Some things in life are bad, they can really make you mad
That rabbit’s dynamite!
I object to all this sex on the television. I mean, I keep falling off.
You want to complain! Look at these shoes. I’ve only had them three weeks and the heels are worn right through.
Oh, dear. I have trodden in monsieur’s bucket.
From now on you shall be called “Brian that is called Brian”.
We should worship the sandal.
… and swimming pools full of fat German businessmen pretending they’re acrobats forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging into queues and …
And on my right - putting the case against the Government - is a small patch of brown liquid… which could be creosote or some extract used in industrial varnishing.
They’re a typical Hollywood audience. All the kids are on drugs and all the adults are on roller skates.
And already Colin is beginning to work on that weak left knee of his.
Ooooh my brain hurts.
Shall I “thwow” him to the floor, sir?
… and you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic camera and Dr. Scholl sandals and last Tuesday’s Daily Express and he drones on and on and on about how Mr. Smith should be running this country and how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up over the Cuba Libres.
And Protestantism doesn’t stop at the simple condom. Oh, no. I can wear French Ticklers if I want.
No one is to stone anyone until I blow this whistle. Is that clear?
And sitting in their cotton sunfrocks, squirting Timothy White Suncream all over their puffy, raw, swollen, purulent flesh, 'cos they overdid it on the first day.
That’s never a willow.
Jesus did, sir. I was hopping along, minding my own business, all of a sudden, up he comes, cures me! One minute I’m a leper with a trade, next minute my livelihood’s gone. Not so much as a by-your-leave! “You’re cured, mate.” Bloody do-gooder.
Dinsdale…?