- [Celia and Alan are talking to the vicar about getting married in church]
- Vicar: You're both regular churchgoers, obviously?
- [silence, as Celia and Alan look at each other]
- Celia: Well, we have been in the past.
- Vicar: So, you're not regular churchgoers now?
- Alan: Not... no.
- Vicar: When did you last go to church?
- Alan: Er... Christmas. 19... oh, er... 77.
- Vicar: [sighs] What about you, Mrs Dawson?
- Celia: About the same.
- Vicar: So why do you want God's blessing, if you don't go to church? I'm just interested.
- Alan: We thought he might like the trade.
- [Celia and Alan are having a discussion about politics. Celia is rather surprised to find that Alan's views are more left-wing than hers]
- Alan: You're going to tell me next you voted for Margaret Thatcher.
- Celia: Well, you can't have like Michael Foot? In his anorak at the Cenotaph?
- Alan: A very intelligent man, Michael Foot.
- Celia: Oh, he can't have been that intelligent or he wouldn't have gone round looking like a scarecrow. I didn't dislike Tony Blair.
- Alan: [groans] Oh!
- Celia: Until he muckied his ticket in Iraq.
- Alan: Now, Gordon Brown. There's a much-maligned man.
- Celia: [scoffing] Gordon Brown? Trying to get everybody to like him, with his phoney grin? And he's Scottish.
- Alan: Now, there's an unassailable political argument!
- Celia: Well, it hardly needs pointing out he buggered up the economy.
- Alan: No, he didn't. He did not. He had vision.
- Celia: Oh God. I can see this is a subject we're going to have to avoid.
- Alan: No, don't worry. I'll teach you.
- Celia: You damn well won't.
- Alan: Yeah, we'll buy you a copy of the Guardian.
- Celia: You can keep your Guardian.
- Alan: I thought I spotted a Daily Mail lurking in your recycling bin.
- Celia: What's wrong with the Daily Mail.
- Alan: What's wrong with it? What's right with it?
- Celia: Do you know, I'd never have had you down for red-hot Labour. I thought you had more about you.
- Alan: Do you know the good thing about David Cameron is that even *he* knows he's an arse! Every time he opens his mouth, you can see him thinking "I was born an arse. I'll die an arse. But at least I *know* I'm an arse."
- Gillian: What have you been saying to our Raff?
- Paul: Oh, steady on, Gillian.
- Gillian: And going to the police? What kind of bloke gets beaten up by a 16-year-old and goes whining to the police?
- Paul: How about, thank you, Paul, for not pressing charges?
- Gillian: What did you say to him?
- Paul: Thank you, Paul, for letting him get off with a caution.
- Gillian: What did you say to him?
- Paul: Nowt. I were just like... you know.
- Gillian: What?
- Paul: I was just saying what a fine woman you was.
- Gillian: You idiot.
- Paul: Anytime, love.
- Caroline: I do not want you here!
- John: Well, bad luck! I live here, and if I want to smoke and bring women here, then I'll bring them! But I don't want to bring women here! Because I want our marriage to work! You mad cow!
- Caroline: This marriage is over! It is dead! It is redundant! It, it never was! And I do not want to waste another second of my life...
- Gillian: [watching Raff come downstairs with some of his belongings] Don't go. I can't chuck him out. He's got nowhere else to go.
- Paul: [in pain from his injuries] I'll... I'll go.
- Gillian: You can't! He... he can't.
- [Raff sighs and slams the door behind him. Paul tries to get up from the sofa and coughs]
- Gillian: Don't.