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Still keeping a foot on both sides of the Atlantic. At the moment I am holed up in what I call my studio west - the attic floor of an old home in a former fishing village north of Boston. With more lines coming in than your average apartment, it makes these occasional gigs both fascinating and fun. Because of the gift of time zones, I also have more face to face encounters, good for the soul.

My neighbour who is old old enough to belong to what Tom Brokaw called The Greatest Generation began talking unprompted about the Middle East today. What she says is that none of her friends what to talk about it - so afraid are they of its implications. They all talk about World War Three, she said.

Against type, she is a passionate Arabist. To begin with, she said, I supported Israel like everyone else. But they kept on taking from Palestinians and I couldn't stand that. I have a son in the Navy and I worry about him. He is in the Pacific - he did one Middle East tour, and is safe, thank God. But he could go back. It's close to me, you know. And I have a daughter in London and friends in New York and I worry about them facing being blown up alone. Somehow it doesn't seem so bad if you're with someone.

Under the surface, there are many people here who care -- and despair too. And don't talk, on purpose.