’s what’s at stake, and a bit of what the Lady Mayoress might do in her year: but what was it really like? What is it like to host that many people? What is it like to live in a 18th century house purpose-built to host state occasions? What is it like to have your own seat in St Paul’s Cathedral? What’s it like when you no longer have a footman?

Nerve-wracking. Awkward. Very cold in the winter and uncomfortably hot in the summer, with chintz everywhere. Quite cool, actually. A bit lonelier, I guess. Yes, yes: I get it. That’s not what you’re looking for either. If I told you it was absolutely wonderful and incredible and marvellous, you might see straight through me. Although I wouldn’t tell you it was terrible either, because that would be a lie.

You are warned before taking on a role like this that your life, for one year, will not be your own. The realities of this are difficult to imagine unless you’ve been in it. It’s also quite hard for friends to understand.

You will be accused, for example, of excluding friends from events. It is very difficult to explain that there isn’t room for them next to the Secretary of State for Defence of France without sounding like a tit. It is also very difficult to explain that yes, you are sorry but the only night (and day) you have that week is Sunday and actually you’ve got a church service to do to as well and you might need to go and inspect some horses on that afternoon too, without sounding self-important. It was less the being-busy-every-day that I minded, it was more the unavoidable habit of having to sound like a prat at every single turn.

The change comes slightly earlier than you expect it. By September, you are old news and the only person who doesn’t realise this is you. The changeover at the beginning of November between incoming and outgoing is a rather unceremonious four hours in which, praise be, you do not take part. During this time, you watch your spouse carefully hand over the responsibility of the office like a Ming vase during the Silent Ceremony, a ritual that dates back 800 years.

It is poignant that a person who is expected to deliver, in the course of a year, roughly 900 speeches, as well as listening to and understanding the voices of thousands of important people, should begin and end it in complete silence.

So what remains? Certainly not the glamour, nor the access, but the knowledge that bringing people together in the same room matters. Being busy was never the point. Being useful was.