Tag Archives: mr rosenblum australia and new zealand

The very first copy.

Yesterday, the postman delivered the very first copy of Mr Rosenblum’s List. It’s an actual proper book. In hardback. With my name on. I placed it on the shelf in the sitting-room amongst the proper books by real authors (hoping they wouldn’t pick on him). I feel slightly dazed. I’ve seen proofs and typeset manuscripts and cover roughs and back copy blurb, but nothing quite prepares you for seeing your story bound into an actual book.

Mr Rosenblum's List - Australian Hardback

This the edition that will be sold in Australia and New Zealand…

hmmn... is it too late to change that sentence?

I’ve done a couple of interviews now — one last week with an Australian paper. I feel amazed at how Jack and Sadie’s story has traveled. It is so lovely that people so far away want to read a love story about a short, middle-aged man and his roundish wife…

And, if any of you are in London, I’m doing my very first book event, which will be at Jewish Book Week on March 2nd, at 5.30pm in Bloomsbury. It’s free and un-ticketed and you will be able to get an early copy of Mr R…




Filed under from summerhouse to summer read

Cabbages and tea-parties

This morning Mr S brought me a bouquet of cabbages. Well it is Halloween, and cabbages are a lot more seasonal at this time of year than roses. They are actually beautiful – green and pink and white – and are sitting proudly in a vase beside the fire.

I love this time of year. Rather like at bluebell time, Mr S and I go hunting round Dorset for the best crop of colours beneath the trees. In the morning we went to Duncliff, where we found a toadstool circle in the middle of the wood – surely a portent today of all days. Then, late in the afternoon we walked from our front door across the fields to a copse of beech and sycamore trees. The last of the evening light filtered through the leaves and turned the ground beneath gold – it was as if we crunched through sunlight.

Days like today are so English: the smell of woodsmoke as we return to the cottage, short autumn days, eating russet apples from my mother’s orchard. Mr R is such an English book, a celebration of days like these and as I tramp through Delcombe, Fifehead Wood or through Stourhead, I am amazed that Jack and Sadie have found friends so far away.

Jocasta sent me a gorgeous message from a bookseller in New Zealand, where my publishers held a tea for Jack. All I can say is that Jack, Englishman that he is, would marvel at having such wonderful foreign friends.

perfect autumn day in dorset

perfect autumn day in dorset

Leave a comment

Filed under from summerhouse to summer read, writer pontification