I don't suppose Nobles Park in Douglas would make it onto anybody's list of Most Inspirational Manx Walks; not with all those glens and coastal paths to compete with. Nevertheless, it's only a couple of minutes away from school and I often amble round before collecting the children at half three. For all it's municipal feel, I love it, especially in winter. In winter it has that expectant feel that Andrew Wyeth is talking about; it makes me feel as though I'm on the brink of writing something brilliant. (Plus it gets busy in summer and you can't stare into space with the same lack of self-consciousness for fear of tripping over a toddler or a bevy of bikers.)
If I'm lucky I've been writing for several hours just before I arrive, so perhaps that explains things. The muddle that is my plot; the gothic tower of St. Ninian's church; the hissy-breath of the sea; a sun that's as good as given up for the day; biro leak on my fingers (wish I'd brought gloves); bare trees like etchings; an old man with a Jack Russell on a lead; high school kids in their blue and red strip trudging off the football pitch; the tragic elder sister in my story (she ought to wear glasses! Of course!).... it's all a happy jumble in my head.
