When people ask me what I do for a living and I tell them I’m a book publicist, for some reason they envisage a lifestyle which involves schmoozing with authors, going to glamorous launch parties, drinking copious amounts of champagne and being driven from place to place courtesy of Random House. It doesn’t always occur to people that you often end up being a coolie, lugging an author’s rucksack around Pimlico, or being their nurse, running up and down Shaftsbury Avenue looking for a Boots to buy them medicine for their sore throat and runny nose, and sometimes even their servant, having to flush the toilet after they’ve used it (true story); that going to glamorous launch parties involves washing up the glasses and serving canapés which you’re not allowed to eat until everyone is suitably full – which no-one ever is. 

When on Monday the glamorous and talented Nigella Lawson came in to sign copies of her new book, Kitchen, I sat next to her and passed her one book at a time as she signed and we chatted about our latest trips abroad and favourite TV programmes, which were, incidentally, Desperate Housewives and Glee. I took for granted the envy of my friends, especially the male ones, who questioned me relentlessly about what she’s like in ‘real-life’ as I responded in the ever so slightly smug tone of a person who had access to secret information. And when, two days later, Salman Rushdie came in to sign copies of his new book, Luka and the Fire of Life, and my friends asked me, ‘What’s the new book like? What did you say to him?’ I felt just a little bit self-satisfied that I’d read the book before it had even gone to print and that of course it was brilliant, and that when I met him I had to resist the urge to ask, ‘Do you know, where the toilets are?’ (Only Bridget Jones’s fans will understand that). Everyone seemed to have this impression of me flitting from one famous author to another and forgot about the fact that most of the time I was taking their books out of boxes and stacking them in piles so they were ready for said authors to sign. I did try to explain this to them, but it never quite filtered through.

So when the following week I was offered a ticket to the premiere of Tamara Drewe I wondered what little task I had to undertake to earn it – would I need to weave the red carpet myself and roll it out for the guests? Was I expected to play usher at the cinema and make sure everyone sat in their designated seats? I wasn’t entirely sure what price I’d have to pay but having read the clever and funny Tamara Drewe I quite liked the idea of being a part (even if said part included some manual labour) of the opening. And so I smiled earnestly and took up the offer.

My colleague and I arrived at Leicester Square earlier than needed and I saw, to my relief, that the red carpet had already been rolled out. I wasn’t entirely sure if there was going to be a side entrance from which we would have to enter discreetly, away from the flashing of the camera lights reserved for the important people. So we decided to wait with the masses, lined up and down the Square, behind the great divide that separate reality and stardom. We got a bit bored after a while, mingling with the public of which we are a part anyway, so we decided to walk towards the entrance and it transpired that it wasn’t a little side door, but that in fact it did lead to the red carpet. I hadn’t been handed a tray of canapés, nor was I being directed towards the kitchen with instructions on how to empty the dishwasher, the security guard looked at my ticket, smiled at me, and let me through. I smiled in return and made my way down the red carpet. There were, as anticipated, flashing lights, people smiling from behind the barriers, waving excitably (not to me of course, but still).

I thought about the past two weeks, my casual conversation with Nigella Lawson, my meeting with Salman Rushdie and now me on the same red carpet as Gemma Arterton, Lilly Allen and Stephen Fry, and I thought that actually, sometimes, my job is every bit as glamorous as it sounds.