From Chapter 1

[ . . . ] One thing, though, I don’t think I will ever get used to is this: my mother is currently trending on Twitter.

To put this in context, my mother is a tiny Scouse power-house in her fifties, with dyed black hair, strong opinions and endless energy. I’d say she has zero per cent body fat, 200 per cent work ethic, and loves nothing more than her family, which includes my nan, who is officially ancient, my dad Phil, my older sister Becky, me and my little brother Luke (or The Knobhead, as he’s known to everyone who’s ever met him).

She is also totally in love with her first ever grandchild – Becky’s baby Ollie, who is now four months old and rules the world from his bouncy chair like a benign Jabba the Hutt. He’s one of those fat babies with rolls of flesh everywhere, and his eyes completely disappear every time he laughs. Which is a lot. So, Mum is a family woman. Her life isn’t glamorous, or that interesting. She spends every spare minute looking after us lot, and still works on the tills at the local Tesco, even though she doesn’t really need to any more. She’s extraordinary, but ordinary, if you know what I mean – one of those salt-of-the-earth-women you could build an empire on the back of.

All of which begs the question: why is she trending on Twitter?

When did she even join Twitter? Why did she join Twitter?

I scroll down the pages – literally endless pages – and see that every pic on there has the hashtag #jessikasmum. It looks like the whole of Liverpool has popped into the supermarket to pick up a packet of crumpets, a bottle of Prosecco, and a selfie with my mother. There are hundreds of them – all featuring complete strangers, gurning like idiots, and my mum, happily posing alongside them.

My mum has described herself as ‘daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, and lover of all things Michael Bublé’. I suppose I should be grateful that the great crooner himself hasn’t also called in with a selfie stick in his hand.

‘Fab time at Tesco with mummy diva’, says one tweet. ‘Jessika’s mum is awesome’, says another. ‘Forget Jessika – her mum needs her own reality show!’ on one more. ‘Why’s she still working?’ asks a random girl who, according to her profile, loves knitting, cats and visiting S&M clubs. Hopefully not all at the same time.

Mum’s still working, of course, because she wants to. Not because she’s skint, or because I haven’t offered to give her anything she needs – but because she is who she is. She’s my mum, and she’ll probably be going into Tesco when she’s eighty, popping her false teeth back in for photo calls.

I close down the screen, and take a breath. Tell myself there’s no harm done. That it could be worse – my dad could be on Twitter, and then the world as we know it would collapse in on itself.

My life is insane. Nobody warned me being a pop star would be quite this crazy.

#passmetheproseccoplease