Crabby

Now, I’m a dead ringer for a pirate. I think it’s the wooden leg. Of course it’s not all Ho-ho-ho-and-a-bottle-of-rum. More than once, I’ve felt the strong arm of the Royal Navy as I’ve gone about my business. Indeed, I hardly wear my eye patch these days for that very reason. And poor Polly - she’s still looking for a shoulder to fly on.

So, with my nautical appearance, it’ll surprise you to discover that I’ve never been particularly close to a lobster. I once became friends with a hermit crab but nothing came of it. Nope, never been near a lobster, not touched one, let alone eaten one but here in the crustacean-catching capital of Cornwall, well, when in Rome, eh?

Not wanting to rely too heavily on my natural sea-going facade, I called on my inherent skill at disguise to blend in. Never failed me yet. I ambled to the quayside resplendent in the finest Fisherman’s Jumper that Marks & Spencers had to offer, some rolled up trousers and Wellington boots. I carried my pipe for added authenticity.

“Ah-ha! I’ve come to catch me a lobster, me Hearties!” I declared.
‘Fah-coff yer stew pedpric’ Said the nearest barnacled-trawlerman

Not understanding the ancient local dialect, I laughed merrily, made my apologies and looked for someone for spoke English.

“Ahoy there!” I called to a man working outside Harveys - A Fishing Family from 1860. “I’m looking for a lobster.”
‘You are, are you?’
“Yes, a proper pink lobster.”
He stared back. There was something familiar about the way he looked at me. I recognised it but couldn’t quite place it.
“Do you work here?” I wondered.
He glanced down at the Harveys crate of fish at his feet and the overalls with Harveys emblazoned on them. He took off his Harveys baseball cap and scratched his head.
‘Uh huh.’
“So, it’s mister Harvey is it?”
‘No. I’m Smith.’
“Right.” I’d clearly made a friend. “Can you help me catch crabs?”

Now, I suspect this goes without saying, but naturaly I caught them myself. With my own bare hands. From the cruel and untamed ocean. Great ugly sea monsters. My God, what a struggle! What a fight! Man against beast. Life and death.

Of course when I say ‘caught’, I obviously mean pointed at. And when I say ‘my own bare hands’ I obviously mean the gloved hands of some ruddy fisherman. And for ‘cruel untamed sea’ read large concrete tanks. And helpfully, they came with rubber bands around their claws. Mind you, I suspect it was still pretty close to the real-life experience of tossing about hauling up lobster pots. I could see a glint of new-found respect in Smith’s eye as I bundled the three shellfish into my orange and green tartan shopping bag.

Little S didn’t take to them, as I let them scuttle around the kitchen floor in front of her. Knowing her as well as I do, I realised immediately that she was probably upset at them being bound. I released their claws to show them in all their glory. This didn’t help at all. Within moments assorted lobster legs littered the floor and S was screaming hysterically.

T raced in, still dripping from the shower.
‘What in God’s name are you doing?’

She hoisted our distraught daughter into her arms and away to safety, muttering under breath as she left.

I looked at the prehistoric armoured tanks wheeling the floor, chopping wildly at each other.

Right - separate pens, I thought.

Did the little fuckers appreciate my attempt to take them out of harm’s way? Oh no. Little bastards. Bloody lethal, those claws. Still, after a bit of effort, and the loss of a few more legs and nearly a finger or two I deposited one in the sink, one in the bath and one in a bucket outside.

Still, all worth it in the end - only a third of the diners were violently ill for the next couple of days, S stopped shaking and is pretty calm so long as she doesn’t see anything with more than four legs and my fingers are healing nicely. Another triumph, all in all.

Comments

[Rob]

I seen the first sentence in my google reader and felt that that was enough of a great line for me to not read the rest of this entry.
Ive not seen the application form for pirates lately, but I dont think they are allowed to ask if "you have any crustacean friends?" I think its un-PC.
God to hear you are in good health, I could just imagine how embarrassing it could be going to A&E and saying "my dinner attacked me."

[LondonGirl]

I made the mistake of buying live lobster once - to appease the french ex. A bad idea, as you discovered. He thought it was cruel to put them in boiling water, and thought it'd be nicer to heat it up slowly - the oxygen gradually seeping out of the water and the lobster falling asleep.

Well that was the theory. Sadly the practice involved me holding down the lid of the pan, hard, for twenty minutes with the poor bastard battling against it - every time I loosened my grip a claw would reach out over the side and try to grab me. Gruesome.

I haven't eaten lobster since.

[Mrs RW]

Is it your mission in life to see how just how far you can terrorize your wife and child before they call in a swat team? I'm going to mail Tracy a stun gun for occasions like this one. She can use it at her discretion.

[Carlton]

Good points about pirates, Rob, but I'm afraid I've been to A&E with far more embarrassing accidents than lobster nips!

Your tale made me laugh out loud, LondonGirl! I was advised to stab the poor things through the back of the neck to kill them instantly. I did that. It wasn't pleasant and as far as I could tell it didn't work - they still wriggled wildly when they went into their 'bath'. I might gas them in the oven next time...

Oh, Mrs RW, you're so harsh! Having an 'active' childhood never did me any harm - just look how normal and well adjusted I've turned out... Tracey is very excited about the prospect of the gun though. She promises to be completely indiscreet in its use!

c