Still working on my second novel, a psychological thriller.
I stop off for coffee and a read of the papers, then head over to see Mel who works as a library assistant in the town of Stockton, about fifteen miles from historic Burrington. Stockton, by contrast, bears a strong resemblance to some of the New Towns I’ve seen in the past: a ring road flanked by soulless office blocks and factories, a sixties-built shopping precinct in the town centre, high rise flats with groups of hoodies on skateboards somersaulting through the air. As soon as I arrive in the town, I pick up on the unsettling atmosphere and lingering racial tensions between Whites and Asians. I dislike Stockton at once. All around, I see despair and boredom and poverty.