Four Weddings and a Funeral

Charles:
Any idea who the girl in the black hat is?

Fiona:
The name's Carrie.

Charles:
Pretty.

Fiona:
American.

Charles:
Interesting.

Fiona:
Slut.

Charles:
Really?

Fiona:
Used to work at Vogue. Lives in America now. Only gets out with very glamorous people. Quite out of your league.

Charles:
Well, that's a relief. Thanks.

Tom:
Splendid, I thought. What did you think?

Bernard:
I, thought, splendid! What did you think?

Tom:
Splendid, I thought.

Charles:
Ehm, look. Sorry, sorry. I just, ehm, well, this is a very stupid question and... , particularly in view of our recent shopping excursion, but I just wondered, by any chance, ehm, eh, I mean obviously not because I guess I've only slept with 9 people, but-but I-I just wondered... ehh. I really feel, ehh, in short, to recap it slightly in a clearer version, eh, the words of David Cassidy in fact, eh, while he was still with the Partridge family, eh, "I think I love you," and eh, I-I just wondered by any chance you wouldn't like to... Eh... Eh... No, no, no of course not... I'm an idiot, he's not... Excellent, excellent, fantastic, eh, I was gonna say lovely to see you, sorry to disturb... Better get on...

Carrie:
That was very romantic.

Charles:
Well, I thought it over a lot, you know, I wanted to get it just right.

Charles:
How do you do, my name is Charles.

Old man:
Don't be ridiculous, Charles died 20 years ago!

Charles:
Must be a different Charles, I think.

Old man:
Are you telling me I don't know my own brother!

Charles:
No, no.

Charles:
All these weddings, all these years, all that blasted salmon and champagne and here I am on my own wedding day, and I'm... eh... em... eh... still thinking.

Matthew:
Well, can I ask about what?

Charles:
No... no... I think, best not.

Matthew:
Gareth used to prefer funerals to weddings. He said it was easier to get enthusiastic about a ceremony one had an outside chance of eventually being involved in. In order to prepare this speech, I rang a few people, to get a general picture of how Gareth was regarded by those who met him. Fat seems to be a word people most connected with him. Terribly rude also rang a lot of bells. So very fat and very rude seems to have been a stranger's viewpoint. On the other hand, some of you have been kind enough to ring me to tell me that you loved him, which I know he'd be thrilled to hear. You remember his fabulous hospitality... his strange experimental cooking. The recipe for "Duck à la Banana" fortunately goes with him to his grave. Most of all, you tell me of his enormous capacity for joy. When joyful, when joyful for highly vocal drunkenness. But joyful is how I hope you'll remember him. Not stuck in a box in a church. Pick your favorite of his waistcoats and remember him that way. The most splendid, replete, big-hearted, weak-hearted as it turned out, and jolly bugger most of us ever met. As for me, you may ask how I'll remember him, what I thought of him. Unfortunately there I don't have words. Perhaps you will forgive me if I turn from my own feelings to the words of another splendid bugger: W.H. Auden. This is actually what I want to say: "Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone. Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum, Bring out the coffin... let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle, moaning overhead, Scribbling on the sky the message: He is Dead. Put crepe bows 'round the necks of public doves, Let traffic policemen wear black, cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East, my West. My working week and my Sunday rest. My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, I thought love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now, put out every one. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun. Pour out the ocean and sweep up the wood, For nothing now can ever come to any good."

Charles:
It is dangerous! You know, there's nothing more off-putting in a wedding than a priest with an enormous erection, yech!

Charles:
Do you think there really are people who can just go up and say, "Hi, babe. Name's Charles. This is your lucky night"?

Matthew:
Well, if there are, they're not English.

Angus the Groom:
Ignore her. She's drunk. At least I hope she is. Otherwise I'm in real trouble.

Gareth:
I've got a new theory about marriage. Two people are in love, they live together, and then suddenly one day, they run out of conversation.

Charles:
Uh-huh.

Gareth:
Totally. I mean they can't think of a single thing to say to each other. That's it: panic! Then suddenly it-it occurs to the chap that there is a way out of the deadlock.

Charles:
Which is?

Gareth:
He'll ask her to marry him.

Charles:
Brilliant! Brilliant!

Gareth:
Suddenly they've got something to talk about for the rest of their lives.

Charles:
Basically you're saying marriage is just a way of getting out of an embarrassing pause in conversation.

Gareth:
The definitive icebreaker.

Mrs. Beaumont:
Are you married?

Fiona:
No.

Mrs. Beaumont:
Are you a lesbian?

Fiona:
Good lord! What makes you ask that?

Mrs. Beaumont:
Well, it is one of the possibilites for unmarried girls nowadays, and it's rather more interesting than saying, "Oh dear, never met the right chap," eh?

Fiona:
Quite right. Why be dull?

Mrs. Beaumont:
Thank you.

Fiona:
I was a lesbian once at school, but only for about fifteen minutes.

Charles:
Why am I always at, uh, weddings, and never actually getting married, Matt?

Matthew:
It's probably 'cause you're a bit scruffy. Or it could also be 'cause you haven't met the right girl.

Charles:
Ah, but you see, is that it? Maybe I have met the right girls. Maybe I meet the right girls all the time. Maybe it's me.

Young Bridesmaid:
What's bonking?

Scarlett:
Well, it's kinda like table tennis, only with slightly smaller balls.

Scarlett:
They say rubber's mainly for perverts. Don't know why. Think it's very practical, actually. I mean, you spill anything on it and it just comes off. I suppose that could be why the perverts like it.

Tom:
I always just hoped that, that I'd meet some nice friendly girl, like the look of her, hope the look of me didn't make her physically sick, then pop the question and, um, settle down and be happy. It worked for my parents. Well, apart from the divorce and all that.

Tom:
The great advantage of having a reputation for being stupid: People are less suspicious of you.

Father Gerald:
In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spigot.

Carrie:
Our timing has been very bad.

Charles:
Yes it has been. Very bad.

Carrie:
It's been a disaster.

Charles:
It has been, as you say, very bad indeed.

Charles:
Tom, are you the richest man in England?

Tom:
Oh, no. We're... like, seventh.

Bernard:
How's it going, Lyds?

Lydia:
Bloody awful.

Bernard:
Oh dear, what's the problem?

Lydia:
I was promised sex. Everybody said it. You'll be a bridesmaid, you'll get sex, you'll be fighting 'em off. But not so much as a tongue in sight.

Bernard:
Well, I mean, if you fancy anything, I could always...

Lydia:
Oh, don't be ridiculous, Bernard. I'm not that desperate.

Charles:
F***-a-doodle-doo!

Fiona:
Where's Gareth?

Matthew:
Torturing Americans.

Fiona:
How thoughtful of him.

Carrie:
I think we both missed a great opportunity here.

Charles:
Dear Lord, forgive me for what I am about to, ah, say in this magnificent place of worship... Bugger! Bugger! Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!

Charles:
Let me ask you one thing. Do you think - after we've dried off, after we've spent lots more time together - you might agree *not* to marry me? And do you think not being married to me might maybe be something you could consider doing for the rest of your life?

Carrie:
I do.

Gareth:
It's Brigadoon! It's Bloody Brigadoon!

Serena:
I probably I'm naking tols of nistakes

Gareth:
Not personally no. But I do know someone who could get you his fax number. Shall we dance?

Matthew:
Sorry we're so late. The others are just parking the car, I thought we'd all go with Tom.

Charles:
Late? So late?

Matthew:
Yeah. It's 9:45.

Charles:
9:45?

Matthew:
Yep. 45 minutes until "I do".

George the boor at The Boatman:
If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels but have not love, I am as a sounding gong or a clanging cymbal.

Gareth:
Good point.

Gareth:
The castle beckons, I think Tom.

Tom:
Did anyone else tread in a cowpat? No, thought not.

Charles:
Another wedding invitation. And a list. Lovely.

Fiona:
Do you think I'd hate him as much if he wasn't my brother?

Gareth:
Scarlotta! Fabulous dress. The ecclesiastical purple and the pagan orange symbolizing the mystical symbiosis in marriage between the heathen and Christian traditions?

Scarlett:
That's right.

Gareth:
We had the most delightful girl at our table. Carrie, apparently her fiancé's terribly grand and owns half of Scotland. How about you?

Charles:
I seem to be stuck in the wedding from hell, ghosts of girlfriends past at every turn. Next thing I'll bump into Henrietta and the nightmare will be complete.

Henrietta:
Hello Charles.

Charles:
Hello Hen, how are you?

David:
How are you doing?

Charles:
You remember the time you started dad's boat and the propeller cut my leg to shreds?

David:
Yeah?

Charles:
This is worse.