As regular readers know, for several years now I have been writing regular articles for London’s DIPLOMAT magazine. The general idea is to talk about diplomacy in a light-touch but accessible way, with ideas and themes of interest to both professional DIPLOMAT readers and anyone else who comes along.

Here is a handy list of 18 of these pieces.

So many fine ones to choose from. But there, right atop the Mount Everest of my post-FCO article-writing, sits Countess Wolcheek:

She came into my life one day in a full-frontal assault by telephone:

‘Good morning. My name is Countess Wolcheek. I am a close friend of Sir Arthur Grand, your colleague in Rome. Where might I collect my invitation to the Queen’s Birthday Party?’

Caught completely off guard by her imperious tone, I mumbled my greetings, politely obtained a contact number for her and said that one of my staff would be in touch about the invitation. I subsequently contacted Sir Arthur who said that he was dimly aware of this woman who was definitely not a close friend.

I asked my excellent locally-engaged protocol officer to find out who precisely this person was. The trouble started. The protocol officer refused to issue Countess Wolcheek an invitation without getting some form of explanation of her role in life. Countless Wolcheek proclaimed that she had never encountered such rank impertinence. An uneasy stand-off ensued. No invitation issued.

I subsequently was barnacled by Countess Wolcheek at another national day reception. She muttered something about the poor protocol arrangements at my embassy but was otherwise genial enough, showing me a forlorn-looking copy of her own short pamphlet about the moral urgency of World Peace. She pressed me to help her get an invitation to join the Royal party at the 200th Trafalgar Day celebrations (I feigned ignorance).

I then started to notice her not only at diplomatic events but at other senior gatherings. She was easy to spot sitting, for example, in the front row of the audience for a speech by a visiting top German politician as she appeared to have only one outfit.

At a conference for senior European lawyers, I was startled to see her approach me and introduce one of England’s top judges. We went off for tea. Countless Wolcheek disappeared to powder her ample nose. I asked the judge how he came to know her. ‘How do I escape from this frightful woman?’ he moaned wildly. ‘I’d never met her before. But she attached herself to me yesterday and now I can’t shake her off!’

What happened next? Read on!

I concluded:

As I always say, brilliant technique has to be respected. As must be any diplomatic barnacle that has been genetically modified to incorporate superglue.

Go and browse.