Self-promotion is a horrible, fascinating thing. You kind of wish the person who’s doing it would stop but you kind of can’t stop watching them.

‘Dennis Arblaster,’ he says, shaking you limply by the hand whilst scanning the room for more profitable pastures. ‘Best-selling author of  The Shape-Shifters Conspiracy Enigma Papers.’

I mean, where do you go from there?

‘Anything new in the pipeline, Dennis?’

Too late. He’s spotted the editor of Where It’s At  magazine. Well, enough about him. Let’s talk about me.

Taking to heart the advice of my kind friends who tell me I’m a shade-seeking idiot who needs to start putting herself Out There,  that’s what I’ve been doing, although I’m a bit hazy about where Out There is exactly. I’m still a tentative Tweeter but yesterday I used my first hashtag  – what is the correct verb, I wonder? To hashtag?  – and I’m feeling good. Yeah, I can handle it. I haven’t yet Retweeted, nor have I been Retweeted. I realise that must be way down the line of celebrity and influence. That must be a very big moment. But a girl can dream.

Anyway, there were two things I wanted to share with you. First, the topic of my inaugural hashtag; the Russian Grannies who are singing in the Eurovision Song Contest. Several of my dear supportive readers have pointed out that life is imitating art, or at least imitating Life According to Lubka. Thank you. I alerted Hollywood and their swift reply was, ‘Zzzzzzzz….’ 

The other thing is about Twitter. I’m delighted when people Follow me, after all, that’s what it’s all about, but I find it very hard to return the compliment when all I can see is a hard-boiled egg. Put your picture up there, or if you don’t want to do that, put up a picture of your gerbil. Or someone else’s gerbil. And say a few words about yourself. How else am I to know whether you’re a genuine person or a creepy chancer? See what I mean? But above all, no more hard-boiled eggs.

That’s all. At ease.






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