England in September

I have just blown back into Miami in time to see the remnants of Hurricane Rita disappearing over the horizon heading north towards the battered Gulf Coast. How much more punishment is this area going to have to suffer before the season is officially over at the end of November. I spent two weeks in England enjoying tranquil late summer weather which was a happy change from the relentless heat of this Floridian summer and Mum and I made the most of it. I picked up a little rental car and with Molly happily installed between Mum's knees, we made our way each day up to Coombe Hill where we could enjoy breezy walks and a terrific view. Every afternoon I drove through to Princes Risborough and went to visit Dad at the excellent Ker Maria Nursing Home. Dad is looking remarkably well and is definitely a lot better than he was when I saw him in January. He makes valiant efforts to speak and with great effort and concentration on both our parts, we managed to communicate. To hear him say the words "I love you" was a tremendous reward. Mum is doing well despite feeling understandably lonely at times, and a wonderful group of local people give her lifts into Princes Risborough on a regular basis so that she sees Dad around four times a week. She is painting again and even ventures out to the Horticultural Society meetings. I made a quick trip down to West Sussex to see my dear pal Maggie and she organised a superb lunch party so that I could catch up with a number of old friends. With possible plans to return to live in Italy, Maggie may not be in Midhurst much longer which means that sadly I would have little reason to visit that beautiful area. Encouraging news is that Marie Brown Associates who are literary agents, have asked to see the manuscript of my new novel so a great deal of work has to be done to finalise it and hand it over before I leave for Australia in early November. The thought of seeing Claire and Peter and their families is so exciting, but the thought of a twenty hour flight is somewhat daunting. Never mind, I know it will be well worth it to hear those wonderful words - "Hello Granny".

Mum and Molly on Coombe Hill 

Kate and Mum at Waterperry 

Mum and Dad Sept 2005 

Katrina arrives in Miami 

KATRINA ROLLS ON

KATRINA ROLLS ON A week ago, I went for a swim in our large condo pool, and as I lay on my back in the warm water, gazing up at the peerless blue sky above, I counted my blessings at being able to live in the wonderful state of Florida. This morning, I returned to the pool and repeated the procedure, but this time I counted my blessings carefully. Looking up at the twenty four storey building in which we live, I could see the torn mesh and tattered storm blinds that still hang limply from some of the balconies, and below in the car park are the remnants of broken branches and palm fronds lying about awaiting the landscape team who will return us to a state of pristine beauty in no time. Vehicles move through the streets slowly, confused at the lack of traffic lights, and the swans on the golf course are revelling in the extra space afforded by the flooded lake. For two days last week we had done the Floridian thing and ‘hunkered down’ listening with trepidation as the huge glass windows in our apartment creaked, and the wind screamed and harried at any object that lay in its path. Storm shutters shuddered and shook and the lights flickered while daylight was turned into an evil mix of dark clouds and a white-out of rain storms. In the north of Miami, Katrina blew with intense force and then she turned southwards where she dumped incredible amounts of rain onto already sodden ground, turning streets into rivers. But we were not enough for her. We were just a dress-rehearsal; a chance to flex her muscles and to tease and torment the residents who had cowered at her arrival. She had bigger fish to fry than us, and having jinked her way back out into the Gulf of Mexico, she set her sights on that pearl of the Gold Coast, New Orleans. The television coverage is all that we see of Katrina now, but the exhausted tearful voices of previously hardened reporters tell of families drowned inside their own homes, of children left stranded and alone on railway lines, of the still rising water and of the thousands who now have no homes to return to. Stephen Spielberg in all his wild imagination could not have come up with a scene of such destruction and misery, and right now, the world waits to see if New Orleans will sink back into the waters from which it was wrested. It is a humbling day for Americans. This was an attack of enormous brutality and it came from a source against which they have no recourse. But I have no doubt that the inherent good-neighbourliness that we have come to appreciate will surface, and in the same way that South Florida is slowly rebuilding, so will the shattered lives of New Orleans and its surrounds.