A VERY public aristocratic feud! This high society wife called her husband a “faggot” on social media after he posted this “maddening” photo. Here she tells why… and he responds!

SOCIETY WIFE’S STORY: ‘Seeing a picture of my husband in a mountain pub whilst I was worrying about our daughter’s birthday and sports day at home was just too maddening!’

Mrs Laura Cathcart, 40 years old, Last week, the 45-year-old actress publicly called her husband William Cash a “faggot” for posting a picture of him enjoying a beer in Austria, while she was busy with her children’s sports day and planning her daughter Cosima’s ninth birthday party. Here, she explains what led to her snap…

As the so-called Chatelaine of Upton Cressett Hall, a Grade I listed Elizabethan property in Shropshire that can sleep up to 22 guests, I am an event planner, cook, party planner, interior designer and wife.

But the other day, in addition to my job as a seamstress, I was doing my other job, that of a mother, preparing for my daughter Cósima’s ninth birthday.

But, I wondered, where was my husband William?

Instead of helping me make a Victoria Sponge-style birthday cake just after dawn, long before all the children, pugs, budgies and Burford Brown chickens were awake, or helping our nanny inflate a paddling pool, William was barking orders from his study.

Although he takes his job as editor of the Catholic Herald very seriously, we didn’t need him in the office that day. He should have been with me, fulfilling his duties as father to our children.

In reality, he was hiding out in his study so he could watch cricket on television or order more vintage bottles from Tanners Wine Merchants.

He certainly loves our daughter and shows it regularly in his own way.

But my husband only has one main job. All the other tasks that family life requires (cooking, housework, entertaining, arranging flowers, buying gifts, etc.) fall to me.

If I weren’t so absent-minded, I’d think it was premeditated. I realize I’m not the only mother who complains that her husband doesn’t have the faintest idea of ​​the details of domestic life. When it came to Cosima’s birthday, it didn’t occur to him that there were party bags, presents, invitations, entertainment, cards and sprinkles to be arranged.

While I had been worried for days, what do you think had kept William up in the middle of the night?

He was simply preoccupied with planning a “working” (read: fun!) vacation to Austria to “review” a religious music festival, but where, I suspect, he was mostly sampling the local beer and strudel.

I was invited, but I felt, as always, that I had to stay.

Why do only mother hens feel they must stay in the nest with the chicks?

The image of my husband enjoying a pudding at the Taverna Celtica in the idyllic mountains of southern Austria was too maddening to bear.

I posted a frustrated joke on her Instagram page, but quickly deleted it once the anger had passed, though not before it was spotted by the Daily Mail’s Richard Eden, who duly reported it.

To make me feel better, a friend said she recently took off her Birkenstock clogs and threw them at her husband after finding him browsing his iPhone while she was busy with their three children under five.

She fears she may have fractured a rib. At least I only made a bad joke.

William’s (KIND OF) mea culpa: “When did sports day get elevated to a holy day? And anyway, I’m going to school prize day to see Cosima dressed as a bug!”

Here William, 57, who was previously married to jewellery heiress Ilaria Bulgari and Mick Jagger’s ex Vanessa Neumann, tries to explain himself – or is he just making things worse?

When I was invited to attend a weekend music festival in southern Carinthia, Austria, in June in cold March, I consulted Laura, who was also invited.

The program included a “jazz mass” sung in the 14th-century pilgrimage cathedral of Maria Saal, with a choir alternating between Latin and the lyrics of Jesus Christ Superstar.

It sounded tempting, although it was still school time.

Laura gave me the green light and I booked the plane tickets. Everything was going well until about three weeks before departure, when, to my horror, I realised that it coincided with our children’s annual school sports day. My heart sank.

I decided to make the trip anyway. However, I was foolish enough to post some photos on Instagram: myself enjoying a beer after a sweaty hike up a mountain à la The Sound of Music. A photo of my host’s home bar was less commendable. Gleaming with silver cocktail shakers and vodka bottles, it made the bar at Claridge’s look like a train kiosk.

Not surprisingly, Laura responded by posting a sarcastic and scathing comment, berating me for missing sports day.

But what kind of social crime is it to not celebrate Sports Day, an event elevated to the status of a “sacred day”? Although important, Sports Day is not a secular sacred day of civic obligation.

I made sure I didn’t miss Cosima’s ninth birthday, supervising a bouncy castle party with 25 adults and 30 children. I’ll also be attending the school awards day and watching Cosima dressed as a bug in The Lion King.

As someone who works from home several days a week, I see my children far more than my parents’ generation saw theirs.

After a decade of marriage, I have reflected on what has been the difference between my marriage to Laura and my two previous failures.

The key now – apart from having dogs and children – is that my writing career is no longer of any particular importance to me. There are hundreds of overweight writers who have one novel or one book that hasn’t been very successful. Anyone who cares more about literary success than love must be crazy. Now, my marriage, my love and my family are the only things that matter to me.

The third time has been the best, thank goodness. Laura’s talent for multitasking – as a brilliant and overworked milliner, chatelaine extraordinaire, mother, wife and holiday let manager – makes her my partner in crime, and the laughter here at Upton Cressett often makes it feel like we’re living above the set of Fawlty Towers.

Yes, I should have checked the school diary, but sports day will never be as important as our wedding anniversary.

Our tenth trip this year may not have been a trip to Venice (where we spent our first holiday together in 2013), but we celebrated with two cups of hot chocolate at the Costa cafe at Wolverhampton station on the way to dinner with friends in London.

This is what domestic happiness is like. A Costa coffee made us as happy as if we had returned to celebrate at Florian in Venice, the most expensive bar in Europe.