On networking

Go to the bookshop in Willesden Green. It's jammed. Zadie Smith does a reading and signs lots of hardbacks. I spot her agent (I checked her out on the company website) but she’s deep in conversation with Zadie Smith’s husband, Nick Laird, who I recognise from a newspaper interview. I don’t want to interrupt so hunt around for other agent-looking people.

Drinking wine and looking around when a middle-aged lady comes up.
‘Are you Nick?’
She’s clutching a copy of Nick Laird’s new book of poetry and a pen.
‘No,’ I say.
She looks at me.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘They told me he was the good-looking young man in the white shirt.’
This isn’t said in a complimentary or flirty way, she is dead serious. I look at her, then around the room. Leaving aside the question of whether I'm good-looking or not, I am definitely the only male there wearing a white shirt.
‘I’m pretty sure it’s him,’ I say and nod towards the man wearing a dark T-shirt and brown jacket talking to Zadie’s agent.
‘Are you sure it’s not you?’
I smile. ‘Honestly.’
She doesn’t smile back and obviously thinks I’m taking the piss.
‘Try him,’ I say. ‘Really.’
She shuffles towards Nick.

Zadie's mum invites us back to her house for nibbles after.
I notice Zadie's agent is making moves, saying goodbye to Nick and heading for the door. I lunge, introduce myself and give her my short spiel. She says she's not interested in thrillers but I should try her colleague, xxx, and helpfully writes her name, number and e-mail.

'Tell her I told you to contact her.'

Another nice lady.

On the way out I think I see one of the girls from the flat next to mine. What’s she doing here? I get all excited in case she's a literary agent or knows some or has tons of book contacts.

‘Hi, Rob. What a surprise!'
'Hi. What are you doing here?'
'My friend works in another branch of this bookshop.'
'Oh. Great.'
'And you?'
“I, uh… kind of know Zadie Smith’s mum.’
Which sounds daft even as i'm saying it.