One year ago today, I had the pleasure of launching Petite Anglaise, soon afterwards known also as Catherine Sanderson, on to an unsuspecting world.
In truth, there were two worlds, one less unsuspecting than the other.
Catherine was an extraordinarily successful blogger, with the sort of hit rate that makes even Salut!'s recent spurt seem good enough reason to give up.
There had been no leg-up for her in the process. It was all her own work. She had cleverly applied her amusing, intelligent style of writing to reflections on the everyday life of a young Englishwoman in Paris, and people all over the world* had warmed to her.
But even in that more informed world, relatively little was known in any detail about the person behind the blog. That was where I came in, with my story revealing the case of the bilingual secretary fired by an English firm of accountants in the French capital on the grounds that her site, though anonymous and never identifying her employers, somehow brought them into disrepute.
Of course, I already knew Catherine by the time the article appeared, unleashing an astonishing - to her more than to me - explosion of international publicity. We had met on line, for no other reason than that we both lived in Paris and wrote blogs, and this had led her to confide in me when her world seemed to cave in.
Rather a lot has happened since we first met and I poured white wine down her throat (she suspected at the time that I was trying to loosen her tongue, and I suppose I should be grateful that she didn't suspect worse).
In fact, the bottle was produced a) because journalists must live up to their reputation of needing little excuse to produce bottles and b) to break the ice; I was perfectly happy to wait until Catherine was ready for her story to be told.
In the event, that took a few months. She wanted to be sure of her legal ground, and to see the last of her pay safely into her bank account. Suddenly in mid-July, it all fell into place and the deed was done.
Of course it was not the most important news event I have worked on, not even the most important of 2006. But it was precisely the kind of story people the world over are likely to read, perfectly applicable to the modern age with significant enough implications for freedom of expression. I was repeatedly asked to talk to other parts of the media about the affair and wrote at length at my then Telegraph blog on how the story had come my way.
As it happened, I did not have too long to savour the minor glory of the scoop.
By the time the publishers' bidding war was done, and I had reported the outcome (extremely good news for Catherine), I was within days of being sacked myself; that event also attracted some controversy, though not on quite the same level.
Catherine wrote charmingly about my downfall at her own blog, and in the months that followed we became friends. I hope her book, or books, do famously and I still believe there is material in her story for a very funny film.
But let us not forget the people who fired her: Dixon Wilson. Theirs, necessarily, is much more than a walk-on part. They did not so much refuse to comment as offer to jot down numbers when approached by journalists, and then simply not ring back. That was their right, and should not be held against them.
The firm has been accused of over-reacting to a trivial issue that could have been dealt with easily, without fuss and perhaps with a gentle warning. They chose the sledgehammer instead. The prud'hommes, or labour court, so far sides with Catherine and has awarded her a hefty slice of compensation against Dixon Wilson. They have the right to appeal, so the story could have more legs before it has run its course.
But by the time it has, the woman they fired may well have added successful author to successful blogger on the cv she will probably never again need to produce in order to earn a living.
In fact, Catherine realised some time ago that she had arrived, that life could never be the same again.
Not because of my Telegraph stories, the book deal, the court case, the international reach of her fame. She knew it the day she sent me a text message saying: "Do you remember telling me I'd end up on Richard and Judy's couch? Guess what............."
* A short message of thanks to Catherine for pointing her readers towards Salut!. It is a powerful measure of her Midas-like touch that so many hundreds of people have followed her directions.....if that includes you, I do realise that you are here exclusively because of Petite Anglaise, but please accept my sincere welcome. I hope you enjoy your visit........
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