Dear Diary

I had a diary. I say 'had', because nowadays I genuinely find myself too busy, and too preoccupied with my desire for sleep, that I simply cannot keep up with writing a mild essay at 11.30pm every night. That, coupled with the general realisation that my diary seemed to document my whining more than it... Continue Reading →

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The Life of a Filofaxer

Some people are grand, gilded Encyclopaedias, wise in their contents, standing proud upon their solo lectern ready to present to the world, the words pouring over their subjects like a river of gold waiting to be embellished into a diamond ring more beautiful than any seen in shop windows nearby. Others are scrapbooks, scrawny and... Continue Reading →

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