Leicester, where I grew up, was a ‘super diverse’ city. But when I went on a short trip with a friend, it gave me a glimpse of another world
W
hen I was 24, I visited Ireland for the first time. It was the autumn after I graduated from university, and a friend who had won an award for her dissertation used her prize money to rent a beach hut on Valentia Island, so that we could spend a week working on our novels.
The stone hut stood very close to the water’s edge on the western tip of Ireland, overlooking the expansive metal-blue of the Atlantic. The island possessed a rugged kind of beauty – cliff edges, a lush rainforest, cold frothing water. It astounded us. As did the tranquillity. It was what we had come in search of.
When we weren’t writing, my friend drove us around so that we could explore the island and the wider country, making our way through Killarney and down to Derrynane beach where we rode horses along the powdery golden coast. After a week of doing this, it dawned on me that we had yet to see a person of colour. We were so close to England that I had come expecting the diversity I was familiar with at home.
