By Tommy Curran Jones

Just another Manic Monday.

Before joining the SCA I wrote a SCAB trying to imagine what the first day of the year would be like. I now turn my clairvoyant powers onto the first day of the final week of New Blood.

It is 7:59am and I’ve just got off an unusually quiet train at Brixton station. The train was two minutes late, as it is every day, and I wonder, as I do every day, why they don’t just adjust the schedule. 

I walk down the steps from the platform and consider going to a different cafe to usual in the hope that a change of scene will spur some last minute creativity. In the time it’s taken to think this i have walked to my usual haunt. I have been spotted by a classmate and it would be weird to leave now.

We joke around for a while, he with his tea, me with a flat white. I feel a little guilty because I’m supposed to be ditching dairy. We achieve little of the work we were planning and by the time our partners arrive we decided it’s time to head into school.

One of us will take two attempts to get the key code for the door right. We will file inside, hand sanitising as we do so. Marc is sat at his desk. Squirrel stares at a ball on the ground in front of her. We smile are hellos and add our names to an already worryingly long list of mentors.

On the two upper floors the weekends Corona stories are talked over. The mood is little hysterical and pops of laughter explode erratically. 9:30 comes around sooner than expected and the seats for town hall are only three quarters full. Marc sets out the week ahead and reinforces the need to utilise our mentors, six-hat and craft.

We get a 5 minute break and the morning rush to the toilets commence. Assiduous hand washing is hard in the near-Arctic waters of the Pop toilets, but a small queue forms at the sinks.

We retake our seats for some advice from former students and we listen intently, desperate to know how they achieved what we so ardently desire. We are told once again that D&AD absolutely doesn’t matter but is also tremendously important. We nod solemnly.

We clap and stack chairs, making our way upstairs. Partners make plans for the day and set about immediately messing them up. Mentors, much like the proverbial bus, appear never or simultaneously. Scripts are stared at and tweaked, story boards puzzled over. Lunchtime appears suddenly.

The light begins to fade from the studio. Tension trickles in. Videos aren’t being made yet the deadline is one day closer. Replies get terser. Coffee gets made. A team seeks solace in writing SMPs.

It is somehow 8pm and the studio is still busy. A few teams begin to leave, reassuring themselves that they won’t get burned out. Hunger champions the desire for a pencil and I pack my bag.

The train home is even quieter. I feel a dry tickle at the back of my throat.

I cough.