Oblong and I were making garlic mayonnaise yesterday evening, to go with dinner – a mouth-watering array of fish and seafood I had found reduced at the supermarket. Although I have been struggling with anxiety and my body’s responses to it lately, I’d gone out as I started to feel a bit more up to functioning, and thought I’d go and buy what I needed to make prawn sandwiches for the next few days.

Prawn sandwiches might sound an odd craving, but they are my staple comfort food.  I don’t mean the sort of comfort food we colloquially would term a guilty pleasure. They’re what I can force myself to eat when I’m too miserable for words, when I have no interest or inclination in eating to help myself feel better, or am stressed. They’re my go-to option on a meal deal or buying a sandwich when I’m not quite sure what I want, or don’t feel adventurous (I’m very adventurous with food, but sometimes we all want a failsafe).  I’m not talking fancy-fancy giant prawns with rocket, lemon and dill mayonnaise, on bourgeois bread. I mean the cheap supermarket bought prawn sandwiches: pink commas with a slightly too generous dab of mayonnaise on white or (if you’re lucky) oatmeal bread.


I’d never thought it particularly strange, until one time last year when, during an incredibly stressful time, my friends were telling me to eat something to keep my nutrition levels up, despite having no appetite.  I had gone and bought a couple of prawn sandwiches, and explained – as above – that whatever was going on, I could eat and keep down a supermarket prawn sandwich. At least two people thought I was particularly odd.

So, yesterday there I was in the supermarket, shopping for my prawn sandwich ingredients, when I encountered a huge array of reduced fish items.  I couldn’t resist snapping them up.  I brought home my bag of seafood goodies, and we went about preparing a feast,  including (as mentioned at the start) garlic mayonnaise. It sounds mundane, I know.  Stay with me.

Oblong was crushing garlic with the side of a large kitchen knife.  We both like having good knives in the kitchen, so have several, although sadly, none are actually very good. And there she was, pressing the heel of her hand on the side of the blade, as you do to crush garlic, when the blade snapped off at the handle.  Neither of us are quite sure how it happened, as I wouldn’t say Oblong is beastly strong, but there we were with a handle and a knife, estranged.

I’m not quite sure what to do with it now.  I don’t know how to dispose of quite such a blade, without it being dangerous.  I imagine at some point I will wrap it in lots of paper and bin it, or possibly take it to the tip as scrap metal, but as I don’t drive, neither seem ideal.  It seems quite sad sat as it is handleless in the kitchen.

sad knife