- Ruth McKee: [Turns on car radio]
- Harry McKee: ...sex, both inside and outside of marriage? Research has shown that men think about sex an average of once every three minutes. To which I can only respond "Is that all?"
- Harry McKee: [Turns up the volume]
- Radio commentator: What is it about middle aged modern man to turn his mind back to those halcyon days when sex was free and the living was easy, even when it wasn't? You may blame it on the permissive society, you may blame it on equality, you may even blame it on Mr. and Mrs. Braithwaite in number 24 who used to bounce naked on the trampoline in their back garden when impressionable fourteen year olds were walking home from school, but the fact is that when I was growing up sex was everywhere. If you weren't doing it you were talking about it, and if you weren't talking about it you were fantasizing about it, and if you weren't fantasizing about it you were probably a Liverpool supporter, which was total fulfillment in itself and had the added advantage that you were not having to keep your bedroom door locked.
- Harry McKee: PPNPNGNS. What does it mean?
- Ruth McKee: PPNPNGNS. Professional, protestant, no pets, no gays, non smoker.
- Harry McKee: After the break it's fish of the day.
- Frankie: Dish!
- Harry McKee: Dish of the day. With Walter Adair, Member of Parliament, and his lovely fishwife Tara.
- Harry McKee: What is your dish of the day?
- Walter Adair: Well, Harry, to start, an Ulster casserole.
- Harry McKee: Or an occupied-six-counties casserole if you like.
- Walter Adair: Marriage, Harry, is like...
- Tara Adair: ...a casserole. The more you put into it, the longer it lasts.
- Ruth McKee: It's a fucking coma!
- Miss Boyle: A fucking *coma*?
- Ruth McKee: Fucking coma.
- Miss Boyle: Well, I'm very sorry.
- Ruth McKee: No, *I* am really sorry, because this really bollockses things up, doesn't it?
- Miss Boyle: Well, it could delay the divorce indefinitely. I'm sorry, Ruth. That's the way of the world. The comatose often have the last word.
- Billy McKee: We had this all planned out, remember? We're gonna start enjoying ourselves again...
- Claire McKee: Billy... don't you understand that if we're helping dad in this time of crisis we're also helping ourselves?
- Billy McKee: Yes, oh philosopher. We want to help ourselves. To the house, to the car, and as much child support as we can squeeze out of the bastard.
- Ruth McKee: Billy, that is not very nice.
- Billy McKee: It's a direct quote from you.
- Ruth McKee: [to Billy] Look, if you want to try and catch him out, that's up to you. But no filling his head full of crap! The dishwasher is not voice activated. "Would you not communicate by ESB?" And David Bowie is *not* the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
- Harry McKee: Dear Mr. McKee, we have located your missing memory. It was found by one of the nurses, hiding in a cardboard box in the linen room.
- Harry McKee: I'm sorry. I don't remember any of you.
- Frankie: You should do. You've slept with them all. This is Linda... Janice... Gail... Roisin... Faye... Mark...
- Mark: [embarrassed] we were both drunk. Nothing happened.
- Walter Adair: Do yous mind? I'm trying to kill him.
- [pointing his gun at Harry]
- Ruth McKee: Would you butt out? I'm trying to say something very important here, and it isn't easy.
- Walter Adair: Look, are you a lunatic? I have got a gun!
- Ruth McKee: [kicks him in the groin]