Educating Rita

Dr. Frank Bryant:
Did you know that Macbeth was a maggoty apple? Not many people know that!

Dr. Frank Bryant:
Sod them, eh, Rita! Sod them!

Rita:
Will they sack you?

Dr. Frank Bryant:
Good God no. That would involve making a decision. Pissed is all right. To get the sack, it would have to be rape on a grand scale. And not just with students, either. That would only amount to a slight misdemeanour. No, for dismissal it would have to be nothing less than buggering the Bursar.

Rita:
Have they sacked you?

Dr. Frank Bryant:
I made rather a night of it last night so they're giving me a holiday. Two years in Australia.

Rita:
Did you bugger the Bursar?

Dr. Frank Bryant:
Metaphorically.

Rita:
Christ! My customer! She only come in for a demi-wave, she'll come out looking like a flippin' muppet!

Trish:
Wouldn't you just *die* without Mahler?

Dr. Frank Bryant:
We split up, Rita, because of poetry.

Rita:
You what?

Dr. Frank Bryant:
One day, my wife explained to me that, for the past fifteen years, my output as a poet had dealt entirely with the part of our lives in which we discovered each other.

Rita:
Are you a poet?

Dr. Frank Bryant:
Was. And so, to give me something new to write about, she left me. A very noble woman, my wife - she left me for the good of literature. And remarkably it worked.

Rita:
What, you wrote a lot of good stuff, did ya?

Dr. Frank Bryant:
No. I stopped writing altogether.

Rita:
Why?

Trish:
Darling, why not?

Rita:
Oh, Trish, don't. Come on, it's all right, don't cry. You're still here.

Trish:
That's why I'm crying - it didn't work. It didn't bloody work.

Rita:
Trish. Look, you didn't really mean to kill yourself. You were just...

Trish:
Just what, darling? Poor Susan. You think you've got everything, don't you?

Rita:
Trish, you have.

Trish:
Oh yes. When I listen to poetry and music, then I can live. You see, darling, the rest of the time it's just me. And that's not enough.

Rita's Mother:
There must be better songs to sing than this...