Return of the Blog

Stories are keeping me up at night. Half-written metaphors, snippets of sentences and theories have teased my subconscious for too long. What was once a quiet mumble signifying the beginning of an article has evolved into shamelessly talking to myself out loud. I have begun to stand out. I am the person people look at oddly on the bus, as I cross the street, and as I browse the supermarket aisles. In North East London that’s saying something. But every time I have sat at my computer in the hope of unburdening myself with thoughts about the significance of crop tops to feminism and tomatoes to self-growth I have stepped shyly away, knowing I would need to explain my absence to those of you that have supported my writing for so long. Finally, I’ve started.

As a third-generation journalist in my family, I’m beginning to believe journalism – perhaps like many creative professions – runs in the blood. The Stewarts, and the Walshes, have straddled its various sectors for decades and I, as the latest member to catch the bug, have dabbled in both print and broadcast. In September last year my dabbling got serious as I embarked on a one-year masters course in television current affairs journalism. Since then I have spent my waking hours, camera in hand, chasing politicians for comments on pancakes, testing Valentines’ Day voodoo dolls, and furiously counting the number of female experts that appear on BBC News at Ten (shockingly few, by the way).

As with any new romance, the honeymoon period has a tendency to make one forget all else and this has been no exception. But it’s been worth it. A year spent under the scorching heat of TV studio lights and my tutors’ criticism has moulded me into a prototype of the journalist I hope to become. So I have returned to the keyboard once again, this time armed with a wealth of knowledge, a refreshed identity, and a complimentary video section. I hope it’s been worth the wait…

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