The work of an editor.

I have found myself Googling the role of an editor more frequently than I used to.So much so Google has it saved in its history.

I have read the definition so many times it is ingrained in my memory. It places itself so calmly and so abruptly on my screen that I can’t ignore it. And I become both disappointed and ashamed.

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You, Me and Tea

It is commonly known that if you want to write well you must write about something you know and love.

I’m British, so it’s safe to say I know a lot about tea and I’m a bit obsessed by it.

I know the perfect brewing time, the perfect amount of sugar and most importantly the water should always be added before the milk. It’s blaspheme to suggest otherwise. I own a plethora of tea flavours which are stored in my tea cabinet; displayed proudly in the living room for all to admire.

But despite all this, the golden rule of tea is that it should be drank from your favourite mug to gain that extra sense of comfort after a long day. But last Monday, as the Halloween clock struck, I broke my one true mug.

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Cows graze monotonously.

Summer: the expectation of adventure and friends. Of sun and travel. Of relaxing and memories. But instead summer is long and arduous. Days are spent monotonously going round in circles and you can’t help but feel like cattle going to slaughter. And suddenly Autumn arrives again…

There was no post on Monday despite my hardest efforts to write. And the continuing promise to myself to post weekly echoing throughout my body. With the scheduled post last week came a period of relaxation. Able to rest in Cheltenham before the upcoming rush of packing, organisation and moving. On Saturday I travel back up to Glasgow to start round 2 of university.

And while the Summer wraps up in its hibernating slumber I begin to plan a year of travel and work. And write a few posts for next week.

Until then.