Auf Wiedersehen, Pet, Series 2

Bomber:
It's nice to think you could retire to somewhere like this. I suppose the best I could hope for is a caravan near Clevedon overlooking the Bristol Channel.

Neville:
At least people would talk to you there, Bomb. You'd have neighbours and friends. Where out here, you'd probably wind up next to some people like that couple who hoyed us out of their pool today.

Oz:
Aye. I know we were trespassing, like, but as soon as I seen his face I hate him. He's just the sort of person that makes you ashamed to be English.

Barry:
In all fairness, Oz, he probably feels exactly the same about you.

Oz:
What? Well, he shouldn't, should he? 'Cos I'm isn't. He is. He is. Every time I see his sort, the hairs on me back curl up!

Moxey:
Yeah. The bourgeoisie.

Oz:
Yeah. A prick, in my language. He's the sort of bloke who'd sit in the golf club all day, moaning and groaning, or write to the papers about [Posh accent] how people don't pull their weight. [Normal accent] Then what does he do when he cops his pension, eh? Whoosh! Body sweve doon to Spain so he'll not get collared wi' nae tax!

Barry:
Er, when did you last pay your income tax, Oz? Was it...

Oz:
What's that gotta do with anything?