Laura: When is Westminster going to wake up? Stand up for us and think of our future generations? When are they going to stop giving British sperm a bad name?
Gareth: British sperm! What kind of a remark is that?
Simon: Very ballsy.
Gareth: Bloody rude.
Simon: But she does seem to be speaking for the people.
Gareth: No no no. We speak for the people, thank you. The people don't know enough to speak for themselves, and the last thing we need is any untutored outbursts of democratic demagoguery popping up like boils on our buttocks. I think you'd better go and have a sniff around.
Simon: Oh. All right. Where is Flatby?
Gareth: I don't know, Simon, look at a map. They have fish, so it's probably on the coast.
Simon: Thank you, Gareth. Most helpful.
Laura: You should have been helping to save one of our leading fishermen.
Winston: [laughs] Harry Patterson's a brain-dead mullet who couldn't catch crabs in a jock-strap.
[Flatby has just proclaimed secession from the UK]
Winston: We'll be the laughing stock of the world.
Johnny: We'll be rich.
Malcolm: We'll be free.
Laura: We'll be... different.
Townspeople: [repeated chant] What do we want? Fair quotas! When do we want 'em? Right now!
Laura: People of Europe. people of England, idiots of Whitehall. Listen to us, the people of Flatby. This is Harry Patterson, fisherman. His dad built this boat with his own hands, but guess what; the government, our government, and the deranged ding-a-lings of Brussels in ten days time are going to crush this boat to matchwood and put Harry on the scrapheap of permanent unemployment.
Laura: I don't know why you don't get out of Flatby altogether, darling. I mean, you're educated. You're a solicitor. You can ruin people's lives anywhere.
Julie: I'm quite happy here, thank you.
Laura: But how can you be? Misery's the main qualification for living in Flatby-on-the-Bog. And inbreeding, of course.
Laura: If things are so bad here, why don't you both go back to Battersea?
Laura: Chelsea. We lived in South Chelsea, thank you.
Johnny: Views of the river.
Deidre: From both toilets.
Winston: You can't blackmail me with a twenty year old affair.
Laura: Okay! Okay! How about a two month old affair, then? You and the Honourable Daphne Borthwick.
Winston: How the hell did you know about that?
Laura: Suddenly the Hon. Daph starts drinking rum and coke with a cock-eyed grin on her face. I know when a woman round here's been Winstoned!
Gareth: [dictating into a small recorder] To the Minister. Sir: With regard to your wife's request for the return of the curved cucumber to our shops. Please, could you tell the good lady that it has taken the European Community seven years and forty million pounds to make the euro-cucumber the proud, firm, straight, and upright thing it is today. Hoping this will satisfy her, I remain, etcetera.