How did ASGARD PARK come to be?

I wanted to visit Albania after the death of its communist dictator Horxha when the xenophobic government was falling apart. Visas were impossible to obtain so I flew in to see the situation, arranging for their Minister for Sport to meet me. The man was delayed and had not seen fit to inform anybody so I was guarded by soldiers with worn machine guns out on the airport tarmac. It was my only time as an enemy of State. I traveled across Albania and saw the misery for myself, the silent despair, and when I left, I had the passport of the Minister for Sport and family in my pocket. This former wrestler, hoping to emigrate, was so terrified that he broke down and vomited while seeing me off. That more than anything brought home to me how much people feared the State and how vulnerable even high officials were. Earlier, this passport treachery would have cost his family a lifetime in the camps. But what about the common folks that were destitute of any rights in a country where faith was treason. Were there holdouts among them that put a secret trust in God? And could God be trusted?

I started writing Asgard Park on returning to the safety and comfort of my splendid patrician villa in a fashionable seaside resort in Sweden; in another world.