-Excuse me.
Oh, quite.
-No, I apologize, I meant, excuse me.
Yes, quite.
-Ah.
Hmm.
-Well.
Nice day, what?
-Ahm, yes, I suppose.
Was there… something?
-Oh, not anything urgent. Ah. Oh! Yes! I mean to say. Yes, something.
Well.
-Ah.
Hmm.
-Well.
In your own time, then.
-Yes. Ah! Yes! I was going to… ah…
Yes?
-Ah, ha ha. Are you, perhaps the chef d’cuisine?
Well, no, unfortunately. I work with the chef executive. I am the second vice-admiral of culinary relations to the undersecretary of preparation.
-Ah. A ha. Yes. Well. Then, you would be the person to talk a to regarding the omelette station.
Well, I suppose. The omelette station has been discontinued, you see. Has some bounder stolen the sign?
-No, I don’t believe-
It’s a good thrashing these whelps need, what?
-Quite. A ha.
That’s the problem with the state of things today, you see. An infection of unseriousness. Leaves the national weal unprotected and the gates open to barbarians of every stripe.
-Well, as one says…
One, indeed. Now, take the calamity around these eggs, for example.
-The eggs, yes, I was just…
Yes. Some wild bird flies into the chicken coop, infects the birds with some kind of avian swine influenza alphabet soup whatsit, and you’ve got to put the whole flock down. The whole flock! In my youth, a bird was stronger stock. Your average hen might be infected by some sort of ailment, develop a sniffle, you’d never lose a bird. Slap a quick poultice on ‘er, immediate improvement. Heartier stock in those days.
-Yes, well, one may consider-
Good hearty poultry stock, hard to beat, along a cold winter’s, what? A solid schmaltz will keep the wheels of empire greased, my dear old, used to say. Don’t make ‘em like that anymore. Too much foolishness about.
-Yes. Quite.
Now, what was your pressing concern as re the omelette S.?
-Well, a suggestion, you see, or rather a comment than a suggestion, I suppose, ah, in the nature of being, ahm, as it were… a request? Or suggestion?
Well, when the stations reopen, we may consider input. Lay on, MacDuff.
-Well, as the station strives to provide a properly French omelette experience, you know-
Granted, given one man’s proper being another man’s poison, and all that. Frankly, I don’t know how French we actually strive to be.
-Hm, quite.
Quite.
-But, ah, as to the process, we could perhaps save some considerable sum, were we to use a more French process, you see.
I suppose. Lots of butter, less cheese, all that? Sprinkle of green onion across the top of the roll-up, all that fancy twaddle? Can’t say I cotton to it much myself.
-Ah, um, no, actually, ah. You see, the really French way uses but a single egg. To a true Frenchman, it seems-
A true Frenchman? Are you implying that Chef Jean-Claude Dominique-Pierre is some sort of fraud? He spent a weekend in Edinburgh once, which is to say he’s no true Scotsman, but he’s French as a beignet stuffed with saucisse langouste de Toulouse.
-ahha, yes, ah, and, as a true Frenchman, he would, naturally use only a single egg. You see, to such an example, one egg is always, as it were, un oeuf.
Ah. I see.
-Yes, you see, an egg, in the old Lingua Franca Vernacularis, as it were…
Yes. Entirely.
-Sounds, one might suggest, somewhat similar to…
I’m quite aware.
-to the word, enough, back in old blighty’s dear vulgaris…
Do you know, a joke and a Frenchman are neither so enjoyable, once dissected.
-Ah! Haha! I hadn’t heard that.
No, I suppose you hadn’t. Well, constructing a conversation is a skill worth cultivating, and it’s a poor craftsman blames his tools, so I can’t say I’ll hold it against you. Now, if you will excuse me.
-Oh, quite.
Read by Ruth Gibbs
And Ben GibbsMusic Present and Accounted For