If anyone said to me the ‘Deep South’ of the United States when I was much younger, I imagined smoky sultry jazz joints and intense passion in New Orleans, scruffy tearaways hiding on islands in the Mississippi watching the steam boats pass, beautiful plantations with women in big dresses running after men with pencil thin moustaches and the mournful sound of Elvis crooning in the chapels. A Streetcar Named Desire, Huckleberry Finn, Gone with the Wind were the stories I read