By Katie Burrell

10 mins to write a SCAB 

I’ve set myself the task of writing this SCAB in 10 minutes. 10 minutes to write a SCAB and see what comes out of my brain. No editing. Ed – it – ing. Inning. ‘Ings’ on the ends of words are funny. So are words. Words stick in my head sometimes. I love the word indubitably. I can smell dinner. Andy’s experimenting with cooking some kind of creamy potato thing and it’s starting to stick to the pan. A non-stick pan. Oh no. That’s going to need a thorough cleaning. We have no heating at the moment so I’ll have to boil a kettle and let it steep with a bit of washing up liquid. Wow. This is what happens when you just write. You start talking about steeping. Steeeeeeping. Ing. Urgh, I just swallowed and it hurt. I really hope I haven’t got a cold coming on. They said on BBC Radio 5 Live the other morning that worst case scenario half a million people could die in the UK of Corona virus. I still get a flash in my mind of the alcoholic drink whenever I hear ‘Corona Virus.’ I’m going to go and buy some hand-sanitiser tomorrow. My hands are a bit cracked and it will sting but I’ll have to put up with the pain. Public transport is a breeding ground. My stomach is talking to me. I went to the shops before getting on the tram on my way home today and bought a massive berry cheesecake. Good God. Who have I become? My pattern of eating at the moment is basically…breakfast: coffee and coffee…lunch: something brought with me like a home cooked curry and rice…dinner: a fish finger sandwich…and then PUDDING! I love puddings. Ice-cream is delicious. Delectable. Crap. That’s 10 minutes up. 310 words in 10 minutes. I guess that isn’t bad. I’ve taken to timing myself quite a lot throughout the day. I feel like I set myself an amount of time in which to do lots of things. This is something that I used to love as a child. Timing myself. Maybe I’m slowly reverting back to being 10. Being 10 was all about Wallace and Gromit, big flared, flow-y trousers and playing with my Barbies. Why is it that you ALWAYS think you can give your Barbie’s hair an amazing haircut when you’re that age? I was convinced. Then you start chopping and their hair is massacred. You are crushed. You had such high hopes. It doesn’t stop you from trying again though, sure that you’ll create a cutting-edge style the next time. You have so much belief as a child. Ha. Be-lief. Be-leaf. Leaf. Leaves. They’re sprouting everywhere. I can’t wait for it to be a bit warmer. That wonderful joy of being able to sit outside in the evenings, chatting over a glass of wine. Mmm. Wine. Hmm, I’m starting to sound like Homer Simpson. 502 words. Minus the title. That’s it. 510.