It would have felt very exotic to finish my novel in Nicaragua. I could have written a neat little Foreward or Afterword, signed and dated Pochomill, or San Juan or Granada. Was it ever going to happen? Of course not.... too many people to see, deserted beaches to explore, horses and carriages for Simon to 'drive', boat trips to private islands. Oh, and canopy tours above the Mombachu volcano involving harnesses, helmets and zip wires along tightropes and down vertical drops - I strapped on Simon and off we went! (Not really, he stayed at home eating ice-cream, counting bugs and hunting dragons. Honestly). Ah, yes, another time-consuming activity: staying alert to zap my deadly enemy, the mosquito. As readers will know, Bangladeshi mozzies adored me and Tanzanian ones got so drunk on me, they couldn't fit back through the netting they had infiltrated. Well, Nicaraguan ones lined the street, all but waving palm leaves and shouting Hosanna.  But...