So, on my little jaunt down to London yesterday, I went to my favourite shop in the world - Liberty. And, when I say favourite - I mean FAVOURITE. If I could put up a little tent in the Persian rugs section and stay there for the rest of my life, I would. Unfortunately, I suspect they wouldn't let me. (Although, actually, I might send them an email to ask). I'll let you know how it goes.
They always have the most wonderful christmas shop, and I was mooching around the gift section wondering if there was any physical way to smuggle the ENTIRE SHOP into my handbag, when, to my delight, I found several copies of my book! Almost beside myself with glee, I bounded up to the shop assistant and offered to sign them. She was very polite, but she responded how (I've learned) most shop assistants respond. Giving off, as I do, an air of flustered eccentricity, they tend to assume I'm someone who's picked up a book and decided to pose as its author. They usually let me sign them anyway, with an air of tolerant indulgence. (Although I think the lady behind me bought a copy - so really Liberty, you should have THANKED me - preferably with a Christopher Kane scarf). Nevermind, it's all beside the point. The point is that my favourite place likes my book enough to have it on a shelf! (Albeit a low down and barely visible one).
In another bit of silly news, my friend James spotted this in The Times today - in the top left hand corner, barely visible to the naked eye, is yep - The Wychwood Fairies!