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Quotes for
Fletcher (Character)
from "Porridge" (1974)

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Doing Time (1979)
[Trying to make small talk with Fletcher]
Mr Beal: Long to do?
Fletcher: Long enough.
Mr Beal: What you in for?
Fletcher: Got caught.

[At lunch time]
Bunny Warren: What's the 'old up Fletch?
Fletcher: It's the defrocked dentist havin' a go at the cuisine again.

Bunny Warren: 'Ere Fletch!
Fletcher: I'm late.
Bunny Warren: Look, I've got a letter from the wife, can you read it to me?
Fletcher: Listen Bunny, if you can't read, how do you know it's from your wife?
Bunny Warren: It's got Elaine's scent.
Fletcher: Cor, where's Elaine work? A tarpaulin factory?

Mackay: Fletcher!
Fletcher: Sir.
Mackay: If you want to sing, I suggest you form a Slade Prison Glee Club.
Fletcher: Glee?

Fletcher: You're lookin' a bit down in the mouth, Mr Barrowclough, anything the matter?
Mr Barrowclough: Oh, nothing much. The usual. Domestic crisis.
Fletcher: Oh dear. Mrs Barrowclough left you, has she?
Mr Barrowclough: Unhappily... no Fletcher.

[watching Mackay testing the curry in the prison kitchens]
Fletcher: Course, he sees 'imself as an authority on curry, he does, on account of where he was stationed in the army.
Rudge: Where? India?
Fletcher: No, Bradford.

Godber: Hey, why don't we nick a chicken?
Fletcher: Don't be silly, it's Wednesday afternoon. Where we going to get sage and onion stuffing, eh?

Fletcher: I wouldn't leave that bike there if I was you.
Mr Beal: When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it.
Fletcher: Suit yourself. But there are one or two thieves in 'ere. Know what I mean?

[Fletcher finally gives in and reads Bunny's letter]
Fletcher: All right, I'll just you the 'ighlights, all right? 'Dearest Bunny, blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah...
[pause as he turns the page]
Fletcher: blah.
Bunny Warren: Blah blah blah what?
Fletcher: It's trivia, Bunny, it's just trivia, it's the weather, her mother's catarrh, she's retiled the lav, the canary's got haemorrhoids, she's met a welder at the Fiesta Club and she's thinking of movin' in with him. All right? Must rush. Can't hang about.
Bunny Warren: But...
Bunny Warren: ...we 'aven't got a canary.

[Having been kidnapped and dumped outside jail, Fletcher and Godber try to break back in. They have to pass a farm where the old farmer is leaning on the gate. Fletcher riding is a bike, and Godber jogging alongside]
Fletcher: [talking to Godber] Come on, come on, don't flag, jab, jab.
[talks to the farmer]
Fletcher: It's the big one next week, sir.
Farmer's wife: Who was that?
Farmer: Couple of escaped convicts.
Farmer's wife: Ohhh.

[it's after lights out and lock up. There is the distant sound of a fellow inmate groaning mid-nightmare]
Godber: You awake, Fletch?
Fletcher: No.
Godber: It's that bloke, Atkinson.
Fletcher: I know.
Godber: Keeps getting these terrible nightmares.
Fletcher: Yeah.
Godber: He's told the shrink about 'em, but all he's given 'im is aspirin. You have to feel compassion, don't you? A human soul in such torment.
Fletcher: Hmm.
[Atkinson bellows something in the distance]
Fletcher: [shouts] Belt up, Atkinson, you noisy scrote.

[discussing a new arrival]
Godber: He's been sitting in his cell since chow, just staring at the wall.
Fletcher: Ah well, he's just had his first experience of your cottage pie. Best not to move about too much after that.

Fletcher: Success? Let me tell you about success. I had a pal, come to London 28 years ago without two ha'pennies to rub together. Now he managed to save up enough to buy a little hand cart and he went round collecting all old newspapers. Do you what he's worth today?
Mr Barrowclough: No, what?
Fletcher: Nothing. And he still owes for the hand cart.

[At lunch, Godber and Lotterby are serving cottage pie and baked beans]
Fletcher: Hello, Len.
Godber: All right, Fletch?
Fletcher: Listen, it's the laddo's first day in 'ere. Do 'im a favour, will you? Give 'im a small portion.

Fletcher: 'Ere, you owe me some darning wool.
Godber: I already gave you some.
Fletcher: That was in exchange for the orange.
Godber: Tangerine. Anyway, that was to pay me for the stamp.
Fletcher: What stamp?
Godber: For your pools.
Fletcher: I paid you for the stamp with a squirt of me toothpaste.
Godber: No, that was for the darning wool.

Fletcher: You're not doing yourself any favours, are you Banyard? All you're doing is getting up other people's noses.
Banyard: We have certain rights.
Fletcher: No we don't, we're in the nick.
Ives: I suppose you think you're entitled to something better just because you went to a public school, is that it?
Banyard: On the contrary, Ives, I'm well used to this kind of food, I went to Harrow.
Fletcher: Oh that's a good advert for the public school system, prepares you for the nick. Course it's harder in here for him than for most of us, 'cause he has had further to drop. Professional man, you see. Dentist. Tragic.
Ives: What do you mean, Fletcher, 'tragic'? It's no laughing matter for that woman he had under the laughing gas.
Banyard: There's no need for that, Ives. We don't have to keep unearthing each other's past, I'm paying for my peccadilloes.
Fletcher: Oh that's good. If you're paying I'll have a large one.
Bunny Warren: What's a peccadillo?
Ives: It's a South African bird. Flies backwards to stop getting the sand in its eyes.
Bunny Warren: No. No. I know what you mean though. It's an animal. Called the Armadildo.
Banyard: The Armadildo.
Fletcher: No, that was King Arthur's codpiece. I think that's what I'm eating an' all.

[Fletcher is on the prison farm, leaning on his shovel next to the pig sty and yawning. Mr Barrowclough arrives accompanied by Rudge, a new inmate at Slade]
Fletcher: Oh, morning Mr Barrowclough.
Mr Barrowclough: Busy, Fletcher?
Fletcher: Oh busier than ever, sir. Mind I never complain.
Mr Barrowclough: I can't actually see what it is you're supposed to be doing.
Fletcher: It's the pigs, sir. They won't eat without my reassuring presence. Very highly strung your average pig, you know.
[Sees Rudge]
Fletcher: Who's he?
Mr Barrowclough: Oh, Rudge. Newly assigned to the farm.
Fletcher: How'd he work that then?
Mr Barrowclough: Pardon?
Fletcher: What? First day inside, the farm? What is he, the governor's nephew?

[Fletcher and Godber have found their way back to the coach they were kidnapped in. It's surrounded by police]
Godber: What is it?
Fletcher: Cops.
Godber: Copse? What, you mean like a wooded glade?
Fletcher: Yeah. A wooded glade crawlin' with bleedin' cops.

[Fletcher and Rudge are on their way to the kitchens when another inmate passes by]
Fletcher: Watch out for 'im. 'Es the mad butcher of Slade prison.
Rudge: What did he do?
Fletcher: Fiddle the VAT on his sausages.

Fletcher: 'Ere Grouty, listen to this.
Harry Grout: Listen to what?
Fletcher: You know Robbie Patten who works in the laundry, well 'is wife wanted a divorce so she goes to the solicitor and 'e says "well, you've got to 'ave grounds". "What's grounds" she says. So 'e says "Firstly, there's insanity", well Robbie's a bit of a dipstick, like, but 'e's not certifiable. "Secondly there's desertion", well 'e's in 'ere, 'e can't go nowhere. "Third there's cruelty", well as you know 'e wouldn't hurt a fly "so that leaves adultery", "what's adultery" she says, so 'e tells 'er and she says "ah. I think we've got 'im there. 'E is not the father of my child!".

[breaking back into prison]
Godber: This is just like the wooden horse.
Fletcher: What wooden 'orse?
Godber: The Greeks and the Trojans. That's how the Greeks got into Troy.
Fletcher: Would you mind savin' the 'istory lesson til we get back into our flowery dell?

Fletcher: A captain, Godber, has to possess certain attributes which set him apart from the rest of his team, that is why I've chosen Light Fingered Larry.
Godber: Urquart? What attributes has he got?
Fletcher: 'Alf an ounce of snout which he's now given to me, all right?

Fletcher: Cheer up, might never 'appen.
Rudge: Already 'as, I'm 'ere ain't I?
Fletcher: Now look. Whatever you're in 'ere for you did it didn't ya?
Rudge: Banged to rights? Yeah!
Fletcher: Yeah. Just like me. If we 'adn't have been caught we'd have been Jack the lad wouldn't we? But no. We was. We was collared, so don't bleat. If you can't do the time, don't do the crime.

Fletcher: Show me a man who laughs at defeat and I will show you a black chiropodist with a sense of humour.

Fletcher: Do you see yon screw with his looks so vain, with his brand new key on his brand new chain, with a face like a ferret and a pea for a brain, with his hand on his whistle in the morning.

Harry Grout: Now we need someone reliable as trainer.
Fletcher: Don't look at me. I've grown disenchanted with the game. Twenty years of supporting Orient does that for a man.

Fletcher: What's the matter with you?
Godber: We're still banged up in this cell aren't we, while Oakes is Hardy Kruger.
Fletcher: Hardy Kruger?
Godber: "The One that got away". A film starring Hardy Kruger.
Fletcher: Don't worry. Before too long he'll be Googie Withers again.
Godber: Googie Withers?
Fletcher: "Within these walls".

Fletcher: We got plenty of strength at the back, one thing we're not short of is stoppers. What we need now is a bit of creative mid-field flair.
Godber: From what I saw of him Rudge could provide that. Revelation he was.
Fletcher: Yeah. Reckons he had a trial for Brentford before he had a trial for shoplifting.

Harry Grout: Now then.
Fletcher: Listen Grouty, if it's about the teeth.
Harry Grout: What?
Fletcher: Well, I realise you are entitled to a first refusal.
Harry Grout: Are you referring to Mackay's missing molars?
Fletcher: I'm assuming that's why I was sent for. I mean, nothing gets past you Grouty.
Harry Grout: Oh no. If you've got them it's your tickle.

Rudge: Who was that fellow on the landing?
Fletcher: Who? Him? Harry Grout. He runs this prison.
Rudge: I thought that was the governor's job.
Fletcher: No only officially sonny. Next time you meet him bow, curtsy or lick his boots if he asks, all right?

Godber: [discussing Rudge the new arrival] He's only a kid.
Fletcher: Oh listen to 'er.
Godber: No, I just remember the first night I come in here. How I felt when that door banged shut. Hey, you should go and have a word with him.
Fletcher: Why?
Godber: You're good at that sort of thing. You perked me up when I first arrived.
Fletcher: Listen, I broke you in Godber because you was forced upon *my* cell and it was in *my* interests not to 'ave a manic depressive in the bottom bunk.

Godber: I've had it with you.
Fletcher: You what?
Godber: You've really got up my goat these past two weeks.
Fletcher: Wrong Godber. I *get* your goat. I don't get up your goat. I get up your nose or on your wick.
Godber: Well just lately you've done all three.

Fletcher: [rings Mr Beal's stolen bicycle bell]
Godber: So that's what you've got is it?
Fletcher: Yeah, hardly ever been used.
Godber: What are you gonna use it for?
Fletcher: I dunno.
Godber: Well why'd you nick it?
Fletcher: He'd got one and I 'adn't.

Fletcher: Here you are lad. Shovel it.
Rudge: Shovel what?
Fletcher: Shovel that.
Rudge: Shovel it where?
Fletcher: From here to there.
Rudge: Why?
Fletcher: Why? Ah, if only we knew that sonny, but we don't do we. Ours not to reason why, ours but to clean the sty. Wordsworth.

Mr Barrowclough: This job is a privilege, you know.
Fletcher: For the pigs, yeah.

Governor: Oh, well-played Slade. Who is that?
Fletcher: That's Armstrong, sir.
Governor: Shame. He's going out next month, if we have any more matches.
Fletcher: Yeah, he'll be choked he will.

Mr Beal: Where are you going with that?
Fletcher: Pigswill.
Mr Beal: What?
Fletcher: Swill for the pigs, sir, pigswill.

Fletcher: I thought I told you to wait in the car.

Mackay: I won't buy it, Fletcher.
Fletcher: That's just as well 'cause it ain't for sale.

Mackay: I was in the village today. There were some interesting reports. Sightings you might say.
Fletcher: UFOs?
Mackay: Indeed. Unidentified *Fleeing* Objects.

Fletcher: Oh, look, Oaksey, I had your name down here all along. It's just I've spelled it MacMillan.

Fletcher: You're in the team, so don't quibble about who else is in the team.

Banyard: I don't know why you kowtow to that man, Grout.
Fletcher: I know you don't, Mr Banyard. That's why your nose looks like it does.

Fletcher: Well, you know what they say. Nothing dentured nothing gained.

Mackay: You're an unlikely choice as trainer, Fletcher.
Fletcher: Well, it was the lads what decided it.
Mackay: Yet you've always struck me as a man who despises physical activity.
Fletcher: Oh, not in others sir.

Mr Beal: I used to play a bit. In goal.
Fletcher: Oh, yeah. I can just see you as custodian, sir.

Fletcher: Who are all these people, sir? I mean, me and the lads was given to understand that there would be a fair smattering of celebrities.
Mackay: See that red-haired man? Tells the weather on Anglia TV. And there's a pair of script writers for someone quite famous, and Mr Bainbridge himself has just finished a season at the Al Hambra Swansea.
Fletcher: I'll tell the lads. They'll be right chuffed.
Bunny Warren: Who are they, Fletch?
Fletcher: A weather man, eight small parts and a widow twanky, now go and get changed.

Fletcher: Morning, Atkinson. Sleeping better are we?
Atkinson: I slept like a top 'til some stupid cretin started shouting.

Samson: Oi, Fletcher.
Harry Grout: There'll be something for you in your Christmas stocking, Fletcher.
Fletcher: Oh, thank you sir. I'll look forward to that, sir.

Godber: I can't understand why Mackay hasn't come down on us like a pile of bricks.
Fletcher: 'Cause he lost something in the kitchen today, that's why.
Godber: What? Pride, you mean?
Fletcher: Nah, something else. Shift.
Godber: Why?
Fletcher: It's hidden in your mattress.
Godber: Oh, I see, so if we get a search I'm the one who gets the blame.
Fletcher: Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh, yes.
Godber: You think of everything, you do.
Fletcher: I try.

Governor: [discussing who may be on the celebrity football team] Didn't you mention that comedian chap? Wh-What's his name? Jimmy Tarbrush?
Mackay: Buck, sir.
Governor: Yes. Buck Tarbrush.
Mackay: Well, unhappily he's indisposed sir.
Governor: Oh, dear.
[he and Mackay leave]
Fletcher: Buck Tarbrush. We should be lucky to get Basil Brush.

Governor: You're saying Oakes forced you down the delivery hatch?
Fletcher: At gunpoint, sir. Well, he had to do something or we would have blown the whistle on him. We'd have gone to see Mr Mackay who happened to have the whistle at the time.

Fletcher: Good morning Mr Mackay, Mr Beal.
Mr Beal: How'd you know my name?
Fletcher: Oh word gets around sir, doesn't take long. I bet you're already a legend on some bog walls.

Fletcher: [talking to Rudge in the bathrooms] Oh, one more thing. Don't hang about in 'ere too long. Ambush Alley they call this - not a safe place in the nick. You get 'em all in 'ere, homosexuals, transvestites, the lot. I tell ya, when someone just comes in 'ere, sits down and gets on with it, it's like a breath of fresh air.

"Porridge: The Hustler (#1.2)" (1974)
Norman Stanley Fletcher: With these eggs I'm smuggling in, I can get a quarter ounce of shag, two tubes of toothpaste,
Norman Stanley Fletcher: or three bars of Fruit 'n' Nut.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Or I could see Smutty Garland, the porn king,
Norman Stanley Fletcher: and swap 'em for two dirty books, full of full-frontal, naked nubiles.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: I'd rather have the Fruit 'n' Nut, meself.

Ives: Come on, girl, force it out! Effort! Get going! Come on my beauty! Come on, darling, effort! You can do it, squeeze it out, my son. Come on, son
Norman Stanley Fletcher: "Son"? It's a girl, you nurk!
Ives: What are you talking about? How do you know it's a girl?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: All hens are, Ives. Yer male's yer cock.
Ives: Oh. There's a lot more females than males, then.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: That's why yer cock always looks so smug. He's got plenty of it about. Hence the term "cocksure".

[Ives and Fletcher are in with the chicken coup]
Ives: Here, mine looks inniment.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Inniment? What?
Ives: Nah, go on, she's dropped off. Want to double the bet?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: All right.
Ives: Done.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: You certainly have been.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: [Fletcher finds an egg by slight of hand] Look at that - jackpot.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: See? Thanks, my darling. And thank YOU, Ives.
Ives: Listen, double or quits. Which hand are they in? Go on, fair's fair.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: All right.
[Fletcher points to Ives left clenched hand]
Norman Stanley Fletcher: That one.
Ives: We're even.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: [Fletch clasps Ive's right hand] Oh, THAT'S the one.
Ives: Now that's not funny. Not funny at all.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Can't take a yolk, some people.

Mr. Mackay: [Mackay shouts from outside] Ives!
Norman Stanley Fletcher: [Ives has had an egg crushed in his right hand] What are you going to do? Shake hands with him, go on.
[Ives walks out]
Norman Stanley Fletcher: [Fletch carries on talking to himself] What a loser. Poor old Ives, what a loser. You know, if Liz Taylor had triplets, and he was one, he'd be the one in the middle, on the bottle.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: [Fletch addresses the chicken] There you are, darling. You ain't a loser. You'd have won if I hadn't cut off your access.
[Fletch removes paper from the hatch and retrieves an egg]
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Look at that, it's a beautiful one. How do you get them so egg-shaped?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Hang on a minute. Now then, girls. This is what's known as a perk of the job.

Norman Stanley Fletcher: [Pigs are Squealing and Fletcher is talking at them] God, you're messy. You eat like pigs an' all. Here, can you lot run? That's a thought, a pig race. Make a nice little flutter. The Slade Prison Selling Plate For Pigs. The Royal Cheltenham Pork Cup. Yeah, nice thought, that. I could run a book, couldn't I? Become an owner, have my own stable... sty. The thought appeals.
[Pigs squeal again]
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Bacon Handicap.

Norman Stanley Fletcher: [Fletch is bent down and talking to a chicken] Hello, darling. You trying again?
Mr. Barrowclough: [Barrowclough enters unseen] Morning, Fletcher.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Eh? What?
[Fletch stands up straight]
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Oh, hello, Mr Barrowclough. I thought it was... All right?
Mr. Barrowclough: What was Ives doing?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: He came in on his way to the silos, Mr Barrowclough.
Mr. Barrowclough: Was he taking bets?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Bets?
Mr. Barrowclough: We suspect he's Harry Grout's runner.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Runner?
Mr. Barrowclough: Well, for taking the bets.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: I see.
Mr. Barrowclough: Grout's a long-term prisoner, and an unpleasant man. A sort of... unhealthy influence. We're pretty sure he runs both the gambling and the tobacco in this prison. You're a good chap, Fletcher. I don't want you sucked in to that circle.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Never fear, Mr Barrowclough. Gambling appalls me. I've seen its consequences.
Mr. Barrowclough: It's a plague in this prison.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: My poor old mother. It's not one of my vices.

Norman Stanley Fletcher: Here, can pigs run? Can they be trained to run?
Mr. Barrowclough: Why?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: I dunno, I just thought... Well, I thought they might like a little run, instead of having to walk like us pedestrians. A bit of exercise.
Mr. Barrowclough: Nice to see you taking an interest in your fellow creatures.

Mr. Barrowclough: You seem to be settling in down on the farm.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: I resented it a bit at first, because I've never been a rural man. I have a deep mistrust of animals.
Mr. Barrowclough: I thought you told the governor you liked farming and livestock.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Livestock, yeah, it's just the animals I don't like.
Mr. Barrowclough: You're very lucky. Normally, a trusty gets a privileged job like this.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: I appreciate it, Mr Barrowclough, and I'm sure you helped me, knowing your kindness.
Mr. Barrowclough: I didn't.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Say no more. When are you going to get me a single cell?
Mr. Barrowclough: I can't do that.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: I can't share, I've no rapport with Heslop and Evans, there's no intellectual stimuli.
Mr. Barrowclough: Is Evans still eating light bulbs?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: No, he's changed his taste. He ate my shaving mirror.
Mr. Barrowclough: There's little I can do, you know. You shouldn't ask me.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Wait, Mr Barrowclough, please don't think I want to influence you, or coerce you, or, I hardly like to say it, bribe you. You're chosen by the Home Office for your honesty and integrity. Would a dozen eggs help, at all? No, I'm sorry.

Norman Stanley Fletcher: Lovely day for it.
Prison Officer: You won't be getting IT for a long time.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: You obviously haven't had it for a long time.

Norman Stanley Fletcher: [Fletch walks into the kitchen] Here you are, Lukewarm. 3 dozen and 2
Lukewarm: What's wrong with the hens since you took over, shell shock?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: No need for that.
Mr. Appleton: [Mr Appleton walks in the kitchen] Thieving again are you Fletcher?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: now now Mr Appleton, there's no need for that sort of defamatory is there.
Mr. Appleton: Always pilfering, the whole lot of you.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Come on I resent that remark Mr Appleton. I've done some bad things in my life, I wouldn't be in here otherwise, but petty sneak thieving is not my style. Not my style at all.
Mr. Appleton: All right, all right.
[as Appleton turns to leave, Fletch sneak thieves a 1lb of lard]

Norman Stanley Fletcher: A game of chance.
Lennie Godber: How do you mean?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: For Gawd's sake, Godber, a flutter, a gamble.
Lennie Godber: Gambling ain't allowed.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: 'Course it flamin' ain't, that's why we do it!
Lennie Godber: Why do you need Grout's permission?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Godber, you've been here a week. Ain't you learnt anything? Officially, this hotel is run by a governor appointed by the Home Office, name of Mr Venables, right? But we know different. We know that genial Harry Grout could bring the place to a standstill.
Lennie Godber: Do you play for big stakes?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: If we can nick any out of the meat safe. No, we play for anything negotiable, snout, mostly. Whatever it is, it won't be chicken-feed. Pity, I've got a lot of that. Blokes here are always betting. The excitement counters the misery of their monotonous existence.
Lennie Godber: You what?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Well, it's not winning or losing, it's doing it under the screws' noses, surreptitious, like.
Lennie Godber: Blokes by me bet on how many bricks are in the cell.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: That's common.
Lennie Godber: I can't think. It drives me mad, listening to their recounts. "341, 342..."
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Blokes in stir bet on anything - two flies crawling up a wall, the numbers of the hymns in the chapel, two flies crawling down a wall.

Norman Stanley Fletcher: Didn't you notice the tension?
Lennie Godber: Yeah, but I thought it was because of the female social worker.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: What, gruesome Glenda, her with the bicycle and the brogues?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: You couldn't have an erotic fantasy about her.
Lennie Godber: Nifty Small's in love with her.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Is he?
Lennie Godber: He stole her bicycle saddle.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: I bet the ride back was a bit painful for her.

Norman Stanley Fletcher: He won't have that long though, they'll soon find that.
Lennie Godber: Under his pillow? I bet they won't.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: You're on. How much? 2 fags?
Lennie Godber: Eh, no, I'm not gambling, my mum said gambling would get me into trouble.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Oh, did she? It may have escaped your notice, son, but you're in prison ain't ya. You're mum was too late, you ARE in trouble ain't ya.
Lennie Godber: Well, nevertheless, I ain't gambling. I ain't standing there watching flies go up and down the wall or counting bricks. Gambling is one thing I'm going to resist inside.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: I bet you can't.
Lennie Godber: Oh, yes, I can.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Bet you some soap you can't.
Lennie Godber: Bet I can.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: See, you bet you wouldn't bet, so you lost your bet, that's a bar of soap you owe me. Work that one out.

Ives: Venables has cracked down like a ton of bricks ever since the Earwig Derby.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Earwig Derby?
Ives: Yeah, the Earwig Derby.
Evans: Earwig derby, yeah tragic, that.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: What's the Earwig Derby, when was that then?
Ives: Last earwig season.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Oh, was it, well, then.
Ives: Organised by Grouty of course, very much on the lines of the Jockey Club. Handicaps, eliminators, and then in September the finale... the Derby. Eight yards across the laundry. The whole prison was on. Until of course Mackay finds out. Ah, we never knew.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: What did he do?
Ives: He put his foot down. Yeah, right on top of them! Splat!

Ives: Here, where did you get the dice?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Lukewarm made them out of pastry in the kitchen. He baked them.
Ives: Won't they break?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: No, not his pastry.

Evans: When I was doing bird in Shepton Mallet, we used to bet...
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Did you?
Evans: ...on the number of bricks in a cell.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Oh, that was original. How did you get on?
Evans: All I know is, there was over 37.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Roomy, wasn't it? Roomy, yeah.

Norman Stanley Fletcher: Know what we had going in Maidstone? ONLY roulette, that's all! With a dart board, see. You could bet on even or odd, see, or red or black, or single numbers, or groups of numbers. A blindfolded croupier threw the dart. We'd play in association hour, bribe the screw to turn a blind eye. A great game, mammoth.
Evans: Crafty, that, roulette.
Norman Stanley Fletcher: Yeah, pity it had to end so tragically.
Evans: What happened?
Norman Stanley Fletcher: The croupier got careless one day. Now the screw turns a blind eye to everything.

[Fletcher is on the farm, feeding the pigs]
Fletch: You eat like pigs an' all!

Mackay: What have you got there, Fletcher?
Fletch: [sotto voce] Crown jewels...
[out loud]
Fletch: Chicken feed!
Mackay: Empty it.
Fletch: It'll make a terrible mess, Mr Mackay!
Mackay: Empty it!
[Fletch empties the bag, which contains nothing but chicken feed]
Mackay: All right Fletcher, just don't let me catch you thieving!
Fletch: I won't, Mr Mackay.
Mackay: You won't what?
Fletch: I won't let you catch me, Mr Mackay!

"Porridge: New Faces, Old Hands (#1.1)" (1974)
MO: Suffer from any illness?
Fletch: Bad feet.
MO: Suffer from any illness?
Fletch: Bad feet!
MO: Paid a recent visit to a doctor or hospital?
Fletch: Only with my bad feet!
MO: Are you now or have you at any time been a practicing homosexual?
Fletch: What, with these feet? Who'd have me?

[the MO has finished Fletch's medical, and points to some specimen containers over on a table]
MO: Now I want you to fill one of those containers for me.
Fletch: What, from 'ere?

Godber: I'm only in here due to tragic circumstances.
Fletch: Which were?
Godber: I got caught.

Fletch: Oh, by the way - when you have your medical, tell him you've got bad feet.
Godber: Why?
Fletch: 'cos then you might get your brothel-creepers back. Otherwise you'll be given prison boots - and they're guaranteed to give you bad feet for the rest of your life!

"Porridge: A Night In (#1.3)" (1974)
Fletch: Who's been having your old lady while you've been on nights?
Mr Collinson: Oh, that IS original, Fletcher. I've been getting that for the last seven years.
Fletch: So's she an' all!

Fletch: [to Godber] We could go out, you know... yeah, I could phone up a couple of them dolly birds that dance on Top of the Pops. What are they called? Pan's People. There's one special one - beautiful Babs. Dunno what her name is.

Fletch: That's what you've got to tell yourself, you're just having a quiet night in.
Godber: Trouble is, I've got six hundred and ninety-eight quiet nights in to go...

"Porridge: Happy Release (#2.4)" (1975)
Blanco: There was me and two brothers. There was Jack Barrett, and Harry... er...
Fletch: What, Barrett, was it?
Blanco: Aye, that's right. Did you know 'im?
Fletch: No, only through his brother, like...

Fletch: Is this gonna take long, Blanco? Only my foot's gone to sleep and I'd like to catch it up...

Fletch: [singing] Born Free, until someone caught me, now I'm doin' solitary...

"Porridge: No Peace for the Wicked (#2.6)" (1975)
[Fletcher and Warren are trying to convince Godber it's all right to cheat]
Warren: You know when you're playing draughts with Fletch, and he says he's dropped one and can you please look for it, and you do, and when you get up again you see the board's been re-arranged? That's all cheating is.
Fletch: Yeah - that's all it is.
Warren: Oh, so you admit to it!

Fletch: [sings] I believe for every bit of rain that falls... someone gets wet.

"Porridge: Heartbreak Hotel (#2.2)" (1975)
Fletch: With you, it's different. I mean, you're young, you're healthy, you've got an honest face.
Godber: Is that enough?
Fletch: Yeah, I think so, yeah. Character, that's what I can read there. That's what you've got, son. Character. You're a good lad.
Godber: So you think, Fletch, that if somebody cared for me, like, a girl, like, she'd... uh... forgive me past misdemeanours?
Fletch: Yeah. If she's any sort of human being, yes she would, yeah. Any human being would. You see, you've got to learn to believe in yourself, ain't ya, eh? 'Cause I believe in ya.
Godber: Do ya?
Fletch: Of course I do, yeah.
Godber: [handing him an envelope] Oh, well, I'll post this, then. Could you get your mucker, Barrowclough to post it in the village for me quiet, like?
Fletch: Who is it? BBC?
Godber: Yeah. It's on plain notepaper, so they won't know it's from a prisoner.
Fletch: "Hello Young Lovers Corner?" Is all this soul-searching just for the benefit of that slag Denise?
Godber: No, not her!
Fletch: Who, then?
Godber: Ingrid.
Fletch: ...my Ingrid?
Godber: Our eyes met across the crowded room...
Fletch: My daughter, Ingrid?
Godber: And though we didn't know each other, we both knew...
Fletch: You think I'd let my daughter Ingrid hang out with the likes of YOU, A JUVENILE DELINQUENT FROM THE BACK STREETS OF BIRMINGHAM?
[grabs Godber]

Fletch: [on Godber] 'Ol love-lorn Lenny here wants to know whether the BBC ever play prisoner requests.
Mackay: No. Oh no. The answer to that is no. On the grounds that it could cause embarrassment.
Godber: Embarrassment?
Mackay: To the prisoner's families. The families might've excused his absence by telling the neighbours that the felon in question was abroad, or working on a North Sea oil rig.
Godber: Oh. I see.
Mackay: No doubt your wife, Fletcher, has told your friends that you are on a five-year safari.
Fletch: No, she just tells them I'm doing missionary work in Scotland.

"Porridge: Just Desserts (#2.1)" (1975)
Fletch: [working in the library] I've still got a long and complicated itinerary to complete, sir.
Barrowclough: You're taking your time because you know that when you finish you've got to paint it, which is what you were put here for in the first place!
Fletch: [grinning innocently] Still waiting for the paint, sir.
Barrowclough: Where is it?
Fletch: [looking falsely concerned] Stolen, sir!
Barrowclough: [sitting down with his head in his hands] What's wrong with this prison?
Fletch: There's a strong criminal element in here, sir.

[Fletch has lost a tin of pineapple chunks]
Fletch: I don't quite know how to put this, gentlemen, but there is a thief among us.

"Porridge: Pardon Me (#3.4)" (1977)
[playing Monopoly]
Fletch: Can you believe it?
[sees he's got a "Go To Jail" card]

[as Blanco leaves the prison on a pardon]
Fletch: Listen, we all know that you didn't kill your old lady, see. Which means that some other bloke did. And you've paid the penance for it, right? But I don't want you going out there harbouring any thoughts of revenge, all right?
Blanco: No, I know 'im wot did it. It were the wife's lover. But don't worry, I shan't go round searching for him. 'e died years ago.
Fletch: Well, that's all right then...
Blanco: That I do know. It were me that killed him!

"Porridge: Ways and Means (#1.5)" (1974)
Fletch: A lot of famous people were born out of wedlock you know. All those royals in history, Lawrence of Arabia, Napper Wainwright...
McLaren: Who's Napper Wainwright?
Fletch: He was a screw I knew in Brixton - mind you, he WAS a bastard!

"Porridge: Disturbing the Peace (#2.3)" (1975)
[Fletch's old nemesis, Napper Wainwright, has replaced Mackay]
Fletch: He's got stripes - we'll have to hope success has mellowed him.
Wainwright: [very rapidly and sharply, to another prisoner] Something to say to me, have you? Well my name's Wainwright; you will address me as Mr Wainwright or Sir!
Fletch: It has.

"Porridge: Final Stretch (#3.6)" (1977)
Mackay: I've noticed a change in your attitude since Laddo's release.
Fletch: I just want out, that's all. Ten months if I keep my nose clean.
Mackay: Not throwing in the towel, are we, Fletcher? Or are you acknowledging that the system always wins?
Fletch: Nobody wins, Mr Mackay, that's what's so tragic.
Mackay: Normally I'd hesitate at putting a sprog in here, Fletcher, but I think the new Fletcher could be just what he needs.
Fletch: Oh, going to have a bit of company down below, am I?
Mackay: Got a young lad called Nicholson moving in here.
Fletch: He's not a Scot, is he? I mean, we do draw the line somewhere.
Mackay: No, he's from Sunderland.
Fletch: Dangerously close!
Mackay: Bit of a tearaway, keeps lashing out. You'll keep an eye on him?
Fletch: Difficult not to in a room this size!
Mackay: No, I mean, you'll show him what you've learned.
Fletch: All right. What have I learned, Mr Mackay?
Mackay: That there's no use in bucking the system.
Fletch: All right. I'll just tell him three things. One - bide your time. Two - keep your nose clean. And three - don't let the bastards grind you down.

"Porridge: A Day Out (#1.4)" (1974)
[Barrowclough and the prisoners are trapped in a locked church]
Barrowclough: Come on, Fletcher, you've been convicted of breaking and entering.
Fletch: Ah, "entering" being the operative word, Mr Barrowclough. I ain't never been convicted of breaking out of nowhere.

"Porridge: Poetic Justice (#3.2)" (1977)
Fletch: [to Rawley, the judge who sentenced him] If I'd known you was crooked I could have slipped you a few bob!