Bleeding ballet an' opera. Especially when they spend lottery money on it; wasting the working man's bet on fat screeching old bags from Italy singing like they've got piles. Or some bunch of scrawny bints in tutus called Darcy and Tilda flashing their gussets at a lot of horny perverts. Art? Culture? Staring at posh bird's knickers, that's all Swan bleeding Lake boils down to! They should use all the money for kids with incurable diseases. When me and my Tina buy our lottery ticket, out of the goodness of our hearts...
Yes, and we want to know that, by winning twenty million pounds, we will be helping little kiddies, NOT haughty, hoity, stick it up your toity, high and mighty, tight-nosed, toffee-arsed, sun-dried-tomato-eating lah-de-dah-dy lah-de-daas.
I suppose all mothers think their kids are beautiful, but the interesting thing is, Sir, I actually was. A GORGEOUS little fella. Big eyes, big smile, chubby little cheeks and the purest of pure soprano voices. I could curdle milk while it was still in the cow, Sir. Anyway, one day, Radio Trinidad advertised for a boy soprano. It was my big chance, Sir. The whole street turned out to watch me get on the bus. "Young Frank Gladstone going to be a star," they said, and I would have been but for two things.
My testicles sir. They dropped on the way to the auditions sir. I still believe if that road had been tarmacked I would have got away with it. I was going to sing "O For the Wings of a Dove"; I had to give them "Old Man River" instead.
Right. Standing to one side now. Purpose: to avoid scaring silly old sod to death if not pop-clogs already. [gets flustered] Tango... er, Gemma. Angels one-five, bandits at six o'clock - dive, dive, dive!
[The force is practicing in anticipation of a riot at the football game]
Fowler
We wish to subdue the hooligan before he becomes violent. We can achieve this by setting up a rhythmic beating on our shields, such as to strike terror into the hearts of the enemy, as once did the Zulus - an adversary the British Army truly appreciated.
I'm not surprised - the Zulus had rhythmic beating, the British had field artillery. I bet they appreciated it!
Fowler
All right, Habib. Just because something is morally inexcusable does not stop it being a cherished part of the national fabric. Look at the Walnut Whip.
And after we've subdued them with pat-a-cake pat-a-cake we should give them a chorus of Baa-Baa Black Sheep. That will really make them fill their trousers!
The Thin Blue Line · 36 quotes
Fowler
