Of course the moment you start that the brain goes almost totally blank. What shall I write about? Will it be readable?
Of course many writers in the twentieth century wrote what they called “stream of consciousness”. For some reason the name Virginia Woolf comes to mind, despite the fact that the only thing of hers I’ve ever read, ‘A Room Of Your Own’, is far from stream of consciousness, based as it is, if I remember rightly, from some speeches and lessons she gave to undergraduates or graduates. I’d go and check but for a couple of good reasons. One, I have no idea where the book is hiding among my cluttered and overly full bookshelves. Second, it would interrupt my stream of consciousness.
So I sit here just thinking. Right at the moment it’s pretty hard for me to not think about the chocolate chip brownies cooling on top of the stove before they get turned out and then iced. The recipe said to wait “at least ten minutes” so I thought sitting here writing for twenty would be the perfect way to keep my greedy mitts off them and turn them out to soon, not to mention icing them before they are properly cool. So, dear Reader, you should think yourself incredibly blessed and complimented that I am writing for you rather than stuffing my face with nicely warm, freshly baked, chocolate chip brownies.
So now the first ten minutes is up. I could, if I was someone without a real drive to write and, it appears at the moment, an unexpected amount of willpower, at least where brownies are concerned, rush into the kitchen now and turn out my brownies (did I say freshly baked and chocolate chip) before cutting them up and shovelling one or two into my mouth. When it comes to such more important things as giving up my nicotine habit or keeping the house tidy and uncluttered then it seems I have the willpower of a small, dead insect, but with baking it appears I am WillpowerMan.
Did I say chocolate chip?
I might, as it is half way through the evening and I have a couple of hours of nice current affairs TV to watch, make myself a double espresso to go with the brownies. That sounds even nicer — freshly baked brownies with a good cup of coffee.
Did I say freshly home baked?
So I’m sitting here writing to you, dear Reader, rather than think about that baking tray sitting in the kitchen waiting to be turned out onto the cooling tray waiting patiently to take up it’s burden, allowing the cool evening air to flow around the slab of brownies, cooling them ready for me to put on the chocolate icing, icing sitting there ready all dark and glistening.
Oh, hey, twenty minutes!!! OK, since you insist I’ll come back and tell you how they turned out. If they’re OK I’ll even save you one.
Mggmmmre, they are mmmmsdhgdgs inedible mknn mnmmblle forcing myself mmmyynaaann eat them. Sorry, my mouth was full. You don’t want one. No, I insist on eating them. (They were worse with a perfect double espresso. Truly terrible.)
(Did I say chocolate chip with chocolate icing?)
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