No longer was it hole-filling potato pies and stretchy faggots to struggle with, but platters laid high with super fresh, coral lobster and enormous rusty crabs carefully and skillfully crushed, scored and dissembled by Son of a Fisherman come Trailer Dude, Jim.
We watched as he removed shell from flesh, dodging the unpredictable crab juice as it flew metres from the broken, salty morsel. He reminisced of his childhood days at Billingsgate fish market with his father, taught us the best way to dress a crab, and educated on how to tell the female from the male.
Every single piece of meat was extracted, the white, the brown, the eggs, the claws, delved into with one enormous knife and the end of a teaspoon. No struggle on receiving this plate of food, apart from to keep drool in mouth and eyes in sockets; a concept highly impossible when breaking off the rich smooth and pink meat and dressing it with a simple squeeze of lemon...Dribble...
Now, who said British festivals had to be all rain and no sun?