I was still unsure how I felt. But I understood through my American experience that the monarchy might just have a role. If only to bring money-spending tourists to our shores.

Thirteen years on in 2010, across St. James’ Park, I found myself sitting in Clarence House, talking to Prince Charles’s people and learning for the very first time, exactly how much the Prince puts into his impressive range of charities. He supports the arts, young people, the environment and responsible business. His only international charities are focussed on Asia and Afghanistan. Still at the Foreign Office, my interest is in Pakistan. We talk at length and have much to share – we have some very common ambitions.

My mind is made up about the value of the Royal family. And in a cruel twist, on the very same day, I hear that my mother has been killed in a car crash. I sob in the arms of a British Pakistani Lord. Here was my very own “absolute event” – where symbolism overwhelmed – and in a strange way, ensured an ongoing relationship with Pakistan.

It felt rather “Night at the Museum” being at the Natural History Museum in the dark. Torrential rain had rendered the 300 guests soggy, yet still jubilant. The mostly British Pakistani crowd filled through security checks dripping with giggles and embraces for friends, who would also be privileged enough to meet the Prince that evening.

I was a guest of the award-winning Seed Ventures. The tuxedoed crowd around me was suave and sophisticated, one of them was my favourite British Pakistani Lord. But the woman around me, were the most impressive.  Playwrights, journalists, activists, business women – at a glance you might say middle-class elite – but scratch the surface and you get a burning passion for change and integrity.

We joked like school children as we waited our turn with the Prince. It was like royal speed dating. Ten years ago I wouldn’t have been sure about this meeting. But on that evening, I knew it was an honour – not least because of the occasion.

Once we had grinned stupidly and shook hands, we found our candle-lit seats, beneath the amazing skeleton of a giant dinosaur. The Lord told silly jokes. The playwright found some wine. Then, amongst the finery and splendour, 600 eyes found the giant screen, as a film began to play.

I nearly choked on my naan. Images of Pakistan’s floods flashed before us.  There were horrified and saddened faces beneath the shadow of the diplodocus. Every bit of my white-middle-class-post-colonial guilt washed over me. Here was I, sitting amongst the eloquent and well-dressed, eating perhaps the finest food I had ever eaten, watching destruction and human suffering.

Then the Prince got up and spoke.

The event I was attending was the Pakistan Recovery Fund Galla dinner. The heir to the throne spoke from the heart about how he was moved to set up the charity after his wife and him saw the suffering of Pakistanis on the news (you see media isn’t always a bad thing). He had also given a personal donation through Islamic Relief, which I will wager was probably bigger than the £25 I managed.

I knew that the Prince already supported Pakistan with his network of approved British Asian Trust charities – charities like DIL, who nearly took me to Everest – but until his speech, I was not necessarily convinced about this “personal affinity” he felt for Pakistan. His words, were smart, moving and those of a man who understood Pakistan better than many so-called “experts” I have met.