I'm back, which means by necessity that I must have been away. And what a time we had, the three of us! We were invited to a magnificent country house hotel as VIP guests of the owners. My mother and Nana said that I was the only VIP, but I know I would never have got this far without them. And to me, they're the VIPs. Always were and always will be. I would love to tell you all about our stay, but I can't as it would spoil your enjoyment of the book about me which is published in hardback next week. So you'll just have to wait.

It's time to sit down and re-assess. Fourteen years old and I've already achieved my greatest ambition - to turn down a date with someone I admire on a matter of principle. Strangely enough, I don't feel quite as fulfilled as I thought I would.

The first print run of my book has already sold out. Nana broke the news to us this morning. A second run has already been ordered, which apparently makes the first even more valuable, according to my mother. It's what authors and publishers long for. It means you've attained success and recognition and no-one can call you precocious or over-confident any more without making themselves seem stupid. I like that about it. I think I'll go to bed now without washing my face and looking in the mirror afterwards.

Some ask why I write meditations
And why not a diary instead
A diary shows what you've been doing
My book reveals what's in my head

It's not that I seek recognition
It's not that I long for success
It's just that I want to write something
That says what I am and no less

My book is for people who question
For questions show what we're about
I don't claim to have all the answers
- sometimes it's better to doubt

So open my book, but with caution
Remember that no thought is real
It lasts for as long as we think it
What matters is how we then feel

My mother, Nana and I were having lunch in an Italian restaurant in South Kensington. We used to go there often when my father was alive, but it was our first visit without him. The proprietor greeted us with such warmth and enthusiasm and exaggerated hand gestures that I had to check over my shoulder to make sure a proper celebrity wasn't about to push past me as if I was invisible through their big designer sunglasses. But then, when he offered us the best table in the restaurant - the one by the window where passers-by would see you and rush for a table - I realised that all the fuss was just for me (or Arriet Rosa as he insisted on calling me).

"I see you on the telly," he announced with the heightened tones of a proprietor eager to inform the rest of his customers that celebrities dine at his restaurant, "And Mama too," he added, smiling radiantly at Mama Rosa, "And Grandmama. Bella! Bella! Bella!"

"Olivia, actually," Nana replied, with a smile I feared might be a little patronising when we hadn't yet eaten. "Bella was my cousin."

But Mario just laughed as if Nana was being funny.Then Mario spoke words I shall never forget, "I buy your book, Arriet - you sign it for me?" And before I had time to ask about the Pasta of the Day, my Infinite Wisdom was on the table in front of me, lying hopefully between crostini and a bowl of black olives. So I took his pen and wrote, 'To Mario - ciao, Harriet', just to let him know I was international. He would like that.