It’s a strange grey day here. If you look out of the window, I looks like winter, but when you go outside it’s quite warm, a little muggy even, and every so often it spits with a fine rain that can quickly soak your clothes.
Time in the garden has been sporadic and a complete change from yesterday’s bright sunshine and late summer feel.
Given the dreariness of the weather it would be easy to feel down, but I have an escape route that takes me away from September in Stoke to the heat and light of Jamaica.
Absorbed in writing “Island of Fear, the next book in the series “The Adventures of Letty Parker” I am following my heroine as she sets sail from Bristol and finds herself on a beautiful but sinister Caribbean island.
In my alternative world this is Jamaica, a place I know reasonably well as we lived there for some years. So I’m looking at pictures and remembering the feel of the heat which was like being wrapped in a damp blanket, the smell of lush vegetation after rain, the darkness of the nights and the unfamiliar configuration of the constellations. Then there are the ruins of the Great Houses and the terrible history of slavery on the island, plus the fascinating story of the Maroons.
All in all, I am so lost in this world that I’ve scarcely time to glimpse at the clouds outside my window.