It’s not easy to get a good, free education in this country. Everybody knows that. And I understand that the group of people I am warming up to be vicious about are only, like the rest of us, struggling to do the best they can for their beloved progeny. Adoring parents must, of course, make use of whatever they can find in their armoury when it comes to looking out for their children’s futures.

And if an ability to tell barefaced lies about the nature of one’s most fundamental beliefs happens to be included in that, along with the Nazi-esque levels of discipline required to get a family scrubbed and ready for church by 10 o’clock each Sunday morning, then so be it. Felicitations. Etcetera. It’s well known that a place in a church primary school is worth its weight in gold. And I shall try my hardest, having failed where others succeeded, not to be bitter about that.

I did the research. I put on the skirt.

I corralled the entire family to an interminable church service somewhere way beyond our catchment area.

I queued us all up at the end of the service, to ensure that our presence was acknowledged by the priest (for those unfamiliar with the system, he was also a school governor). Finally, with a warm yet humble and appropriately respectful kind of a smile, I prepared to deliver my speech, rehearsed and jam-packed with amicable lies.

Until suddenly, as frequently happens in ecclesiastical circles, I was struck – not so much by a thunderbolt as by an appalling attack of giggles, the sort that people of a nervous disposition sometimes get at funerals.

He shunted me away, the horrible, unforgiving man, without even giving me time to recover. Another middle-class mother was standing right behind us, patiently awaiting her turn, sticking pins into the palms of her hands, I’ll warrant, just to stay focused on the job (I wish I’d thought of that.) She looked so damned earnest, the veins were sticking out on her neck. And she was holding a bicycle, as if to emphasise not only her love of the environment, but her proximity to the catchment area. (I wish I’d thought of that, too.) I bet her children got in.

In any case, it must have been one of the most expensive attacks of giggles in history. At current prices, it costs about £150,000 to see a child through a private education in London, and only a little less elsewhere. And what if you have two, or even three, which seems to be the numero of choice among the affluent middle classes these days? It doesn’t bear thinking about. (The solution, of course, would be to stop breeding rather earlier than that, but, sadly, by the time one has done the maths, it’s usually too late).

If you are going to go to all that trouble, then you might as well go for the best – and where could be better than St Mary Abbots Church of England Primary School? It is well known to be one of the best schools in London: horribly oversubscribed and excellent for political and other networking. David Cameron sends a child there, as does Michael Gove, the shadow education secretary. It has been said that, come pickup time, the school gate is reminiscent of a pheasant shoot: the sound of London’s jolly elite, a-chatter as they wait to collect their Mini-Mes, sends up clouds of frightened pigeons, enough to blacken the sky.

Merely living nearby is not going to be enough to get you a place – priority is given to “committed and regular” members of St Mary Abbots Church, then to other churchgoers. Just 30 reception places are up for grabs each year – and they fill up very quickly. Physical proximity would certainly help, though. The only problem is that the school lies in the heart of Kensington, where a four-bedroom family house can cost £5m – rather negating any savings made on school fees.

A small, tidy family, however, willing to make a few compromises on space and absolutely set on an education at St Mary Abbots, might do well to consider the ground-floor flat at 24 Gordon Place. It’s barely a 60-second walk from the school gates and, as it’s been on the market since July, the owners may well take an offer on the £650,000 asking price.

The flat has two reasonably sized bedrooms – one for children, one for adults – and lots of storage space (vital for cramped family living). It has a modern and elegant little kitchen, with sliding doors connecting it to a small but very light sitting room. There is a terrace off the master bedroom, over which, as a desperate measure, one could always put a small tarpaulin. And directly opposite is a lovely looking pub, which, with the help of one of those baby alarms, the adults could use as a sort of proxy sitting room/office.

Not only that, with the school being so close, the children could probably make their own way there and back, which would cut down on fossil-fuel consumption (always desirable, of course) and allow the mother and/or other carers – who might feel a little threatened amid such a jolly elite – to spend the entire afternoon in the pub, thereby avoiding the daily school-gate shooting match altogether.

Sounds rather tempting, doesn’t it? Especially the pub bit.

Flat 1, 24 Gordon Place, W8, £650,000 (pictured above)

What is it? A two-bed ground-floor flat in a period conversion

Where is it? Near Kensington High Street, in west London

Who is selling it? Chesterton; 020 7937 7244, www.chesterton. co.uk

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