Why can't someone invent a mirror that shows you what you look like the correct way round? Am I alone in not wanting to be reversed? Is Rabbie Burns the only other person to understand the importance of seeing yourself as others see you?

P.S. If such a mirror already exists, I apologise in advance and ask that the inventor be more ambitious in his or her sales campaign.

P.P.S. I could always lend you my own very successful sales representative - Nana - if necessary.

Those of you who have been with me from the start will recall that the title 'The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose' was taken from my Meditation 33 which I wrote on the day of my father's funeral. And now, less than two years later, those very words have been translated into several languages across the world. What I wrote in despair has become a reason for joy and celebration. My father would have liked that.

Why is 'why' so important to me
And why not 'who', 'what', 'where' or 'when'?
Why can't I be like the others I see
Who don't seek the motives of men?

I've searched for the truth
Through all of my youth,
But the answer I still cannot find.
Should I ask 'why' no more,
Close my eyes, shut the door?
Not while reason lives on in my mind.


Wore my t-shirt with 'Why?' across the chest today, very slightly raised at the 'W' and the 'y', understated, with a quiet hint of greater things to come. Nana said it looked daft, that people would think I didn't understand anything, that there was no point in 'Why?' when no-one knew what the question was, that I'd be better off with 'Because' than 'Why?', that at least then people would think I had the answer. I fear that Nana will never make a philosopher.

Ode to the reviewer who described me in a broadsheet newspaper as beautiful, confident, clever, successful, much-loved and loving

There are some who brush against your life
With the gentle touch of an angel's wing
Never knowing how much joy
That touch can bring
Your paths may never cross
You will not know them
But in their hearts
They'll hear a young girl sing

I looked up and saw the clouds parting in the sky
Torn by the dazzling light of the summer sun
I listened and heard the sound of a thousand angels
All gathered to applaud what this man had done
Loudly they heralded his arrival
With voices that were clear and pure and true
But of all the angels gathered there in heaven
None, Luciano, sang as well as you

'I once lost a race when I'd won it.
It taught me that life's seldom fair.
I watched while they made losers winners,
Pretending that I didn't care.

'I've tasted the beauty of winning.
I've savoured the joy of success.
I've relished the failure of rivals.
I've longed for perfection, no less.

'But now when they make me a winner
I hesitate as they applaud.
For winning can sometimes be losing.
Perfection is often best flawed.

'So tell me I've won, but with caution.
Remind me of others who've failed.
And we'll all wait for that final curtain
To teach us what winning entailed.'


So you have your copy of The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose and you've started to read all about me. After a few pages you'll think you know me very well. A few more and you'll wonder if you don't. Then you'll reach the end and you'll all form different opinions of me. I'll be discussed and compared, admired by some, disliked perhaps by others. There'll be those who think I have succeeded whilst a few no doubt will consider that I've failed. And some of your comments will make me so happy, and others will make me feel sad. Because The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose isn't just a book, it's an experience. And that is what the race is all about.

BREAKING NEWS

Tomorrow. 9th August 2007. A date in a diary. A page in a book. But it is not just a day: it is the day. A day to remember, when you wake up in the morning and plan what you are going to do. A day to enjoy when you make your way with nimble tread to your local bookshop. A day to savour, when you return home, clutching a long-awaited copy of The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose. For tomorrow is publication date for the first edition of the hardback. The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose, the book in which Diana Janney tells the story of my life. Or part of it anyway - there's too much to tell in just one book. So there you are. The day before tomorrow. Relish the moment.

I was about to say that Charlotte Goldman is a bitch, but why offend an innocent animal and a particularly loving and faithful one at that? So I'll stick to my original description of her, the one I gave her even before I knew how hard she was trying to ensnare Jean Claude - a mosquito, a tiny creature, insignificant to look at, noisy in intonation, a nuisance, always looking for someone to feed off, with a rather unpleasant bite which doesn't last long and most important of all, very easily squashed.

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.