*gasps* You've brought on my dream! Last night I dreamed that you were Squirrel Nutkin and I was a little lady squirrel. And you built your house half way up an oak tree.
Well, anyway, I climbed up your tree and I knocked on your little door, only you pretended you weren't in, so I had to kick it down. And there you were, hiding behind your acorns. What do you suppose that means?
[To Miss Brahms. after the latter has caught her in the fitting room drinking alcohol] I'm just taking me slimming pill; only I've run out of water, and I can't bear neat gin.
Do you know, a lot of people ask that. Apparently, this was made for Mrs. Thatcher but when she got there, she said she wanted to be treated like any other woman going down a mine... and she was.
Mr. Spooner, if you're cheeky to me during working hours, you can expect a reprimand. However, any of your lip before we open and you'll get my umbrella up your hooter.
I was just only using my initiative. I knew that the outside of the building was being painted, and after a little light banter with the workmen every morning, I took the advantage of their kind offer of a lift.
