My granddad owns a restaurant in the busy town of London. While my parents were on holiday in Spain, I went to my granddad’s house. On Wednesday he took me to see his restaurant and to see how everything works. When we first walked in there was only one customer in attendance. He was wearing a black suit with a purple striped tie. He also had a brown, leather briefcase beside him and I wondered what was in there. It might have been lots of important papers or it could be a tazer shaped as a pen because the man in the black suit was really an undercover spy… but I thought that was unlikely.
As the day went on more people entered the restaurant. My granddad said that there had never been this many people in his restaurant at one time. There were dirty plates everywhere. Cutlery scattered on the floor. Granddad introduced me to the chef in his restaurant. His name was Pablo. He was a very nice man and so were all the other workers but I liked Pablo the best. Pablo told me about how he had arrived with his wife and two sons from Italy and was now living in the east of London.
By lunch time the restaurant was full to the brim. Granddad had used all of his spare tables and chairs and it was so loud you couldn’t hear an elephant charging. At about 2:00 we had to close the restaurant for an hour to clean all of the dirty plates. At 7:00 the restaurant usually closes down but because there were so many people still there, Granddad wasn’t able to close until after eight.
At 8:45 Granddad and I went home glad the day was over and almost deaf. When we reached home I had a shower and gratefully lay back in bed.
The rotten dishes By Mason Rogers
My mum was too lazy, my dad was at work, I was at high school and the rest lived far away. My name is Jason and this is my family we had to have dinner on tissues because our sink is broken and the plumbers are fixing something else.
Our dishes were rotten and we couldn’t do a thing. Our tap needed to be repaired, so we waited and waited. We couldn’t get a new one because it was the only one that fitted too!
Eventually we ran out of tissues but then it was like a miracle because the plumbers called and repaired it! We all said with a sigh of relief “finally.” But we just remembered they had to clean the tap too.
Never have they acted respectfully towards me in this restaurant. My employer’s treat me as if I am a failure and can’t do anything right. Week after week I try to prove them wrong however when I succeed in doing so, they think I’m a show off so they give me the work of clearing up the dishes. I’m fed up but there is nothing I can do. I may be disabled but I am still a human being. So this week, I defeated the master chef at the championships of the restaurant’s annual cook off. The customers who said I was the best were sent out and I was rewarded with cleaning up the entire kitchen and I was to do it before the shop closed or face termination. The plates were enough to contend with, without having to take full responsibility for the entire kitchen. Furthermore, my fellow chefs deliberately ensured that extra mess was left – I sure learnt my lesson. However, the civil rights team is coming next week and I’ll be sure to snitch on the whole lot of them if they don’t change their attitude towards me and my utterly outstanding cooking.
Dishes piled on top of each other, like dominoes, one tap and it would be a catastrophe. The pungent waft of last night’s curry left an obnoxious scent in the atmosphere. So much crockery overspill the kitchen sink and occupy the space on the worktops. The sheer thought of using elbow grease even made me feel depleted! Why is my kitchen a squalor? I reminisced last night’s antics, as I saw the bleak surroundings. Eventually, I pluck up my courage and put on my jazzy, rubber gloves, then tidied the grubby kitchen, to make it immaculate
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