SNAPPERS CAFE

A place to relax in the midst of all the Photographic Art.

Whether you’ve already browsed the galleries, or half browsed, it’s nice to stop and have a coffee or tea? And a piece of cake? Or a rock bun? Or you've brought in your own hamburger which you found in the bin outside? But, as this is a proper ‘cyber’ cafe, we, the staff are sorry, but you’ll have to make your own drink, but what we can give you is a little entertainment, in the form of some bestselling writing. We hope you’ll enjoy your coffeegiggle break (please don't choke on the food as you giggle or gasp in awe).

                                                               Battery Operated Gulls                                                     

                                                                              Frankie Lassut


I wrote something a while back concerning these programmes which promote the eating of foods from the wild instead of the processed rubbish we consume from supermarkets etc.
Ray Mears or Bears Grilled don’t really count as the people who promote such sustenance, because they eat stuff like tree bark, and live scorpions etc. But, people like that couple who would go to a seaside cove and eat whelks he picked up diving, or pheasants he would shoot, or a deer he shot in the Scottish highlands... for the table; so to speak, are the real offenders and taste bud teasers.
The lady would cook the stuff he provided.
Mind you, for the pheasants he needed a shotgun, a dog, and shooting permission from the owner of the land. The cooked food looked yummy of course, but, the programme obviously didn’t show the, erm... problems involved.
Let’s concentrate on the, erm, pheasants. First of all, the ‘viewer’ needs a shotgun. Ok, but first, the viewer needs permission from the police to get a shotgun, in the shape of a shotgun certificate.

“And why do you want a shotgun sir?”

“Well. I saw this programme on TV where there was this couple who were living off wild foods, and they said it was really good and healthy. He, the guy, went and shot 3 pheasants, and the dish the woman cooked looked amazing. So, I want to go and shoot some pheasants and the wife is going to cook them the same as the woman on the programme.”

“Ok sir. First of all we’ll need you to get a psychology report to prove that you’re mentally fit to own shotgun. Then, you need to get clearance from a priest
(that’s what I had to do years ago when I had one. You then wonder if God minds you owning one and popping his rabbits and pheasants?)
But, be warned sir, if you tell the psychologist that you’re normal, you’ll be sectioned, because if you think you’re normal, you’re mad. But, if you tell them you’re mad, they will clear you as normal, because if you think you’re mad, you can’t be. But sir, if they clear you as normal because you think you’re mad, you’re therefore normal, which means you’re mad. You may be there for a while sir, so, do you have Virgin + so that you can record any programmes you don’t want to miss while you’re dribbling in a padded cell under the influence of happy injections?”

“Look officer, I think I’ll give it a miss, and go get some fish. I promise I’ll choose only the juiciest flakiest, thickest fish from the misleading manipulating picture on the box. And that in turn will feed me, the missus, and the kid omega 3 for our brain development.”
“Ok sir. It’s a pity you know. You’re the four millionth person who’s been in this week for a shotgun licence because you’d seen that programme, and that’s just this station, nationwide it’s been incredible. All those shotguns which would have sold for anything up to two grand would have been a Godsend for the battered economy... battered not being a clever reference to the thick flaky cod you’ll be eating. Goodbye sir! Long live pheasants, and of course ‘peasants’.”

BUT. What if the four million had managed to get licenses? And guns? Are there enough pheasants? because there sure are enough peasants to eat them all.

Then there’s Marco Pierre White. The mean chef who can’t laugh ‘says so on his contract’ (the one from God, not the BBC).

I saw him eating some gulls eggs he’d cooked. Oh YUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!
Four million pheasants, sorry, peasants saw him too. Four million gulls then wondered what was happening as four million peasants began to raid their nests, both on sandy grassland sites on the coast, and cliffs.
People were rescued from the cliffs by air sea rescue teams, covered in gulllshit, and cuts from the attacking gulls. Some fell and were eaten by crabs and other marine life, including Herranhas. An herranah is the result of a shoal of herrings, which found themselves in the Congo after somehow escaping dolphins. They met with a shoal of Pirahnas, and incredibly, got on. The result; a herranah. Questions have been raised as to why the herring came up the freshwater Congo, being a saltwater fish? The answer is this. if you were a saltwater herring being chased by a hungry dolphin, wouldn’t you quickly adapt if there was an escape route?
The herranah which, because it’s a coldwater fish crossed with an warmwater fish (relatively speaking), can travel anywhere on the globe; except that is over dry land of course (that’s in 100 million years time). They also breathe either variety too of course. So, this Summer, if you go to the beach, don’t fear great whites, fear herranahs. It is rumoured that a shoal of herranah can strip a great white in five minutes, so they’re much more dangerous.

Some people went to the Nuclear Plant in Cumbria, and had a ‘shock’ each. You see, at Sellafield, there are gulls which nest on the rooves. You would think that when the nest raiders saw the melon sized gulls eggs that they may have a slight suspicion that something was ‘not right’. But no, all they worried about was whether or not they would be able to get a big enough pan or eggcup?
The gulls treated them with kindness, as they did not want to be banished from the plant for killing humans. The egg raiders were dropped close to shore in the Irish sea, but not that close enough that the water wasn’t deep enough to break their fall. Gulls can be very nice.
But, because of the TV programme featuring Marco, gulls were about to become extinct. So, before it happens, I would like to suggest hatching a couple of million chicks, and eventually having them suffer the same fate as battery hens. Operation Battery Gulls! Battery Operated Gulls! What a fine Idea! (if I do say so myself)
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