Congratulations to the lucky winner, Debbie Kirby in Herefordshire. The correct answer to the question: Where was Richard and Nancy’s first kiss, was Starbucks. Debbie wins signed copies of The Beach House and Second Chance, and a bottle of Jane’s favourite Jo Malone perfume.�

I think I have a curse on me that prohibits me from keeping digital cameras for any longer than six months. One of two things happen – I lose them (but I swear, I lose them somewhere in the house. One minute they’re on the shelf in the kitchen, and then next, poof! Nothing. Nowhere to be found), or they break.

And generally, it has to be said, they break with a little help from the children. They’re all fascinated with cameras, and all ascribe to the belief that what’s mine is theirs. Particularly the daughter. A sparkling nail polish she quite fancies on her own toenails? A blusher she can’t live without? Hair clips that are a must-have? They all disappear, regularly, from my bathroom drawers and are stuffed into the desk drawers in her bedroom.

The kids view the cameras as being family cameras, which would be fine if they were cheapo crappy cameras that it would be okay to break, and we do have cheapo crappy cameras that are okay to break, but no. If it aint Canon or Sony, and if it costs less than $250, they aren’t interested.

The Canon broke, of its own volition, last week, and the Daughter decided to take pictures outside with the Sony, then left it on the bench to enjoy the thunder, lightning and rain. I’m now left with the camera on my blackberry, so forgive me if the quality isn’t what it might be.

I was at Book Revue in Huntington Long Island last night, where I had a great event, and then I’m off to Madison, CT tonight. I’m writing this, lying in bed, having a well-earned lazy morning, and finishing off Don’t You Know Who I Am? By Piers Morgan, which is an extraordinary account of his rise to fame (he’s the judge on America’s Got Talent, and won Celebrity Apprentice), with celebrity-packed tales on every page. He’s irreverent, self-deprecating and full of himself at the same time, and searingly honest. His descriptions had me laughing out loud.

On Kate Moss: “How this stroppy, pinch-faced little coke-snorter from Croydon ever made it to be the world’s number one supermodel is quite beyond me…”

I didn’t have much of an opinion of him until I caught a few episodes of the apprentice, when I realized how good an operator he is, and frankly, after having to deal with that Omarosa, he deserved to win.

Other news: The Beach House has gone in to the New York Times bestseller list at number 11. It shouldn’t matter so much, but it does, and a huge thank you to all of you who went out and bought it during this first, important week.

So the tour continues… On Saturday we jumped into the car and headed down to Bookhampton in Sag Harbor for an event - small but sweet - and the best thing of all was staying in Amagansett with a cousin, Sas Peters.

Sas Peters and Jane Green

I have to admit to a few nerves when we got there. Sas had left the door open, and told us we were staying in the ‘family room.’ We walked through the kitchen, saying hello to Max and Frieda, the two poodles, and walked into the only room that could possibly have been a family room. It was crammed with furniture, sofas, chairs, boxes, books.

‘Where are we supposed to sleep?’ I whispered, my face falling along with my dreams of fluffy down pillows and soft mattresses.

‘Um, floor, maybe?’ beloved said, uncertainly.

I’d given up a luxury hotel room for a hard floor, and let me tell you, I wasn’t happy. But, family is family, and I figured it was only one night, and I’d survive.

We went to do the event which wins the award for smallest event of the year - unsurprising really, who wants to go to a book talk on a Saturday night in the Hamptons when there are parties to go to and people to see - then out for dinner with friends, then back to the house where we discovered, with relief, we’d got it entirely wrong.

The family room was a gorgeous bedroom downstairs, filled with photographs and letters and memorabilia of four generations of the family, and both of us slept better than we had in years.

On Sunday we had a brief wander round Amagansett, and I remembered exactly why I had fallen in love with it all those years ago - as a teen I summered there, and am sure that’s when I decided that one day I would live in America.

We hit horrible traffic on Sunday on the way back, and got back about ten minutes before a gang of friends arrived for dinner. It was meant to be a barbeque, but realised we were out of gas so had to improvise, and made one of my mum’s dishes that I haven’t made in about fifteen years, but is still completely delicious - so delicious in fact, I’m posting it here:

Curried chicken and spinach. (Serves 6)

Defrost 3 or 4 bags of frozen chopped spinach, squeeze out water and spread it thickly over a square ovenproof dish, season and dot with butter.

Cut four chicken breasts into large chunks and poach gently in boiling water until just cooked.

Mix together one carton greek yoghurt, equal amount of mayonnaise, and a couple of tablespoons of heavy cream to thin. Season liberally with curry powder, a little cumin, and ground coriander.

Cover spinach with chicken, season, pour mayonnaise mix over the top.

Cover with panko breadcrumbs, cook on 350 for around 30/40 minutes, until slightly browned.

I know it’s a bit weird to suddenly post a recipe up, but since my loves are entertaining and gardening, I figure I may as well share some of that with you.

Then last night I went to the Jersey shore, to the Ocean County Library in Long Beach, for an event, and, I’ve got to be honest, it was with some trepidation. After travelling seven hours to the Hamptons and back, I was terrified that this was going to be a doozy with three people - and another seven hours in the car.

So I walked in, and immediately heard a loud din, an excited buzz coming from the room that I was to appear in, and I popped my head round the door to see that it was STUFFED with people - there were TONS, and they were all clutching copies of The Beach House!

Ashley, Anna & Sweta with Jane Green

It was wonderful. Thank you Scott, and everyone who came. There were over 125 people, I had a great time, and didn’t even mind the three hour car journey there and back - I took a tip from someone I know who does a lot of car journeys, and brought a pillow, a blanket, and a book on my ipod, and I stretched out on the back seat and slept all the way there, and all the way back - a rest I clearly needed, and the couple of dramamine I popped helped, so thank you to all who posted car sickness tips…

Just got a phone call from Louise, my magnificent editor in London, and the UK Sunday Times list is in…

Second Chance is NUMBER ONE!

The Beach House is NUMBER TWO!

First time I’ve had a paperback at number one, and I couldn’t be happier. Will fill you in shortly on the events of the last few days, but wanted to update with this wonderful news…

So I’m back after my long night in the city, and a couple of things happened yesterday that were a little disconcerting.

The first was that my glorious couple of hours on the beach earlier in the day, when I lay back as the kids built sandcastles around me, and thought, why don’t I do this more often, led to a familiar tightening feeling in my cheeks at around 5pm.

And my shoulders. And my forehead. And my chest. Yes. I am now horribly sunburnt. Lobster-like, in fact. I am shining like a beacon and I cannot believe I have lived in this country almost eight years and I am still stupid enough to lie on a beach, at lunchtime, with no sunblock.

Yes, you heard me right.

At lunchtime.

So, red-faced, I rolled into Candace Bushnell’s radio show on Sirius satellite radio, where she insisted, nay, forced, a huge glass of white wine on me. What can I say? I’d had a two-hour car journey in, I was uncomfortably burnt, and a little stressed. I drank it. In pretty much one go.

I wish I could tell you how the radio show was but in truth I don’t really remember. I do know that I adore Candace - she’s funny and irreverent, and brilliantly talented - not many people could write and create a phenomenon such as Sex in the City (I also think she might be completely bonkers…sssh. Don’t tell anyone)

I then left the gorgeous Candace (you can see from the picture how teeny tiny she is. And look at me! Red, shining and HUGE! And horrible hair. I’ve bought these new heated roller things and I’m determined to figure out how to use them, but every time I do, I end up with scary Dallas-like big hair, and if anyone’s reading this feeling upset in Dallas, I’m talking TV series…)

Note to self: never have picture taken next to teeny tiny skinny gorgeous women who write books and television series that feature other teeny tiny skinny gorgeous women who dress in great clothes. They will always make you look like a small whale.

For the record, Candace had on amazing crocodile mules. And metallic blue nail polish. Just in case you were wondering. I then staggered over to Borders on Park Avenue for an event.

A wonderful event - lovely people, and one, Natalie, came from Baltimore. Baltimore! To meet me! Do you have any idea how far that is? I think I made sense, sobering up somewhat after the bucket of wine at Sirius radio, although the microphone died halfway through my best story at the event, and we all sat around uncomfortably, smiling awkwardly, me at audience, audience at me, while - as luck would have it - the manager who lived a previous life as a DJ, came and fixed it.

Anisha Lakhani came, who is the author of a terrifying and quite brilliant novel called Schooled, which tells the truth about the elite private schools in New York City - she is a former head of an English department at one of them, and was a private tutor, so she knows. Boy, does she know. I couldn’t put the book down, and I think she’s going to get VAST amounts of publicity, but we all have to wait until August 5th for the book to come out.

She brought her mother who reminded me about growing up on a steady diet of Enid Blyton books, so I’m now off to track down Mallory Towers for my daughter, and then I’m off to weed the vegetable garden.

Seriously, what the hell IS my hair doing?