COVID-19 Journal: Day 338

Now I'm just using my creative writing course to spawn content for the blog. I'll put some lunch photos at the end. Sadly, the course has now finished. Thank you very much to our teacher, Vicky Grut, who is an ACTUAL WRITER.

This was a quick exercise we did in class, about setting a scene without stating the obvious. Writing for ten minutes after selecting from one of five prompts:

  1. She was very tired
  2. He loved her
  3. They couldn't stand each other
  4. The teenagers were bored
  5. Grandmother came home drunk

She had a good innings. Mavis passed at 93. In her sleep, blessedly. It was the morning of the funeral, and her daughters were preparing food for the wake.

“You can’t cut square sandwiches for a platter, Marjorie! What are you doing??” Mallory spat as she tore up parsley fronds for the garnish.

Marjorie had been weeping all morning - all year, really - and wasn’t really even thinking about the sandwiches. Suddenly she wasn’t sure if she’d even put mayonnaise in the egg and cress. She had another 70 sandwiches to make, so perhaps it’s good that Mallory is shouting at her this early on.

She ate an egg and cress sandwich square, and wheeled around and spoke with her mouth full. “Well, I’ll eat this one and be done with it!”

Mallory sucked her teeth and went to the fridge. After a moment, she screeched, “Where are the prawns, Marjorie? How am I supposed to make the mini prawn cocktails with no prawns?”

Marjorie ate another egg and cress sandwich square. Made her wait.

She riled up, “I don’t know where the prawns have gone, Mallory. Perhaps if you’d helped me in any way at all with the shopping, you’d know where they were.”

“I offered! Several times! At least twice! And you refused!”

“Up yours, Mallory." 


And this next one was my homework. 

Describe someone preparing and/or serving a meal for one or more other people. What the cook makes will depend on their character and also the setting (the place, the time). Perhaps they’re a gourmet and the preparations have been going on for days. Perhaps they just open tins. Is this a formal occasion or a spontaneous gathering? Is the scene taking place in another historical period? What do they feel about the person (or people) they’re cooking for? Think about the five senses as you write. (500 words)

I actually managed a few drafts of this one!


Two pretty boys came in and took the two stools at the end of the counter. The brunette waved hello to Poppy, who approached to take their order: 

Black coffees, 
one small orange juice,
half a grapefruit,
two eggs over-easy with hash browns, 
a short stack of pancakes with strawberries and cream, and a side of cornbread.

Poppy turned on her heel to call the order for Frieda: “Two eggs over easy, hash browns, short stack with strawberries.” 
“Aye, aye, captain,” Frieda said.
Poppy clipped the ticket into the line, and started on the drinks. 

Frieda sliced the ripe strawberries gently in halves, sprinkling them with caster sugar in a bowl, setting them aside after a quick stir. 

Poppy laid two warm, unbreakable coffee cups in front of the boys, and dispensed their first, black dose. Her coffee was like a slap in the face, and one you go back for.

In the kitchen, Frieda dipped her perfect ladle for the perfect pancake into her batter, gently spooning three discs out onto the grill. She liked to cook her cakes next to the golden mountain of her celebrated hash. She paused for a split second watching for the bubble semaphore. Not yet.

Frieda scooped a pair of eggs from the carton and cracked them so deftly they didn’t realise they’d been broken. She glanced up at the pretty boys as the albumen turned white. The brunette was sipping his juice, and his friend smiled just as he met her glance. 

Blushing, she looked down and caught the pancakes just in time, flipping them in two fluid strokes. She knocked her spatula back into its groove and grabbed two hot dinner plates and a side plate from the clean pile. Her hands were like bricks by now, so she didn’t feel the burn as she flicked them onto the heated counter. She slid the tray of warm cornbread from the shelf above the dishwasher - that spot was a trick from her father. She extracted a slice and plonked it onto the side plate, then returned the tray to its perch.

She flipped the eggs for just two seconds and like lightning slid the flip under them both. She wiggled them onto their waiting plate and spent a quick second to look again at the friend of the brunette. No luck. He was busy with his grapefruit.

Even though her hash serves were always generous, Frieda's plates mostly came back clean. She carved a perfect serve from the hash mountain, placing it next to the waiting eggs. She piled up the short stack, easing it quickly into the middle of the plate. She picked up her favourite tablespoon and gave the macerated strawberries a feathery stir. She tipped the bowl over the pancakes, and heaped the glistening fruit out on top.

Ding! Frieda leaned into the window slightly. The boys smiled at her as she speared their ticket onto the done pile.

Poppy grabbed the whipped cream dispenser and squeezed the trigger, expertly topping the pile of syrupy red fruit with the final touch. Not too much. Just enough.

She winked at Frieda, then turned to serve the boys their breakfast.


Here are some previous lunches.

Yes, that's right. I made soup.