Meanwhile, life goes on here with lovely and horrifying moments. On Monday night, we had an impromptu dinner at Pam's apartment, where I stayed the last few nights, which ended up being a lovely affair, sitting on the pavement with candles as it was cooler than inside, eating, drinking and playing a little blues music too. Somehow, the kind of informal occasion that will never happen in London.

But at the same time we hear of horrendous news - an old local man, impoverished, black and disabled, killed by his nephew for $40 to buy crack, and dumped in a local sewage pond, bound with duct tape. The nephew then went on to shoot a local grocery store owner, and then went to ground before being found by police the other day. Presumably he was high during the whole incident, but the callousness and desperation of such deeds is so saddening. And now the family are sitting and grieving, and wanting to make T-shirts to memorialise Freeman Nixon, whose name is so strangely redolent of the conflicts and history of this community.

And more refugees arrive daily, along with some other random newcomers - a psychiatrist from California who just decided to up sticks and move to somewhere he feels more needed. His astonishment after one day in Hale County, being bombarded by information, experiences and people, was palpable as we sat over a Taco Tuesday meal at the local Mexican...

And an addendum: Please, if you live in the Southern USA, go to Katrina Home, and register yourself if you feel you might be able to help house some refugees. We really need you!