It's always very strange to be writing about a season of the year which is not actually happening outside my study window. Mind you, today we could be forgiven for thinking it's winter already, because it's pouring with rain, it's freezing cold (or almost freezing cold) and I'm sitting here with a pashmina round my shoulders and thinking about looking for my fingerless mittens.
So, as I send my characters off into the snow, I can empathise with them, even though it's August here in Devon. Maybe we'll get a heatwave in December and I can finally acquire my gorgeous golden tan.
I can live in hope.
Or go on holiday to Tunisia, perhaps, and feel some real rays.
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