“Well, I can’t believe the stuff that is not I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter is not I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. And I can’t believe that both I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter and the stuff that I can’t believe is not I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter are both, in fact, not butter. And I believe…they both might be butter…in a cunning disguise. And, in fact, there’s a lot more butter around than we all thought there was.”

“What came first – the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands – literally thousands – of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable, or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?”

“It’s just money, it’s made up, pieces of paper with pictures on it so that we don’t have to kill each other just to get something to eat.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot at all. I mean, there are elements of the ridiculous about you. Your mother’s pretty interesting. And you really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And you tend to let whatever’s in your head come out of your mouth – without much consideration of the consequences. I realise that when I met you at the turkey curry buffet that I was unforgivably rude – and wearing a reindeer jumper that my mother had given me the day before. But the thing is, um…what I’m trying to say very inarticulately is…that, um…in fact…perhaps, despite appearances…I like you very much…Just as you are.”

“We needed a new bedroom when your father took Rhonda, I put it on my Discover. We all owe up to our necks. We all spend like there’s no tomorrow – which we were told there wouldn’t be on three occasions. But your father’s revelations have been a little off the mark lately.”

“I went to this shrine today. And um, there were these monks and they were chanting. And I didn’t feel anything. You know? And um, I don’t know – I even tried ikebana and John is using these hair products. I just – I don’t know who I married.”

“Studying is hard and boring. Teaching is hard and boring. So what you’re telling me is to be bored, and then bored, and finally bored again, but this time for the rest of my life. This whole stupid country is bored. There’s no life in it, or colour, or fun. It’s probably just as well that the Russians are going to drop a nuclear bomb on us any day now. So my choice is to do something hard and boring, or to marry my Jew, and go to Paris and Rome and listen to jazz and read and eat good food in nice restaurants and have fun. It’s not enough to educate us anymore, Mrs Walters. You’ve got to tell us why you’re doing it.”

“No pressure, Bridge, but your whole future happiness now depends on how you behave on this one social occasion.”

“Some of us have great stories…pretty stories that take place at lakes with boats and friends and noodle salad. Just not anybody in this car. But lots of people – that’s their story – good times and noodle salad…and that’s what makes it hard. Not that you had it bad but being that pissed that so many had it good.”

“Don’t be bourgeois, Jenny. You’re better than that. You drink everything I put in front of you down in one, and you slam your glass down on the bar and ask for more, it’s wonderful. We’re not clever like you, so we have to be clever in other ways, because if we weren’t, there would be no fun. We have to be clever with maps, and…Do you want to know what stats are? Stats are old ladies who are scared of coloured people. So we move the coloureds in and the old ladies move out and I buy their flats cheap. That’s what I do. So now you know. And if you don’t like it, I’ll understand, and you can go back to Twickenham and listen to the Home Service and do your Latin homework. But these weekends, and the restaurants and the concerts – they don’t grow on trees. This is who we are, Jenny.”