Kate:
If I turned up pissed, let alone dressed like a monkey's arse, you would have seen the funny side, would you?
[
Lying in bed with Kate, on the MORNING after the first night of their honeymoon]
Petruchio:
How brightly shines the moon!
[
a cockerel sounds in the background]
Kate:
That's the sun, you pillock.
Petruchio:
Oh... is it?
[
blinks the sleep from his eyes]
Petruchio:
Well...
[
pause]
Petruchio:
You shouldn't contradict me.
Kate:
You shouldn't talk bollocks.
[
first lines]
Kate:
Fathead!
[
she slaps him]
Tim Agnew:
You hit me!
Kate:
You gave me that information. You made me look like a political pygmy, on Newsnight. Your job, in case you weren't concentrating, is to make sure I know what I'm pigging well talking about!
Tim Agnew:
You're out of order, Katherine. I'm sorry, but good grief!
Kate:
And you're sacked! No wonder this party has been the opposition for the last ten million light years!
Tim Agnew:
You can't sack me, and, frankly, I'd appreciate an apology. Otherwise...
Kate:
Otherwise?
Tim Agnew:
If we're to mantain a mature, grown-up working relationship, then...
Kate:
Oh...
[
she gives him an insulting gesture]
Kate:
Swivel!
Petruchio:
What's all this fuss about, just because I was fifteen minutes late?
Kate:
And dressed like a Christmas Tree!
Petruchio:
You do realise that I have all the documents for the car hire and the villa?
Kate:
Which I paid for. So I suggest you hand it over and disappear in a poof of smoke, up your own backside!
Vicar:
Will you love her, comfort her, honour her and protect her and forsaking all others be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?
Petruchio:
What? Yep.
Vicar:
No, it's "I will".
Petruchio:
[
shouts] I will!
Petruchio:
Only, if I say that's the moon, it's the moon. Got it?
Kate:
How do you work that out then?
Petruchio:
Well, you're my wife. You agree with everything I say.
Kate:
Do I? What, even when you're wrong?
Petruchio:
Especially then. I never am wrong, so it's not really an issue.
Petruchio:
[
looking at Tim] Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
Kate:
Oh, stop it.
Petruchio:
Such war of white and red within her cheeks! What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, as those two eyes become that heavenly face? Young budding virgin...
Kate:
Yes, a fairer-looking chicken I never saw.
Tim Agnew:
I'm not gay!
Petruchio:
You keep telling yourself that, kid.
[
Petruchio "finds" Kate's suitcase]
Kate:
He's gonna throw it all in the swimming pool, isn't he? He's going to taunt me with a week's worth of clean knickers and then toss it all into the pool.
Harry:
I would imagine that's... yeah.
Petruchio:
Now all you have to do, Kate, is be nice to me, unreservedly and without sarcasm, and you have less than ten seconds to do it.
[
swinging the suitcase]
Petruchio:
Nine... eight... seven... six... five... four... three... two... one... and a half... one...
[
He tosses the suitcase into the swimming pool. She goes over to him]
Kate:
I don't wear knickers anyway. Not when I'm on holiday.
[
She kisses him, then turns and walks into the villa]
Mrs. Minola:
Katherine! Bianca's very keen for you to come to her party.
Kate:
Why?
Mrs. Minola:
She worries about you. So do I.
Kate:
And forcing me to live it up with a bunch of overpaid, coke-snorting anorexics is going to make me feel better, is it?
[
last lines]
Kate:
Oh, yes, I forgot to mention: I'm pregnant.
Petruchio:
What? That's... that's amazing!
Kate:
However, you'll have to look after them.
Petruchio:
Yes, fine.
Kate:
Because I'm not giving up my career.
Petruchio:
No problem, I'll do it!
Kate:
I don't believe you. You'll feed them raw chicken, you'll throw them in the pond to see if they float, you'll leave them on a bus somewhere...
Petruchio:
Oh, God, I'm going to shag you right here, right now.
Kate:
Go on...
Petruchio:
..."Them"?
Kate:
There's triplets.
[
he laughs and kisses her]
Tim Agnew:
[
to Kate] Paul Fox rang to say, yes, he is happy to be put forward for the tax law rewrite joint committee, but in future, could you not use the f-word on his answering machine at home, because he's got a very smart four-year-old? Keith Aspinall's office rang, to say that he's not a trumped-up, loudmouthed, illiterate Northern git, and if you call him that again, in private or otherwise, he'll sue you.
Tim Agnew:
And your mother's here. She's on her way up.
Kate:
My mother? Who the hell let her in?
Tim Agnew:
Security.
Kate:
On whose authority?
Tim Agnew:
Mine. She's your mother.
Kate:
You don't know what my mother looks like. She could be a f... terrorist for all you know.
Tim Agnew:
Can I go home?
Kate:
Yeah, get lost. Leave me on my own to get blown up.
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