- Tom: What do you think?
- Barbara: I need to think.
- Tom: Garden?
- Barbara: Yes.
- Tom: [fetches wellies] Right. Left. Coat.
- Barbara: Coat.
- [leaves to pace in the garden]
- Tom: Piece of cake?
- Barbara: No thank you.
- [continues pacing]
- Barbara: Do you want to sell up and buy a small holding in the country to do this?
- Tom: No, this isn't meant to be the full going back to nature thing, besides we love this house too much to sell it.
- Barbara: Self-sufficiency in Surbiton.
- Tom: Yes, I know it'll make the avenue look a bit odd.
- Barbara: No no.
- [continues pacing]
- Barbara: I couldn't kill chickens.
- Tom: Alright, I'll chop their heads off with my black and decker while you're not looking.
- Barbara: [continues pacing] What happens when we need new clothes?
- Tom: I'll have made the loom by then. With the wool from the goat.
- Barbara: No no.
- [finishes pacing]
- Tom: Well? Well?
- Barbara: You're on.
- Tom: What?
- Barbara: We'll do it.
- Tom: Now, have you thought about this?
- Barbara: What do you think I've been doing? Taking my wellies for a walk?
- 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: [sitting in bed while Jerry stares out the window] What is it? What's going on?
- Jerry: The Goods. They're dancing in their goldfish pond.
- Margo: Ask them 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: Margo, if you're so damned interested, why don't you get out of bed yourself and have a look?
- 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."
- [first lines]
- Tom: [reading a birthday card] "Mozart and Mendelssohn were dead by 40, why aren't you?" How thoughtful.
- Tom: [to Jerry] So if I unleash all this dynamite I'm carrying around i'd be up in seventh heaven on the old sixth floor too, would I?
- Tom: [to Barbara] In four years time, Brian and all the whizz kids will be up on the fifth floor, and where will I be? Doing a Mr. Chips with a lot of infants.