Peter Blomfield

My first fiasco happened years ago with a London publishing house. My draft manuscript was accepted at a time when literary production was conducted over glasses of sherry and lunches fortified with Bordeaux. I was immediately attracted to the civilised, genteel culture of the industry. I was flattered that my work was being carefully cosseted by a team of editors and art directors, honing typefaces and imagery - naturally, between more sherry sessions - leaving me believing it was a pity the rest of the world didn't operate the same way.