A Bit of a Do

1989

Rita Simcock: How would you like it if you were described as an ex-company-director, five foot nine, with greying black hair, bloodshot eyes, vital statistics 29-36-5-31! Ted Simcock: What's the five? Rita Simcock: What do you think? Ted Simcock: Rita! I mean... that's extremely personal and very insulting... and inaccurate. I mean... really!

Liz Rodenhurst: I must say, Rita, it wasn't exactly tactful to come tonight. Rita Simcock: That's why I came. Liz Rodenhurst: How nasty. Rita Simcock: I'd hardly describe it as nice to steal my husband and have his baby. Liz Rodenhurst: I wouldn't exactly describe taking things that turn up on one's doorstep as "stealing." Rita Simcock: I feel that events have forced us to become enemies. What a pity we couldn't have got to know each other under happier circumstances. Then we could have become enemies of our own free will.

Jenny Simcock: They won't let Paul in without a tie. Laurence Rodenhurst: I've got a Dental Association tie in my car - if he has no rooted objection to maroon. Jenny Simcock: The nastier the better. He won't care if it's got four crossed molars on a ruptured abscess.

Laurence Rodenhurst: Paul, sometimes a woman needs to be alone. Paul Simcock: Not Jenny. Our marriage is a "totality of shared experience". Laurence Rodenhurst: (mutters) Berk!

Jenny Simcock: Don't you start to give me moral lectures, Simon. Are you two so pure yourselves? Simon and Lucinda: (smugly) Yes. Elvis: (reprovingly) Simon? Lucinda: Well, apart from Simon's isolated lapse - which he's told me all about and I've forgiven. Jenny Simcock: And no lapses at all in your past, Lucinda? Lucinda: Unfashionably for this day and age, no. In eighty-seven days' time, Simon will be the first person in the world to know my body. Simon: We *were* planning to invite you both. Elvis: I'll watch with interest. I may even be able to give you a tip or two!

(recurring line) Alec the Barman: Can do. No problem. Tickety-boo.

Simon: (sneering) How's our philosophy graduate enjoying life among the frozen poultry? Elvis: If you weren't my brother's wife's brother, I'd make my highly desirable manual extremity extremely convenient for your spatious breathing and blowing organ. Simon: Pardon? Elvis: I'd punch you on the nose. I was using estate agent-ese.

Jenny Simcock: Hello, Mum. Hello, Neville. Liz Rodenhurst: Hello. Jenny Simcock: I've something to... Earlier, Mum, you said you hoped I'd find somebody soon. Liz Rodenhurst: Yes. Jenny Simcock: Well I have. Neville Badger: That *was* soon! Jenny Simcock: Yes. You said you hoped he'd be nice. He *is* nice. Liz Rodenhurst: That's nice. Jenny Simcock: (sheepishly) I'm afraid he may disappoint your hopes pretty considerably in one particular respect. I'm afraid he fails - utterly and totally fails - the criterion of... oh Lord!.. of not being a Simcock. (stunned silence) Liz Rodenhurst: (shrieks) Elvis?

Elvis: It's our Paul - he's been arrested! Ted Simcock: Arrested? What for? Elvis: There's been a big demonstration. He threw an egg at the Prime Minister. Rita Simcock: Did it hit? Jenny Simcock: Was it free range? Neville Badger: Was it infected with salmonella?

Simon: (Elvis is working as wine waiter) Waiter! Elvis: Yes, sir. Simon: Elvis? Elvis: Simon? Simon: Good Lord. Ah, this is my sister's husband's brother. Sorry, must be a bit embarrassing for you. Elvis: No, not really. Though you might try something a little more polite that yelling "Waiter!". Simon: What's rude about that? Elvis: Well, how you you like it if I pop into your office and yell "Estate agent!"? Simon: That's different. Elvis: Yeah - you're a member of a profession and I'm only a waiter. Simon: I think you've rather forgotten your position, Elvis. Elvis: I *was* speaking as your sister's husband's brother. Speaking as a waiter... (obsequiously) What can I get you, sir?

Simon: (Elvis is working as a wine waiter and has just delivered drinks to Simon and his friends) So, Elvis, are you finding your *three years* as a philosophy graduate helpful in your job? Elvis: Incredibly. Simon: Oh, good, good. You don't feel that the taxpayers' money has been poured down the drain, then? Elvis: Money, money, money! I hear the heart of an estate agent beating like a till. In my brief spell as a waiter, Simon, I have learned the answer to a question that has exercised philosophers down the ages. Simon: What question? Elvis: Is the external world real or is it just a figment of the imagination? Do you exist outside my mind? I now know that you do. Simon: How? Elvis: (snarls) Because I wouldn't have wasted my time inventing anyone as *futile* as you! Simon: (snarls) Ditto... with knobs on! Elvis: Precisely. Case proven. (pause) Elvis: (obsequiously) That'll be £9.46, sir. Call it £10 for cash.

Lucinda: Simon wants to know if you can get the ring road plan scrapped, Rita. Rita Simcock: Tell him, no, I can't get it scrapped. Lucinda: No, she can't get it scrapped. Simon: Damn! Lucinda: Damn! Ted Simcock: Thank you, Simon. Simon: What on earth for? Ted Simcock: Because every time I meet you, I get to thinking my two aren't such berks after all.

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