I took a someone I needed to impress out for dinner once, on expenses.

I took him to Quo Vadis in Soho. Because someone else was paying, and because I'm a cheeky chav from Salford, I blithely ordered the most expensive thing on the menu - which happened to be a 90 quid lobster.
So I'm quaffing the best shampoo in the house, espousing and impressin', and the waiter brings over what I can only describe as Alien on Tango. This fucking orange monster, splayed out on a huge plate, belly upwards (I think, I have no idea which way it's...... thorax (!) was pointing.)
And there were these silly silver nut-cracker jobbies on the side, and did I have a fucking clue how to eat this thing? Did I bollocks. So I tickled a bit of meat out with me fork and tried that (mmm, everything I expected it to be

), and talked like a manic gibbon for an hour to take attention away from the fact that I had neither the will nor the ability to eat this manky fucking segmented spider-monster staring up at me, with a 'You bastard' look coming from (what I have to assume was) near his facial area.
Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, even on expenses, will I order anything to do with lobster again. My heart would not take it.
Also, oysters are not meant to be ate, by law. Eating involves chewing, nature made it that way for lots of reasons. If you wanna eat a oyster, chew the b'stard. No? Ha! Then don't eat 'em. Evildoin'.
PS: The fruit and the toilet and Glastonbury? Spot on description!!