I’m beginning to feel I can’t stand the man. I can’t tell you who, really, because he has no name. He tried pretending to be Raymond Chandler in this new book by Bateman (I know I said I’d only ever call him Colin…), but he’s not. What he is, is an insufferable bookshop owner (there are a few of those around), with a girlfriend who is far too nice for him, and he has the mother he deserves. And he solves crimes.

He has a touch of Tourettes about him, and he’s a grade one coward (takes one to know one, possibly), and the rest of the time he’s quite obnoxious. But, he does solve crimes.

The Day of the Jack Russell is the second novel about this, well, we don’t know, do we? Private Eye, and ostensibly the owner of Belfast bookshop No Alibis, except he isn’t.

The Jack Russell is stuffed, but you can still be allergic to it. His girlfriend is pregnant. Not the Jack Russell’s lady friend. ‘Mr Chandler’s’ sidekick-cum-girlfriend. If it’s his, that is. She’ll get on well with the mother from hell.

So, stuffed doggie, decorators, Amnesty International, MI5, the Chief Constable and Starbucks combine to make another very, very funny crime novel. It’s the sort of book I could write. If I could write books, which I can’t. But I’d make my ‘hero’ a little nicer. After all, he has to deserve the lady.

The cover has , yet again, been designed with me in mind. I like. Very much.

There is a launch at No Alibis this evening, but Colin has banned all those who listen to jazz.

Have I ever stopped and looked properly at the books for sale under Waterloo Bridge? Don’t answer that. You can’t know. Even I don’t, and I’m in a better position, having come along on most of the occasions that I’ve walked under the aforementioned bridge.

But I did this week, so now I have. Couldn’t tell if there was a system to what goes where. Signs saying poetry and sci-fi/fantasy in neon green poked up in places. What that meant for the remaining books I don’t know.

I saw a battered DaVinci Code, and simply had to check what they expected to be paid to have it taken off their hands. £3. That includes interesting remnants of tea or coffee, plus bath water, or some such thing. And it was dog eared, which always looks better on a dog than on a paperback for sale. Then I found another, almost pristine, DaVinci Code, which was £3.50, so it’s 50p for the difference between dry and dipped in liquids. Quite a few more copies waiting to be adopted, but who’d want to pay that much? I thought even Oxfam was trying to hand them out for free on the pavement…

Does anyone know who it is that sells the books under the bridge? Is it a big business, or a few plucky stall holders? It’s a good tourist trap, but not necessarily good value.

At least now we all know I have stopped and looked. Please remember in case I need to ask again.

Earlier this year I was contacted out of the blue by a publisher in Germany, who had discovered the Eoin Colfer interview from Cheltenham last October. It’s the one where I had Charlie to do the actual work, and it is a good interview, if I say so myself.

Anyway, they wanted permission to put part of it in some educational book about Eoin Colfer (great education, I’d say) that they were doing. Charlie’s Mum and I decided it would be OK, and we also asked for a copy of the finished book.

Then we heard no more until the other week, when the parcel from Germany turned up. It’s more of a collection of tasks for students to do, based on Eoin’s The Wish List, discussing everything from Eoin himself to bullying, with wordsearches and quizzes and stuff. I think it’d be good to see something like it in British schools, too.

Quite weird to read Eoin’s answers in German…

It was the oranges that did it for me. A few years ago Offspring had some friends round for a sleepover, and the witch was feeling depressed. Not because of the sleepover, but I was left with that kind of feeling where you need comfort of some kind. So I got out Michelle Magorian’s A Little Love Song, which was waiting to be read. Once the young people were busy with whatever they were busy with, there was a whole evening in which to read.

So I read. And I read. When I got to the part where Rose goes to the dance, and is offered oranges, and said oranges gather momentum due to the jitterbug, I began to laugh. Soon I was laughing so much I could barely contain myself. So I stopped feeling depressed. Ever since, when I think of this book, I think of sleepover, and then oranges, and then of the explosion of laughter.

This is the story about two sisters in the second world war, who by accident end up living by themselves in a cottage in the country. They don’t know anything about looking after themselves, cooking and the like, but they learn. The opportunity to live alone seems so great to them, that they grasp it when their chaperone suddenly becomes unavailable.

Both girls meet love, although it’s not straightforward for either of them. There is also a mystery to do with the cottage, which is linked to someone Rose meets in the village.

A Little Love Song is the perfect romantic war story, with the same authentic war atmosphere which all Michelle’s novels have. In a country where television companies are crazy about period series and films, this book would be a very suitable one to adapt. Instead of a new version of Austen every five years (or is it every three years now?), it’d be a really good idea to take on all of Michelle Magorian’s books for a change.

Should I have words with the person who told me that Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman was nothing special? I wouldn’t have delayed reading it for so long, had I not been convinced it was a perfectly missable book. Couldn’t quite work out why it should be thus, since neither Neil nor Terry have a habit of writing outstandingly bad books. But I suppose it could have been some chemical mix gone seriously wrong.

I found it was a tremendously successful mixture, all things considered, which kept me entertained and smiling all the way through. What balanced the thought ‘I’ve left it far too long’ was that other thought ‘but at least I can read it now’.

I’m always a bit suspicious of two people writing together. How can you manage the practical aspects, and how come the reader doesn’t fall into the gap between one writer and the other? It’s reassuring to se that neither of the authors can remember quite how they did it, or who wrote what.

Armageddon is always a nice subject for a book. A selection of angels and little devils and demons (what’s the difference?), a God or three, people on bikes and some ordinary weirdos make for a fun story. There is a lot of truth in the idea that you have more in common with your opposite number, than with your own superior. And not all angels are totally angelic and there is some good in some devils.

Small children can think and act for themselves. Just look at the Famous Five. Dogs are good fun. Americans and witches are useful plot devices. But I do wonder what happened to the American baby? Did he fall off the continuity sheet?

Love your neighbourhood. Things don’t have to be what someone else says. You can have an opinion of your own, and you can change fate.

I would have liked to put in a quote here, but Good Omens is 350 pages long, and I don’t feel up to retyping the whole book.

Philip Ardagh is officially funny, having been awarded the Roald Dahl Funny Prize 2009 on Tuesday. I understand Philip is fairly pleased with the outcome, and he will be on BBC Breakfast this morning, if anyone’s up early enough to catch him. I will have to put my trust to iPlayer or Facebook friends.

I had assumed that Philip would have a cupboard full of prizes by now, but it seems not. So here’s a particularly big, witchy ‘Well Done, Mr Ardagh!’ from all of us at Bookwitch. Champagne receptions! I don’t know what the publishing world is coming to.

This is slightly late, I’m afraid, but I hope people are watching the television series Jinx? It’s based on Fiona Dunbar’s books about Lulu Baker, which I haven’t read (sorry, Fiona!). I enjoyed he first two episodes which were on CBBC at Halloween. The next two have been recorded for when this witch has a spare moment. I think there are 13 episodes in all, broadcast Saturdays and Sundays at 10.30.

Liz Kessler has been blogging about her US tour, at long last. The happy snippets of information that had reached me earlier weren’t enough, so this very long tale of what it was like, swanning around America as the successful author she is, makes up for it. I think I really must try and write some best-selling books so that I, too, can have an experience like hers.

Though I have a dreadful suspicion that I was invited to the National Book Festival in Washington, as well. I just remember thinking that someone was mistaken if they thought I could just hop over to Washington like that. I think maybe I should have hopped. It sounds good. Please invite me again!

Some witchy developments last. A witch can never have too many blogs, so on Saturday night my third witchy blog saw the light of day, except it was well past midnight, and only the kitchen lamp shone, but never mind tiny details. I had come to the rather sudden conclusion that an all-Swedish book blog from moi would be a good thing, and then I went looking for a name. You wouldn’t believe how many combinations of witch and book and reading there are out there. So I’m simply Bookwitch på svenska.

And then, you know how easily a witch gets carried away. Monday morning I set up a fourth blog. Quite quick that time, since I’d not had the opportunity to forget what I did 36 hours earlier. This one is not mine, however. It’s for the church which is still being threatened with closure. As Son said on Skype, what is there not to understand in ‘you are not allowed to sell this building?’.

(Photos; hmm, the one of Philip is by H Giles. Fiona supplied hers, of her own free will, and Liz’s I stole. Sorry!)

Thank goodness Helen Grant had hair! Nice hair, too, in a French plait. The other three didn’t. At all. I’m not being alopecia-ist, I hope. It’s fashionable to be bald.

Anyway, the witch made it to the Strand offices of Puffin on Monday, to meet New Talent. They had a line-up of four, comprising Jason Bradbury, Alex Scarrow, David Yelland and Helen Grant with the hair. The Resident IT Consultant wondered why I was going, but relaxed when he heard I would be meeting the author of The Vanishing of Katharina Linden. ‘That’s a very good book’ he said. (Just imagine – the man remembered it!)

Don’t know Jason Bradbury, though I gather he’s on television. I can believe that. He bounced through his presentation for the new book Atomic Swarm, out early next year. It’s a sequel in his Dot Robot series. He went on about hover boards and tele presence, in a fairly bubbly and crazy sort of way. (Does television make people like this, or do people like this make it to television?) But I don’t want him to operate on me, in any form. Nice cap and Converses, though, not to mention the white spectacle frames.

Alex Scarrow time travels. He also plays with computer games and things. He had played and made an impressive trailer for his first children’s book, TimeRiders. (It’s all beyond me, but what do I know?) He recruits people on the verge of dying, so it’s ‘come and work for us or die’ kind of thing. Alex believes in the ‘what if?’ idea, but I must say that a king called Henry the Ape is too much ‘if’ for me. He’s written for adults, apparently, but it seems that writing a children’s book was more fun. At least I think that’s what he said.

David Yelland seemed to be into revealing new things about himself, and was talking about the three A’s; adoption, alopecia and alcoholism. His first book, The Truth About Leo, is vaguely based on his own life in various ways. It’s supposed to be a very moving read, but I was last to the book table and didn’t quite make it. (One might turn up in the post?) But I do wish he hadn’t told us how the book ends! There’s information, and then there’s information.

Not last and not least, Helen Grant. Helen has a new book out next spring, too, called The Glass Demon. It’s set in Germany, like her first novel. (And, she told me afterwards, the third book too, which she is writing now.) Helen greeted us in German, and was kind enough not to translate what she’d just said. Maybe she thought we were intelligent. She told us more about the town of Bad Münstereifel, and it really does sound idyllic. Apart from the murders, maybe. The first book is just coming out in German translation, so she’s keen to hear what her German friends will say. Perhaps. Someone called Helen the “Stieg Larsson of teen fiction’. Let’s hope so, for her bank balance, at least.

After a few canapés, the witch Cinderella-ed off to her train home. But I did get to speak to Helen.

The importance of Goodnight Mister Tom is such that I have long had Michelle Magorian on my top level of ‘really good authors’. The kind you need to worship from afar, someone who is unquestionably great. So meeting her in person at last year’s launch for Just Henry wasn’t a case of your everyday garden variety of a book launch. Having found Michelle reassuringly kind and friendly and normal, I came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be out of the question to consider interviewing her. Would it?

When by happy coincidence Michelle turned out to have an event on my home ground, I simply had to ask to meet her again. So you could say that I waited as eagerly to meet her, as I did for Just Henry after I’d read Michelle’s first five novels. I’d been so happy when I discovered her, and my assumption that readers can expect a new book, if not every year, then at least every two or three, meant that my patience wore very thin over the ten-year wait. But as you can read in this interview, it was for a good reason, and it was worth waiting for.

I just ‘happened’ to bring along my copy of the anthology War, edited by Michael Morpurgo, which contains a story by Michelle. It seems we have a lot to be grateful to Michael for, since it was he who got Michelle writing again after her long break.

In her talk at the Imperial War Museum Michelle told us how she first wrote Goodnight Mister Tom, and after that she decided to attend a writing course, which may be an unusual way round to do it. And when she has to write horrible and upsetting scenes, she goes for calming walks in between.

There is another book on the way, but read my interview with Michelle while you wait. And then any book of hers that you have inadvertently overlooked. Perhaps between us we can have a late run on A Little Love Song?

(Photo D Giles)

This week even the Guardian reported on the state of Stieg Larsson’s money. They didn’t have much to say that I haven’t already blogged about, except that Stieg’s father and brother have now offered his partner Eva some money. Of course, neither I nor the Guardian know all that much. We recycle facts and come up with clever guesses as to what’s what.

We’re all guessing, because Stieg can’t tell us a thing. So it makes a change reading this blog post, written by Annika Bryn, who is a Stockholm based crime writer, and who knew Stieg.  I met Annika over on Sara Paretsky’s blog, and she has previously left a comment on Bookwitch saying it’s true that Lisbeth Salander has Asperger Syndrome because Stieg said so.

This week Annika wrote about her own feelings and ideas as to how all this mess over the Millennium money happened. She says that ethically it should have been Eva who inherited the money, and that it ought to be she who’s in the position to be able to offer the Larsson men 20 million kronor, out of the 130 million total so far, instead of the reverse. Annika says that Eva wasn’t just ‘a part of Stieg’s life’, as his father and brother put it, but he always referred to Eva as his wife, and he felt they had ‘grown together’ and he could never leave her.

Stieg’s brother has said to Annika that the fact there was no will must have meant Stieg didn’t want Eva to inherit him. (But most of us don’t consider our mortality soon enough, do we?) Another thing that is easily forgotten, is that when Stieg died, he had no more money than most people. He didn’t know there’d be millions to fight over. And Annika reckons he also thought the three people in his life would get on better than they do.

She feels that although the offered 20 million is a lot of money, it’s not enough, and that a fifty-fifty share would be the fair way to do it. They should also cooperate over the intellectual property Stieg left behind. She mentions a dispute over the English translation, too. So it seems nothing is easy in this sorry saga. As for anyone finishing the fourth book, Annika reckons this would be wrong, unless it’s practically all finished anyway.

There was a very early will, in which Stieg left his money to a communist organisation. So it doesn’t seem as if he’d intended his father and brother to enjoy whatever he had to leave.

Annika’s blog usually has many, and friendly, comments left by her visitors. This time feelings have run high, and people have left some much more strongly worded comments than usual. Not all are on Eva’s side, and some don’t manage to comment politely, whatever their opinions.

Not content with imagining a bookshop, I need to dream a little about my imaginary book festival. As Amanda Craig said on her blog recently, everyone seems to think they should run a festival of sorts these days. And they don’t always do it well.

That’s the part I don’t get. If you ask people round for dinner, most hosts don’t go out of their way to ignore the guests. So what’s different running a festival? It’s surely just one big dinner party or children’s party or whatever?

I’m too lazy to go ahead with anything like a book festival, but the idea really appeals. Shows how lacking in originality I am; having the same dream as countless other well-meaning idiots. I’d also find it too stressful, but I would want to offer any visiting authors all the comforts of home to keep them happy (and me popular).

Or maybe I just expand a little on my literary Tupperware party? Come and talk about yourself and your books in my living room over some nibbles and wine, with some book sales at the end. Some of the time I even have a spare bed to offer.