'Just a little more eyeliner,' says the impossibly beautiful make up artist.

I'm at some TV studios in Old Street to promote Damaged Goods. I've done a lot of radio ( frankly I've got the face and arse for it ) but I've never before graced the screen.

I check my reflection. I'm wearing more make up than Boy George. My skin is so orange I look like a burnt satsuma.

'It won't look so heavy under the lights,' says the make up artist who I can't help noticing wears nothing…

'Just a little more eyeliner,' says the impossibly beautiful make up artist.

I'm at some TV studios in Old Street to promote Damaged Goods. I've done a lot of radio ( frankly I've got the face and arse for it ) but I've never before graced the screen.

I check my reflection. I'm wearing more make up than Boy George. My skin is so orange I look like a burnt satsuma.

'It won't look so heavy under the lights,' says the make up artist who I can't help noticing wears nothing…

Husband Who Lives In Hope brings through the wine. I cart a collection of biscuits and chocolates that would make Willy Wonka barf.

We settle down in front of the TV to watch the latest episode of Messiah.

A very sexy Mark Warren struts gloomily through numerous religiously themed crime scenes.

'Do you think,' asks Husband Who Lives In Hope, 'that he ever notices that all his cases are a bit similar?'

Mark inspects a pair of blood stained hands forced to pray for…

Mother With An Eye For A Bargain calls me from the supermarket.

'They've got your book.'

These calls are not unusual - since Damaged Goods was published she's spotted them with the trained eye she turned on me as a teenager with hickies.

'There are five on the shelf,' she says. 'So I'm happy with that.'

There's a but comming. I can smell it like a dog before a storm.

'But,' there you go, 'the position's all wrong.'

'These things are decided by the…

Supermum Lawyer Writes Debut Novel shrieks the headline in the Gazzette. My picture grins out inanely, Damaged Goods, held close to my chest.

I sigh.

''Most mothers are delighted if they find time to juggle work and children but Helen Black somehow wrote her fabulous new book.'

I sigh and look around the train wreck I laughingly call home.

The twins were up til 4am projectile vomiting with a force and intensity Linda Blair would…

'Happy New Year.'

I don't answer. The presenter is speaking to her army of listeners.

I've been asked to go on the radio to discuss my new book and read a piece which my lovely publicist, Kesh, has edited to remove swearing and all references to padophilia, violence and drugs which has reduced us to two paragraphs.

I trip over a cable which is snaking across the studio. The presenter gives me a look that would freeze medusa. In my defence, I'm new to this game…