This is how it feels to be one of the super-rich, I think. Dripping with diamonds, my sky-high silver stilettos click-clack as I walk through the park.

My dress? A flattering red designer number. And beside my side, a gorgeous, not to mention fashionable, Cockapoo pup, who's already attracting coos of admiration.

The picture of limitless wealth doesn't end there. I have a personal assistant — billionairess Tamara Ecclestone has two, after all — in tow.

And if I do get tired, or feel unexpectedly down, I'm further insulated from the hard reality of life by my new devoted friend, as well as a man-about-the-house at home, who will do anything I ask without any need for nagging while I put my aching feet up.

How have I ended up with jewels around my neck worth four times as much as the average family car and a litany of staff?

Sadly, I haven't won the Lottery. In fact, not a single one of these baubles belongs to me.

Instead, I've hired everything and everyone — including the pooch — just for the day.

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Sadly Antonia Hoyle (pictured second right) hasn't won the lottery. In fact, not a single one of these things belong to her. Instead she's hired everything and everyone - just for the day

And peculiar as this might sound, the 'sharing economy' is booming.

Whereas once we were a nation determined to own things outright, things have changed dramatically with fashion rental services popping up.

Indeed, according to research by Westfield shopping centre in Shepherd's Bush, London, where a pop-up shopping rental centre called Style Trial launched last month, the rental retail economy has the potential to be worth upwards of £900 million.

A recent survey, meanwhile, found some 80 per cent of consumers believe that there are advantages in renting over owning.

Why? Well, in part because stagnating salaries don't allow for outright ownership, but also because our modern commitment-phobia extends to our possessions.

If we buy something, we're committed to it and might miss out on the next big thing.

And for those keen to imitate celebrities who wear an entirely different outfit for every appearance, it's cheaper to fake a fabulous lifestyle, however superficial and shallow that may sound.

Some might say it's a waste of money to hire extravagant items they can't afford but, as I discover, from diamonds and dogs to friends and companionship, a glamorous lifestyle really can be yours — for the day.

Sparkle like Sir Elton John...with just one catch

Short of a bank robbery — or raiding our life savings — there's simply no way I'd be able to don real diamonds like these.

But London jeweller Susannah Lovis — who has provided diamonds for Sir Elton John's annual White Tie and Tiara Ball — is one of a growing number of jewellers to loan out their pricey pieces.

Susannah, who recently loaned a £79,000 tiara to a bride for her wedding, charges one per cent of the retail price for 24 hours.

London jeweller Susannah Lovis rents this £37,000 18ct white gold chain (pictured), replete with a staggering 134 round cut diamonds for £374 a day

And so, I find myself wearing an exquisite £37,400 18ct white gold chain, replete with a staggering 134 round cut diamonds — all mine for £374 for the day.

There's just one catch — your credit card details are taken and if the item is not returned, the value of the piece is charged. Gulp.

However, if you're not prepared to re-mortgage your house to free up the credit needed, rental website wearthewalk.co.uk, which charges users a £50 monthly subscription, has a striking statement necklace available to rent for a more reasonable £30.

Much as I'm mesmerised by the sparkle of the diamonds, I'm frozen with fear to be walking around with the equivalent of an entire annual salary attached to my neck.

A Mulberry bag I'm too scared to use

An extorionately priced designer handbag is the quickest way to signal that you have both wealth and fashion nous.

No surprise, then, that companies have seized the opportunity to hire out designer handbags to image- conscious but cash-strapped clients who desire a different bag every five minutes.

On fashionhire.com I find an iconic £725 leather Mulberry Bayswater, the original 'It' bag loved by the Duchess of Cambridge, available for 'just' £85 a month.

Getting hold of it, however, feels more complicated than acquiring a mortgage.

First, I have to sign up for a three- month 'membership' at £9.95 a month, then, to safeguard against fraud, I must provide a copy of a utility bill and a scan of both sides of my bank card before my request is approved.

On fashionhire.com I find an iconic £725 leather Mulberry Bayswater (pictured), the original 'It' bag loved by the Duchess of Cambridge, available for 'just' £85 a month, writes Antonia Hoyle

Two days later, when the bag arrives in a box via a courier (delivery is £14.99), it's a bit of an anti-climax.

Yes, the butter-soft leather and trademark gold clasps are beautiful, but I'm too terrified to put a bottle of water or make-up in it in case I mess up the lining.

If I lose it or it's stolen, I face a replacement fee of at least £600 — and a similar charge if the bag is damaged beyond normal wear and tear.

I decide that my own humdrum High Street handbag collection suits me just fine. And it's much less stressful, too.

My new best friend - but not forever

The idea of buying friendship seems an anathema to me, but I discover there is a demand.

Rentafriend.com — which quite literally, offers friends for hire — was launched in America (where else?) in 2009 and came to Britain the following year.

Aimed at everyone from lonely tourists to those who feel more comfortable confiding in a stranger, 'Friends' — of which there are now 20,000 in the UK — post profiles online for free and those looking to rent them pay a £19 monthly subscription fee.

I choose Saloni Belaid on the basis of her profile, in which she describes herself as 'articulate' and 'soooo up for days out at a theme park'.

She is softly-spoken, permanently smiley and charges £100 for four hours (cash, upfront) for her services.

On Rentafriend.com I choose Saloni Belaid (pictured left) on the basis of her profile, in which she describes herself as 'articulate' and 'soooo up for days out at a theme park'. She is softly-spoken, permanently smiley and charges £100 for four hours (cash, upfront) for her services

At 39, we're the same age, and within minutes we're gossiping about the rigours of working motherhood.

A beauty therapist by trade, her jobs to date include a shopping expedition and night out with a thirtysomething PA who had recently lost 4st and wanted a friend to help her kick start her social life.

Then there was the Canadian businessman with whom Saloni discussed the property yield in Dubai over lunch.

'He had time to kill between meetings and wanted intelligent conversation,' says Saloni.

'He said it was nice to meet a woman he can talk to that had both brains and beauty.'

Yet there is, she stresses, 'nothing romantic about being a hired friend. I will shake hands with a man who books me but that's it.'

And don't expect a lasting relationship — she doesn't stay in touch with those who hire her because, as she says: 'I have enough friends of my own.'

At the end of my paid date, however, she gives me a hug, and I hope that, though she's a professional, she likes me a little bit, too.

Couture with a Post Office label

Why spend thousands on a posh frock when you can hire one for a fraction of the cost?

In this Instagram-age when being pictured in the same outfit twice is a faux pas, several online stores are loaning designer dresses for a fraction of their retail cost.

On girlmeetsdress.com I find an arresting Amanda Wakeley number — bright red, tight-fitting and with a flattering peplum waist. It would cost £525 to buy new, but is mine for a more reasonable £89 a week. I pay an additional £7 for insurance in case I accidentally pour champagne over it — or more likely, given the fact I'm a mum, it gets covered in mucky fingerprints.

On girlmeetsdress.com I find an arresting Amanda Wakeley number (pictured) — bright red, tight-fitting and with a flattering peplum waist. It would cost £525 to buy new, but is mine for a more reasonable £89 a week, writes Antonia Hoyle

The next day, it's delivered by courier, freshly drycleaned and wrapped in tissue paper. To send it back, I stick on the label enclosed and take it to the Post Office.

I can't help thinking there's a certain economic logic to it all — some of my High Street dresses get an outing only a few times a year, and fashion trends soon pass.

So why not spend High Street prices on loaning a designer frock that you can then return?

Slippers on a loan, like Cinderella

Hiring heels with wow factor proves trickier, but Style Trial comes to my rescue.

The pop-up store in London's Westfield was launched after a survey found a fifth of respondents would be willing to spend £200 a month on an unlimited clothing subscription allowing them to borrow clothes and accessories that are returned.

At Style Trial, a pop-up store in London's Westfield shopping centre, this silver strappy pair of shoes (pictured) by designer Rupert Sanderson are £20 a week. But they cost £39 new

The shoe selection is limited — there is a silver strappy pair by designer Rupert Sanderson, but they are not available in my size so I opt for a pair of £39 Principles by Ben De Lisi at Debenhams heels at a rental cost of £20 a week because they match my dress.

As they cost £39 new, I'm aware I'd only have to wear them twice to make buying them new a better option, but I decide it's money better spent because all proceeds from Style Trial go to charity.

My P.A. buckles down to work

Gone are the days when only the richest could afford to have an ever-ready helper by their side — if the stories are to be believed, singer Mariah Carey even had a special assistant to dispose of her chewing gum.

Nowadays, the rest of us mere mortals can employ staff, too, even if we don't have a servants' wing to house them.

And what better ego-trip to have someone employed to service your every need?

I book personal assistant Brooke Lawrence (pictured main), 21, from employment agency Off to Work, which charges £24.97 an hour, writes Antonia Hoyle

So I book personal assistant Brooke Lawrence, 21, from employment agency Off to Work, which charges £24.97 an hour.

Brooke turns up an enthusiastic 15 minutes early and willingly caters to my every need, from buckling my shoes and fetching coffee to complimenting me on my cheekbones.

I feel faintly ridiculous asking an underling to do such things, but compared to Brooke's previous clients, who have apparently hired her for activities as diverse as remembering names at parties, picking up their clothes, making popcorn and dressing up as a Bahraini, I'm positively low maintenance.

Husband-for-hire...in a pink van!

There are certain tasks — like hanging pictures and putting up shelves — that I gladly leave to my husband.

But for those who don't have a dutiful spouse, help is at hand in the form of a hubby-for-hire.

But for those who don't have a dutiful spouse, help is at hand in the form of a hubby-for-hire.com. My 'husband' for the day is 6ft- tall Clive (pictured), who has suave good looks and a dry sense of humour

With their staff in pink uniforms, and the tongue-in-cheek company name hireahubby.com, this is undeniably aimed to appeal to single women who miss having a man about the house, but is also useful for those whose husbands' DIY skills have proved disastrous.

'Some wives are quite sheepish about it and wait until their husbands are away before they call us,' says Hire a Hubby's director of operations, Paul Doherty, who adds that other customers — men and women — simply don't have time to do the chores themselves.

My 'husband' for the day is 6ft- tall Clive, who has suave good looks and a dry sense of humour. Clive — a 49-year-old father of two who insists he is so house-trained he helps his partner of 12 years, a French teacher, with the ironing — is certainly fun to be around, and a dab hand at pouring champagne.

'It sounds vaguely sexist but women ask me to do jobs their husbands are rubbish at,' says Clive, from Chelmsford, Essex, who charges on quotation but generally at a rate of £25 an hour.

'They say their husbands are useless and they need me.'

Although Clive specialises in property maintenanc, he admits not all requests are conventional — 'I've been asked to walk the dogs and be the chef at a BBQ' — and that his pink branded 'hire a hubby' van raises eyebrows.

'The men at my local builder's yard think I'm some sort of gigolo,' he laughs. 'I tell them with my face, I don't think I'd earn much money.'

When I discover you can rent a top-of-the-range bike from British Bike Hire (I borrow a £550 model for £100 a week, britishbikehire.com), it is Clive who assembles it when it arrives partially dismantled in a box.

Puppy love I can't resit

With her beseeching brown eyes and soft blonde coat, it's hard not to be smitten with three-year-old cockapoo Roxy, even though I've long resisted my husband's pleas to get a dog of our own.

Thankfully, Roxy's only on a day's loan via BorrowMyDoggy, a service that connects dog owners looking for a pet sitter with borrowers who love canines but are unable to commit to owning one.

There's everything from Labradors and Spaniels to Great Danes and Dachshunds — and the charges are only £12.99 a year for borrowers. (The annual subscription for dog owners looking for doggy day care this way is £44.99 a year.)

Roxy's (pictured) only on a day's loan via BorrowMyDoggy, a service that connects dog owners looking for a pet sitter with borrowers who love canines but are unable to commit to owning one

Hold the phone, I'm on holiday

Even the mobile phone I'm using for the day is hired.

For an approximate cost of £30 a month (calls are usually additional) plus a £150 deposit British company cellhire.co.uk hires out SIM cards and handsets for those who are reluctant to enter a costly two-year mobile phone contract, but also put off by poor-quality pay-as-you-go phones.

They're also handy for people about to head off on holiday to an area where their usual network has no signal.