Silky Soft Sand

I spent all morning learning about how to handle journalists at work. Rather than a dry "say this, don't say that" followed by a role play, the instructor took a more holistic approach. It is fascinating to get an insight into the modern world of 24 hour news and how it works and how to handle it. It is strange to think not 10 years ago it would have taken hours to get images of a new story out to a global audience. When the helicopter crashed into a crane at Vauxhall in London last year, images were on Twitter within 10 minutes. I still find news and the hunger for stories very odd. Who decides what is news and what is not? Do we as the general public decide, or is it news editors? Am I the only one who finds the media frenzy surrounding Oscar Pistorious wholly distasteful? Not because of him, but because of Reeva Steenkamp's family. I am very unsure how accurate news is now that it appears more important to be first with an inaccurate story than to be first with the right story. But then that is very much down to how those in the new handle it and I suppose that is why I spent all morning in a classroom. I was going to contrive a blip about this.

But walking on the beach I was hiding behind a sand dune when I rediscovered how soft sand was. It is strange that as a kid I spent hours playing on sandy beaches on holiday and yet somehow I had forgotten what it feels like as an adult. Walking on the beach each day makes this crazy and yet today for the first time in ages I take a moment, pick up some sand and relish that feeling of soft sand rushing from my hand.