ChatterBank10 mins ago
My Boyfriend Has Just Brought Home A Lobster To Eat (The Monday Version)
16 Answers
My apologies on losing this yesterday as, apparently, I placed it in Animals accidentally, thinking it was in here. Thanks for the info on that, Ed...... Anyway, a second go!
[i] A Phone Call to the Cornish Lobster Samaritans Society, Salcombe, Sunday pm, 4 o’clock/5 yesterday for those of you who haven’t changed their clocks yet. [i After all this is an advice line.]
“Hello?”
“Hello there. It’s me, Erica here, from Mylor, on the Carrick Straights near Falmouth in Cornwall.”
“Yes, I do know where Mylor and Cornwall are, Erica. What can I do for you?”
“It’s me bloody boy-friend, he’s brought home this enormous thing – it looks like a dinosaur fossil I saw at the Truro Museum called a Tribulite.”
“Yessssss?”
“Its huge and got big clawy pincer things and little eye balls on stalks. What am I supposed to do with it as Tremain wants to eat it, saying I should cook it in Rattler Cider and Clotted Cream?”
“So it’s a Lobster then?”
“I think so”
“Is it alive?”
“Cause it is. It’s horrible, it's blue and brown; it’s looking at me and listening to me every word.”
“And so, where did he get this lobster?”
“He got it from a Pot I’m told, from sum pottie thing in the River….out there dolphin fishin with his mate, Norm the Tinner.”
“So is it legal?”
Pause
“No idea mate? How do I cook it then?”
“Best way is with a sharp knife, behind its eyes and pull back down the spine. Both halves may walk around for a few seconds.”
“Me NoM Sabatiers ain’t sharp enough, blunt as his bloody ‘ed, they are.”
“Then into a pot of boiling water and it’ll cook – may sing like Adele though for a few minutes as the air leaves the head socket. It’s only got a pea brain.”
“I’m not cooking something that pees in its brain!”
“Well then, freeze it for ten and then do the boil, it won’t sing.”
“But it will be frozen then like a bloody iceberg – and I only put me ice in a voddie.”
“Oh well – just chuck it on the Barbie and once dead, open it take out its gut and fingers.”
“I have to chop off its fingies – no bloody way – next thing you will be telling me is to take its cock off.”
Pause
“Can me take it and put it back in the sea. I have it in’t bath at moment and I put a bottle of Tesco salt in there…”
“No I don’t think that will work as its been out of it’s home for too long. They’ve got to live in proper sea-water, you know.”
“C-water whats that? I’ve heard of hevvy water on that film from Norway – it was on telly and Tremain likes his war movies. He wants to be a bummer yer know.
“No, Sea water as what fish live in before they go to the fish and chip shop”
Another Pause
“Ooh I see, don't have any of that in me water butt, but me Tremain wants his supper like now or he won’t give it to me.”
[i] and another pause
“Oh look, either go and eat a proper Cornish pastie, not one of those Greggs things, or get your Tremain take to take it to your chippie and deep fry it, four minutes, like a Mars Bar. There's a good one in Penryn who may do it, as they cook line-caught fish. Nobility eat there, Lord & Lady Falmouth I hear, and a Lady J from the Lizard.”
“Now yer talking mate. That's posh food.”
“Next time, if you have any questions or want more information, contact Answerbank. For the record, this is Mr. Ratter who has been speaking. Have a good evening.”
postscript, The Devon and Cornwall police turned up two hours forty-five later and asked whether they still had the lobster.
“Why, Mr, Bill, we’ve eaten it. All we hav’ is its bones and they're in the trash-bin now.”
Police exit, the real evidence and any ID bands having been eaten
As I am supposed to finish with a question - do you know of any other Lobster & Shellfish advisory services that "Erica" could contact?
[i] A Phone Call to the Cornish Lobster Samaritans Society, Salcombe, Sunday pm, 4 o’clock/5 yesterday for those of you who haven’t changed their clocks yet. [i After all this is an advice line.]
“Hello?”
“Hello there. It’s me, Erica here, from Mylor, on the Carrick Straights near Falmouth in Cornwall.”
“Yes, I do know where Mylor and Cornwall are, Erica. What can I do for you?”
“It’s me bloody boy-friend, he’s brought home this enormous thing – it looks like a dinosaur fossil I saw at the Truro Museum called a Tribulite.”
“Yessssss?”
“Its huge and got big clawy pincer things and little eye balls on stalks. What am I supposed to do with it as Tremain wants to eat it, saying I should cook it in Rattler Cider and Clotted Cream?”
“So it’s a Lobster then?”
“I think so”
“Is it alive?”
“Cause it is. It’s horrible, it's blue and brown; it’s looking at me and listening to me every word.”
“And so, where did he get this lobster?”
“He got it from a Pot I’m told, from sum pottie thing in the River….out there dolphin fishin with his mate, Norm the Tinner.”
“So is it legal?”
Pause
“No idea mate? How do I cook it then?”
“Best way is with a sharp knife, behind its eyes and pull back down the spine. Both halves may walk around for a few seconds.”
“Me NoM Sabatiers ain’t sharp enough, blunt as his bloody ‘ed, they are.”
“Then into a pot of boiling water and it’ll cook – may sing like Adele though for a few minutes as the air leaves the head socket. It’s only got a pea brain.”
“I’m not cooking something that pees in its brain!”
“Well then, freeze it for ten and then do the boil, it won’t sing.”
“But it will be frozen then like a bloody iceberg – and I only put me ice in a voddie.”
“Oh well – just chuck it on the Barbie and once dead, open it take out its gut and fingers.”
“I have to chop off its fingies – no bloody way – next thing you will be telling me is to take its cock off.”
Pause
“Can me take it and put it back in the sea. I have it in’t bath at moment and I put a bottle of Tesco salt in there…”
“No I don’t think that will work as its been out of it’s home for too long. They’ve got to live in proper sea-water, you know.”
“C-water whats that? I’ve heard of hevvy water on that film from Norway – it was on telly and Tremain likes his war movies. He wants to be a bummer yer know.
“No, Sea water as what fish live in before they go to the fish and chip shop”
Another Pause
“Ooh I see, don't have any of that in me water butt, but me Tremain wants his supper like now or he won’t give it to me.”
[i] and another pause
“Oh look, either go and eat a proper Cornish pastie, not one of those Greggs things, or get your Tremain take to take it to your chippie and deep fry it, four minutes, like a Mars Bar. There's a good one in Penryn who may do it, as they cook line-caught fish. Nobility eat there, Lord & Lady Falmouth I hear, and a Lady J from the Lizard.”
“Now yer talking mate. That's posh food.”
“Next time, if you have any questions or want more information, contact Answerbank. For the record, this is Mr. Ratter who has been speaking. Have a good evening.”
postscript, The Devon and Cornwall police turned up two hours forty-five later and asked whether they still had the lobster.
“Why, Mr, Bill, we’ve eaten it. All we hav’ is its bones and they're in the trash-bin now.”
Police exit, the real evidence and any ID bands having been eaten
As I am supposed to finish with a question - do you know of any other Lobster & Shellfish advisory services that "Erica" could contact?
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