This was time-limit dining, as though they’d double booked the table and the other party had turned up with baseball bats. We looked to the cocktail menu, which bears the legend: “Sip slowly. Be curious. Stay NOISY” (unforgivably Live, Laugh, Love). After a lot of miming — noisy is right, the vibe is turn-that-racket-down — a mini “oyster” martini turned up for my fiancée Twiggy, which tasted the way I imagine dead roses might. But better than the actual oysters, here milky and heavily spawning, meaning eating them comes with a risk of pregnancy (not really, but they are grim). Ours looked like odds-and-sods: the menu doesn’t say where they’re from. Cornwall and Ireland, bellowed the waitress, before tossing down the cutlery. The fork was half off the table edge, dangling like the coach at the close of The Italian Job.
David Ellis on Noisy Oyster: A particularly crap episode of Doctor Who
