I am just finishing off my truffle omelette (like you do) when I get a call from a charming young journalism student. As part of her final year project she is publishing a Swedish newspaper. She has read my articles in the Mail, knows I am half-Swedish and wonders if I could write a 500-word editorial.

“I’d be delighted,” I say. Anything to promote Swedish culture. What there is of it.

“And do you think we could run a picture by-line?” she asks.

There is NOTHING a hackette likes more than a picture by-line, the bigger the better.

“Of course,” I say.

“Could I talk to your PR about getting a picture?” is her next question.

I have always known there is something missing from my life. For a while I wondered whether it was my lack of religious conviction, or maybe the fact that I am sub-consciously yearning for another child or that my La Prairie eye cream has just run out. Now at long last, the mystery is solved. I need a PR. Of course. How did I ever expect my life to be complete without one? What a fool I have been.

Applications on a postcard please.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007