WENTY years ago, I wrote two rather hefty books about roses. Both were well reviewed and both won international prizes. One of them was translated into seven languages and, rather more importantly for an author, still earns welcome royalties. The international editions were pre-sold at the Frankfurt Book Fair, which meant that I had to include roses in all the markets where the book would be published. Rose lovers are famously nationalistic—it is difficult to persuade Frenchmen that some of the best roses are bred by Englishmen—and so, with the backing
