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Oysters?
By Keith Wawman
After the racing season of 1935 the Bath Road Club held their Annual
Dinner in the winter of that year. It
was held at a posh venue in London, I forget where, but with flunkies in tails
and lots of soup and fish among members and guests.
The prize-winners were sat at a separate table, and I
happened to be sitting next to Ernie Mills, who if memory serves me correctly
won their fifty. Confronted by a
large selection of cutlery, the use of which was a mystery to most of us, the
first course served was oysters.
We
gazed at these with some embarrassment, since most of us had never before seen
such things. There was a silence
whilst we wondered what to do, when Ernie, always a bright lad, beckoned to a
waiter. "Oy mate," he
said, "Where's the F*@#ing nutcrackers?".
The waiter, unconcerned, selected the oyster fork, lifted the shell,
and with a "there you are sir” departed.
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