The Good Life
1975
Margo: Did I hear a dinner gong? Tom: Not unless the chicken jumped out of the oven and banged one.
Tom: When I get a birthday card from my wife, I expect a loving, sickly verse. Not "Another nail in your coffin you old wreck!"
(Margo and Jerry walk in on Tom chasing after Barbara with the scissors) Jerry: I see the asylum haven't sent the van yet!
Jerry: Brick by brick, she's building a madhouse!
(Tom and Barbara tell Margo and Jerry about Guy and Ruth) Margo: Ruth? That's a girl's name! Barbara: So it is! One of them must be a girl, Tom! Tom: Must be the one with lumps in the jersey.
(Margo is playing Maria in the amateur dramatic society's performance of The Sound of Music, Jerry is helping her with her make-up) Jerry: Margo! Sit still! Margo: I'm sorry, Jerry. It's these flowers they've given me. I mean, one does not pick dahlias and chrysanthemums in an alpine meadow.
(Barbara points at the basket of flowers) Barbara: Shouldn't they be edelweiss? Margo: You see? Barbara's noticed. I told Miss Mountshaft she should have ordered the real thing from Moisy Stevens but no, plastic will do. The whole thing is tat, tat, tat.
(Tom and Barbara carry two large halves of a carcass into the kitchen) Tom: Alas poor Perky, I knew her well. Barbara: Don't be ghoulish. Do you think Pinky'll miss her? Tom: No, she'll have other things on her mind, she'll be on her honeymoon soon. Barbara: Now, hang them somewhere cool and drafty the man said. Tom: The spare room. That's cool. Barbara: It's not drafty. Tom: It will be once I've taken the door off. Margo: (Margo enters) Hello! Only me. Oh, my God! What *have* you got on your kitchen table? Barbara: Miss Mountshaft. That'll teach her to throw you out of the musical society.
Barbara: I suppose we must be rather a blot on the avenue's escutcheon. Margo: Yes, you are. Barbara: Oh. Margo: But you are very dear friends. And by now I have risen like a phoenix from the fires of your eccentricities. Tom: Ah, don't she talk lovely! Barbara: Yeah, very nice. Margo: You know what I mean. Nothing you can do now will shock me. It's quite simple. Tom: Yes. I see that. When's the boar-walker coming, Barbara? Barbara: Tomorrow. Margo: Boar-walker? What's a boar-walker? Tom: This chap we know is bringing his boar to serve Pinky. Margo: With what? (Tom smiles) Oh, my God! Barbara: Margo, you're shocked! Margo: Where? Tom: Not in here, in the garden. Margo: But I shall be able to see it over the fence. Barbara: Only if you're looking.
Margo: The people who have moved in next door to you are charming. Tom: Yes? Margo: That's it, that is the good news. Barbara: But they only moved here yesterday. You were in there a bit quick. Margo: I was not in there a bit "quick*ly*". Adverb, Barbara.
(Barbara is in tears at the thought of having to move) Margo: Loyal, passive Barbara. Very well, I shall tell Tom myself. Barbara: (jumps up, no longer in tears) You take one more step and I'll drop you where you stand. Margo: Barbara! Barbara: Yes, I may be smaller than you but I'm a better fighter.
(Tom and Jerry have been playing golf with Sir) Tom: Hello, girls. Had a good gossip? Barbara: No, we've been playing strip poker with the postman.
(Jerry, Barbara and Tom have been to see the musical society's production of The Sound of Music) Tom: I mean... I mean... That *was* The Sound of Music wasn't it? Jerry: Possibly. Tom: I wondered. For a moment I thought we'd strayed into the Folies Bergères. Barbara: You mean the sunrise scene where all the nuns realized they were in see-through habits? Tom: Yes. I never really believed in them after that. Why did Margo sing Maria? Jerry: It's the name of the character she was playing. Tom: I know, but I thought the song came from West Side Story. Barbara: It did.
Jerry: I was just telephoning to find out if I can have my car today. Oh, Tuesday. (Margo grabs the phone from Jerry) Margo: What do you mean Tuesday? (to Jerry) Be quiet! (on telephone) I don't care if the spare parts come from Mars. Go and collect them. "A bottle-neck in the lube bay." What does that mean in English? Well, say lubrication, then. Jerry: Margo! Margo: (to Jerry) Be quiet, Jerry. (on telephone) All right. Go and look at your wretched worksheet. No, you may not tinkle me back. I'll hold on.
Margo: What is it? What's going on? Jerry: The Goods. They're dancing in their goldfish pond. Margo: But why? Jerry: I hadn't thought of that. Why? Barbara: Celebrating. Jerry: Your birthday was yesterday. Tom: No. We're celebrating we found out how to beat it! Margo: What's he saying? Jerry: If you're so damned interested, why don't you get out of bed yourself and have a look?
Margo: Did you, or did you not see a pale blue envelope cellotaped to the handle of your pick-axe this morning? Arthur Bailey: Yes, I did. Margo: And what was written on that envelope? Arthur Bailey: N.B. Margo: Well? Arthur Bailey: Well, I'm not N. Bailey. I'm Arthur Bailey. A.B. Margo: You stupid man! Arthur Bailey: You can't talk to me like that. Margo: I can, because I pay your wages, and get off my carpet. For your information Mr Bailey, N.B. means Nota Bene. Arthur Bailey: Who? Margo: It's Latin. Arthur Bailey: Oh. Well, I come from Balham. Margo: Very well. The fact that you come from Balham probably does excuse your ignorance of even elementary Latin. It does not excuse ignoring a written instruction which is sellotaped to the handle of your pick-axe. Arthur Bailey: Written instructions are for white collar workers. I'm manual. Margo: I see. So unless a sign reads: "Keep off the grass, Mr Bailey, and all other manual workers", you ignore it, do you? Arthur Bailey: I didn't mean that. Margo: Well, what do you mean Mr Bailey? Arthur Bailey: I mean it's up now. It's a fait accompli. Margo: Oh, so we know French in Balham, but no Latin?
Tom: (tiredly) Barbara, I can't get my wellies off.
Sir: As I said when you left the company, I said, of course, a lot of people think that this self sufficiency is just a dream, you know, but here's a man with the guts and the determination to make it work. Tom: Actually, you didn't use those words. You said I was a mindless idiot who'd come crawling back in three weeks.
Tom: Shall I throw the cat on the fire? Barbara: No, not just now. Just got comfortable.
Margo: Very well, Barbara. I suppose I must simply accept that you are "that kind of woman." Barbara: What kind of woman? Margo: A woman who wants to be dominated, who actually enjoys being ordered about by men. Very well, I accept it. Tom: Well, Margo, I wouldn't say that you were averse to a bit of male domination. Margo: I beg your pardon? Tom: Well, when you and I were alone in that kitchen I ordered you about. I didn't hear any complaints. Margo: Don't be absurd. Tom: In fact, your cheeks flushed quite responsively.
Margo: (reading from a card) "The Ooh-Aah bird is so-called because it lays square eggs." I don't understand that.
Tom: Come on, Margo. Get your hat on. Margo: This is the "Daily Mirror". Jerry: Please, have the "Telegraph". Margo: Thank you.
Jerry: Come and have a cuddle? Margo: Jerry, please. It's broad daylight. We're in somebody else's house. No, I'm sorry.
Margo: I'll tell you this, Jerry. The male animal has a lot to answer for. Jerry: What have I done now? Margo: All of you. Down through the ages, and it's the woman who always suffers. You drag her alone behind you like a mere thing. An object. A chattel. Jerry: Margo, I simply... Margo: Don't interrupt, Jerry. Just put that hi-fi equipment away and make the coffee. Jerry: Anything you say, chattel.
Margo: Now, your dinner. Jerry: That's right. I got some Indian takeaway. Margo: Then will you kindly eat it in the kitchen with the extractor fan full on? The last time, this upholstery reeked of vindaloo for over a week. Good night, Jerry.
Margo: And I'm still desperately worried about Baron Von Trapp's lederhosen. Jerry: Why? Margo: Because they have not been dubbined properly, and every time he bends over they squeak! Jerry: Darling, that's *his* problem. You can't worry about everything. Margo: Oh, I know, but I do.
Tom: Is this the stars' dressing room? Margo: Oh, Tom, Barbara. Do come in. Barbara: We couldn't afford a telegram, so we made you that. (gives her a home-made good luck card) Margo: Oh, how kind.
Tom: Oh, now, come on, Margo. We saw some of the cast on our way round here. They looked very, very good. Except for a kid with a runny nose. Margo: I detest that child. With his nose running on one side, and the Baron's lederhosen squeaking on the other, I shall go to pieces. I know I shall.
Margo: Oh, Tom. You're very manful at times. Tom: And you are very womanful. Margo: No, I'm not. You can't be womanful if you're starchy. Tom: You are not starchy, Margo. You are a very attractive woman. Margo: No, I'm not. Tom: Yes, you are. And I'll tell you something else. You've got a very sexy neck. Margo: Don't be silly. You've never seen my neck. Tom: I'm looking at it right now, Margo. Margo: Are you? Tom: Yes. And it's very, very sexy.
Margo: Why don't you just throw a bucket of mud on the floor? Jerry: Look, I've just cut my finger clipping your blasted hedge. Margo: Don't swear, Jerry. And don't bleed in the sink, I've just cleaned it.
Margo: Road cleaning, I shall pay. Street lighting, I shall pay. Ground rent, I shall pay. But when it comes to the drain in front of my house, I shall not. Because it is blocked up and overflowing. Mr Squires - Clerk: I shall make a note of that. Margo: You will do more than that, Mr Squires. You will have a plumber on my door step at nine o'clock tomorrow morning with a plunger in his band, or you will not get a penny. Mr Squires - Clerk: Just who do think you are, Mrs Ledbetter? Margo: I am the silent majority.
Margo: Are you listening to the New Seekers? Jerry: Yes. Margo: Why? Jerry: I like the New Seekers. Margo: Well, I detest wallpaper music.
Margo: So much for James and Maggie Preston. At least we won't have to listen to any more of those interminable stories about her womb.
Barbara: (reading some notes Tom has made) "Gobar gas. Gobar is the Hindi for cow dung. One cubic foot of gas may be generated from one pound of cow dung. N.B. check this figure for animal droppings generally."
Jerry: (to Barbara) Marriage should be a fair division of labour. Margo: Like ours. Jerry: Not quite like ours, I was thinking more 50-50. Margo: Meaning Jerry? Jerry: Not 80-20. Margo: I hardly call keeping this house in immaculate condition a mere 20%. Jerry: You don't. Mrs Pearson comes in five times a week. Margo: There is the garden. Jerry: I know. Mr Pearson comes in three times a week. Margo: I pick and arrange all my own flowers. Jerry: But you wouldn't do that if the Pearsons had a daughter who does flower arranging.
Tom: (reading a birthday card) "Mozart and Mendelssohn were dead by 40, why aren't you?" How thoughtful.
Tom: (to Barbara) I'd run off with you if you weren't married.
(Margo is wearing a voluminous white gown) Margo: Hello, Barbara. Barbara: Margo, what are you wearing? You look like the Angel of Death. Margo: Yes, it's hideous, isn't it? The whole choir is wearing them when we sing The Messiah. She wants everyone to look the same and she only gave the dress maker one set of measurements. Barbara: Hers, presumably. Margo: Yes. Jerry calls it my Oratorio Tent.
Tom: (calls through the letterbox) Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead! Margo: Tom! (pauses) *What* is that? Tom: It's two dustbins on a trolley. Margo: I can see it's two dustbins on a trolley and when I asked you the question it was a rhetorical one which does not need a direct answer as you knew very well in the first place. Tom: Oh. You make me hold my breath when you do those long sentences, Margo. Margo: What *is* it? Tom: It's two rhetorical dustbins on a rhetorical trolley. Margo: Then will you kindly remove them from my crazy paving before someone sees us. Tom: They'd have less chance of seeing us if we hide behind the dustbins.
Barbara: I haven't caught you indulging in some private fetish have I?
Tom: I'm stronger that you are and I can pin you to the bed any time I feel like it. Barbara: Rubbish.
Barbara: (Barbara is visiting Tom in jail) Oh, Tom. I do miss you. Tom: I miss you too, love. There's two-thousand of us in here but it's ever so lonely.
Jerry: (a drunken Jerry and Barbara are doing dishes. Barbara touches her hair) Now, don't. Stop that. Barbara: Well, it's *my* hair. Jerry: I know. It's not that, it's the gesture. Brings out the beast in me. Barbara: Jerry, I'm a married woman. Jerry: Well, so am I.
Tom: (Tom has just tasted his home-brewed pea pod burgundy and is shocked at its potency) It's hurting the back of my eyes!
Margo: (preparing to go on stage for a performance of The Sound of Music) Don't trip over the mountains. Don't trip over the mountains...
Tom: I don't have to keep on telling you I love you, do I? You just know it. Barbara: Do you? Tom: Do I what? Barbara: Love me? Tom: Well, of course I do, you silly bitch!
(Margo and Tom are drunk on homemade wine) Margo: (sobbing) I'm not a complete woman! Tom: Aren't you? Margo: I haven't got a sense of humour! Tom: Don't worry, Margo, I'll go and get you one!
Margo: Do you know what they called me at school? Tom: Margo Ledbetter? Margo: No, I wasn't married then.
Barbara: I can't kill chickens. Tom: That's all right. When you're not looking I'll have their heads off with my Black & Decker.