Matt!
What?
There's something wrong with this bottle.
Waiter!
All right. Tell me.
Do you think I have a nice character?
Yes, I think you do.
I think you do. Well... I mean...
I think you could have quite
a nice character but the trouble is
that when you come down to it
you haven't actually got
any character to begin with -
I mean as such, that's the thing.
As such?
Yes, the thing is you haven't really got
any character at all, have you?
As such. Au fond.
But I wouldn't worry about it.
For example look at me.
I don't have any character either.
I'm just a reed.
I'm just a reed in the wind.
Aren't I? You know I am.
I'm just a reed in the wind.
You're a whore.
A whore in the wind.
With the wind blowing up your skirt.
That's right. How did you know?
How did you know the sensation?
I didn't know that men could
possibly know about things like that.
So I didn't think men could possibly know
what it was like when the wind
blows up a girl's skirt.
Because men don't wear skirts.
You're a prick.
Not quite.
You're a prick.
Good gracious. Am I really?
Yes. That's what you are, really.
Am I really?
Yes. That's what you are, really.
What's that other song you know?
The one you said was a classic.
"Wash me in the water"
"Where you washed your dirty daughter."
That's it. Know that one?
It's not in my repertoire, darling.
This is the best restaurant in town.
That's what they say.
That's what they say.
This is a piss-up dinner. Do you know
how much money I made last year?
I know this is a piss-up dinner.
It is a piss-up dinner.
His mother always hated me.
The first time she saw me she hated me.
She never gave me one present
in the whole of her life.
She wouldn't give me
the drippings off her nose.
I know.
The drippings off her nose. Honestly.
All mothers-in-law are like that.
They love their sons.
They love their boys.
They don't want their sons to be fucked
by other girls. Isn't that right?
Absolutely. All mothers want their sons
to be fucked by themselves.
By their mothers.
All mothers -
All mothers want
to be fucked by their mothers.
Or by themselves.
No, you've got it the wrong way round.
How's that?
All mothers want to be fucked
by their sons.
Now wait a minute -
My point is -
No, my point is -
how old do you have to be?
To be what?
To be fucked by your mother?
Any age, mate. Any age.
How did you enjoy your dinner, darling?
I wasn't impressed.
You weren't impressed?
No.
I bring her to the best caff in town -
spending a fortune -
and she's not impressed.
Don't forget this is your anniversary.
That's why we're here.
What anniversary?
It's your wedding anniversary.
All I know is this is
the most expensive fucking restaurant
and she's not impressed.
Good evening.
Good evening.
Good evening.
Good evening.
Good evening, Richard.
How have you been?
Very, very well. Been to a play?
No. The ballet.
Oh, the ballet? What was it?
That's a fucking good question.
It's unanswerable.
Good, was it?
Unbelievable.
What ballet?
None of them could reach
the top notes. Could they?
Good dinner?
Fantastic.
Top-notch. Gold-plated.
Delicious.
My wife wasn't impressed.
Oh, really?
I liked the waiter.
Which one?
The one with the fur-lined jockstrap.
He takes it off for breakfast.
Which is more than you do.
Well, how nice to see you all.
She wasn't impressed with her food.
It's true. She said so.
She thought it was dry as dust.
She said - what did you say, darling? -
she's my sister -
she said she could cook better than that
with one hand stuffed between her legs;
she said - no, honestly -
she said she could make better sauce
than the one on her plate
if she pissed into it.
Don't think she was joking -
she's my sister,
I've known her all my life, all my life,
since we were little innocent girls,
all our lives, when we were babies,
when we used to lie in the nursery
and hear Mummy beating the shit
out of Daddy.
We saw blood