Arbuthnot

Dreamed I was a naive young man in an Edwardian Yorkshire town who kept a lobster-thing as a pet (It had a face a bit like the queen in Aliens but don't let that put you off- it was very good-natured).

Each morning I'd pour a cup of salt water over it and each night it would sleep at the end of my bed. I think I called him Arbuthnot.

 "Get that bloody thing outta tha' kitchen!" Mother would say.

There was a bit where I was telling this young woman from the Salvation army all about it ("People ar' frit a' Arbuthnot but 'ee's a gentle soul...') and the whole thing was becoming a sweet romantic comedy for all the family (the sort that might do well abroad and maybe even cadge an Oscar) but then I woke up.