The Book Group

Clare Pettengill:
No, it's not a dirty book. It's just French.

[Kenny's 16 year-old girlfriend Harriet is on the phone]

Harriet:
He's on the twelfth chapter. I read the first eleven and it's a MASTERPIECE. It's like Walter Scott meets the Horse Whisperer. Yeah. Are you going clubbing next weekend?

Janice McCann:
I have sinned, father. I am a sinner.

Priest:
Was it anybody famous this time?

Kenny McLeod:
Harriet, maybe it's not working out, this living together.

Harriet:
What are you talking about?

Kenny McLeod:
Well, there's not a lot of space here and with me working at home and all...

Harriet:
Are you dumping me?

Kenny McLeod:
No, I'm just saying I don't think we should live together.

Harriet:
My God. This is extraordinary. We're having our first row, and you're dumping me. You bastard! How dare you abuse me like this, Kenny McLeod you misogynistic brute! Women born after 1985 don't put up with this sort of sh*t! Ever!

Jean Pettengill:
Oh, that's my other news. I'm getting married.

Clare Pettengill:
Oh, I didn't realize you were seeing anyone.

Jean Pettengill:
I'm not. It's just a visa thing.

Clare Pettengill:
What? Oh, just ignore those letters.

Lachlan Glendenning:
She talks about you in her sleep, you know Kenny.

Kenny McLeod:
Does she?

Clare Pettengill:
Do I? What do I say?

Lachlan Glendenning:
Kenny... Kenny... Kennykins...

Lachlan Glendenning:
So you liked my installation?

[Fist nods and smiles]

Lachlan Glendenning:
[Long pause] Why?

Clare Pettengill:
I think I'm suffering from clinical depression.

Rab:
Brilliant.

Clare Pettengill:
[after reading "The Little Engine that Could"] Barney, did you think that little engine was going to make it up that mountain?

Barney Glendenning:
Mm. Yes, I did, Clare. After all, 'tis an American book.

Dirka:
[Fist and Dirka are lying on a couch daydreaming about Kenny] Kenny makes us work so hard...

Fist de Grooke:
I've never felt so good.

Dirka:
What do you think his penis looks like?

Fist de Grooke:
I think it's very big.

Dirka:
Do you think he uses a pump?

Fist de Grooke:
What?

Dirka:
I read that somewhere.

Fist de Grooke:
I think he uses his fingers.

Dirka, Fist de Grooke:
[simultaneously] Mmmmmm...

Clare Pettengill:
Today is the first day of the rest of your life.

Jean Pettengill:
Do you fancy a cup of f*** off?

Dirka:
Is there any food?

Fist de Grooke:
Dirka, don't let the doctors win!

Dirka:
I'm hungry!

Fist de Grooke:
So?

Jean Pettengill:
Hang on, isn't she pregnant?

Fist de Grooke:
Pregnant doesn't mean fat.

Jean Pettengill:
Yeah it does.

Clare Pettengill:
[while having a Don Quixote themed dream about her and Kenny but instead of dialogue, there is only porn sounds and Clare starts talking in her sleep] Where are the subtitles? I can't see the subtitles.

Lachlan Glendenning:
Clare? Do you want to have sex?

Jean Pettengill:
[hearing how Miles is talking about his teenage daughter] Are you a little weird, Miles?

Jean Pettengill:
Okay, what we just heard was a bottle of Jim Beam - a present for you in fact. Now my wardrobe such as it is will have that special whiff of sour match whiskey.

Clare Pettengill:
Everybody smells like that here in Glasgow.

Jean Pettengill:
Do you know what your spine is telling you, Lachlan?

Lachlan Glendenning:
Bad Lachlan.

Carol Ann:
We cannot know his legendary head with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso is still suffused with brilliance from inside, like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low, gleams in all its power. Otherwise the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could a smile run through the placid hips and thighs to that dark center where procreation flared. Otherwise this stone would seem defaced beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur: would not, from all the borders of itself, burst like a star: for here there is no place that does not see you. You must change your life.