Diana: I was just trying to be nice.
Betty: Yes, very nice! Sitting there grinning like a sphincter.
Diana: Sphinx, Betty.
Betty: I know what I mean.
Tom: How wonderful. She's becoming almost as silly as me. Welcome to second childhood. Next stop, mere oblivion.
Diana: How are your yin and your yang?
Tom: Yin's fine, but the old yang's a bit creaky.
Diana: And how are your eyes?
Tom: Oh, as good as ever. I pop them into a glass of Steradent each night; they come up nice and bright in the morning. Why do you ask?
Diana: I was just wondering if you were adequately barking daft to do today's cryptic crossword.
Tom: Uh, try me.
Diana: Well, it's nine letters, uh? "I throw my weight around in North London."
Tom: Islington. I sling ton. I - I, throw - sling, weight - ton, North London - Islington.
Diana: Could be, I suppose.
Tom: Give me another.
Diana: No, it's all right.
Tom: Finished it, have you?
Diana: No, just don't want to tax you.
Tom: Oh, don't worry, come on.
Diana: All right. Ah! Seven letters. "Mister O'Connor is unable to reach the highest register."
Tom: Descant. Mister O'Connor - Des, is unable - can't, Des can't - descant, the highest register.
Diana: Yes, well, it's always pathetically simple on Thursdays.
Tom: I worked in an office for over five hundred years, Diana. The cryptic crossword was a delicate piece in the endless game of one-upmanship. If you finished it first, you were cock of the walk. But, if you were beaten to the post, then you just tossed it over your shoulder and said, "Oh, well, I wasn't really trying this morning; it's always so pathetically simple on Thursdays."
Tom: You couldn't be nice if your life depended on it.
Diana: Course I could.
Tom: Oh no, to you every silver lining has a cloud.
Basil: If I didn't know better, I'd think you were smiling.
Diana: I *am* smiling, Basil.
Basil: Who's died?
Diana: Simple bit of, um, corporate fiddling; I'm sure you do it all the time.
Bill Nigh: What! I certainly do not.
Diana: Oh, come on. No-one would employ his dimwitted son unless they were working some sort of fiddle.
Bill Nigh: Geoffrey is one of my best salesmen!
Tom: Good grief! Are the other ones actually living people?