Coupling, Series Three

Jeff:
Women remember, Steve. It's like they've got minds of their own.

Sally:
You've always got to send a man a book when you split up, to prove how you're a caring, giving person, and how they're going to die in a pit of their own filth.

Susan:
[Asked by Sally if she wants to talk about her break-up with Steve] Okay... you know what's really getting me mad? My boyfriend... my fiance... the man who, against all my better judgment I actually love... chatted up a woman in a bar. And on the very same day - the very same day - I chatted up a man. Do you see? Do you get it? I'm equally at fault. How can I ever forgive him for that? But, of course, I'm not going to forgive him because... because men - and I don't mean to generalise - are CRAP! They're the human race's only failed gender! Who needs them? And why are they so difficult to keep hold of? Do you think they realise that, were it not for the genetic imperative to populate the earth, they wouldn't get a date? That's one hell of an inducement! "No pressure, girls, but shag one of these or it's curtains for all humankind!" That's harrassment! But you know what? Do you know what's even more crap than men? WE are more crap than men! All those stupid books you guys had and... and these magazines! A hundred pages of "Men are useless bastards" and an article on why you should wake them up with a blow job! Am I alone on spotting the inconsistency here? And these places [beauty parlours] 'cause, for God's sake, don't let them see what we really look like! Just let them enjoy the results; don't let them see how it all happens.

Jane:
You know... I went out with Steve for six years...

Susan:
No, you didn't. You went out with him for four years. I checked.

Jane:
Oh... well it seemed longer.

Susan:
Yeah! Yeah! Of course it seemed longer. I, myself, have been going out with him since the 12th century. Or possibly since last week; it's hard to keep track. Because how are you supposed to measure time with the man that you want to spend the rest of your life with? What would make sense? Centuries? Nanoseconds?

Sally:
Eggs.

Jeff:
Do you know what arses are, Patrick? Arses are the human race's favourite thing. We like them on each other, we like them on magazine covers, we even like them on babies! When it itches, we like to scratch them, when its cold, we like to warm them, and who among us, in a lonely moment hasn't reached back for a discreet fondle? When God gave us our arses he had to stick them round the back just so we wouldn't sit and stare at them all day. Cause when God made the arse he didn't say "Hey it's just your basic hinge, let's knock off early." He said "Behold ye angels, I have created the arse. Throughout the ages to come, men and women shall grab hold of these and shout my name!"

Steve:
It is not scientifically possible for a man to know what a woman wants. And that's not fair! Because you always know what we want.

Patrick:
Yeah, because we always have the decency to only want one thing.

Steve:
And do you ever thank us for making it so simple?

Patrick:
Never.

Patrick:
[on the phone to Jeff] We have our advisors online.

Steve:
[pointing at Susan and Sally] That's you two.

Susan:
This is ridiculous! Why does he need us to translate for him? Women aren't a completely different species, you know.

Patrick:
[on the phone] Jeff, women AREN'T a completely different species.

Steve:
He just needs to find out if it's a friendly drink or a date drink. He'll do friendly but he won't do date.

Sally:
Why doesn't he know already?

Steve:
Because he is Jeff, and there's no known cure.

Susan:
Need any help translating THAT one?

Sally:
These are my ovaries

Susan:
Please come inside.

Patrick:
[on the phone to Jeff] Careful, Jeff, she's packin' ovaries!

Jeff:
I have a girlfriend!

Wilma:
So you keep saying, so why are you here?

Jeff:
Well, I-I-I just...

Wilma:
She really does exist, this girlfriend?

Jeff:
Oh, oh yeah she exists. She's very much an existing person, she's got tons of existence. [beat] Well not too much existence, I don't mean she's huge or anything. She's somewhere between completely imaginary and a truck. If you can picture that.

Susan:
I'd like to think that the man I'm going to spend the rest of my life with has a better reason for staying faithful than, "It might be a trick."

Steve:
Well, it wasn't the only thing! It was just like the... deterrent.

Susan:
The deterrent?

Steve:
Well, yeah. You know, like nuclear weaponry. I mean, nobody likes it, but it can help to keep the peace.

Susan:
Steve, you've just compared our relationship to the Cold War.

Steve:
Which, may I remind you, really lasted.

Susan:
So the nature of the bond between us is, in fact, the threat of mutually assured destruction?

Steve:
Oh, among many other things.

Jeff:
I'm not bad. I've never been bad... I'm fairly new to mild naughtiness.

Sally:
I don't want to look great. I want to look thin.

Jeff:
You know jelly-wrestling... which is basically jelly with women wrestling in it... OK, well, think about this. Afterwards, after the wrestling, what happens to the jelly? Because you could sell that. That is a missed opportunity. You could bottle it and sell it... You take the women out first, obviously.

Jeff:
[Jeff is wearing a leather mask] We were just spending a quiet evening in front of the television. In the course of events I swallowed some of her jewellery.

Steve:
You what?

Jeff:
There was a swallowage incident. I swallowed an item.

Steve:
Right?

Jeff:
Now normally when I swallow some of Julia's jewellery...

Steve:
No, no, Jeff please. "Normally"... has never been used in the sentence before.

Jeff:
Well, you know what it's like when you've got your own actual real-life girlfriend. It's like you got a woman with a nudity switch. Sometimes when she's laying there and she's just so, so totally naked, I can't control myself. I just sort of hoover.

Steve:
OK.

Jeff:
Obviously now and then in the course of any nudity hoovering, you're gonna ingest an item. Now normally, I remain calm, let nature take its course, and in due time slip the relevant item back into her jewellery box.

Steve:
I see.

Jeff:
Not directly, of course.

Steve:
I was clinging to that hope.

Susan:
Jane's breasts scare me. They're like Mickey Mouse's ears. No matter which way you turn, they're still facing you.

Jeff:
Sally could be a lesbian! ...It could happen! She could be having a shower maybe. and probably Jane would be there. And she might happen to say, "Jane, could you help me soap my breasts?" "Your breasts, Sally?" "Yes, Jane, it's those tricky undersides." "Oh, I know what you mean, Sally, breasts can be a real dirt-trap."

Steve:
You do realise there is a difference between real life and low-quality lesbian porn?!

[Susan has removed the lock from the bathroom door, and doesn't understand why Steve is so upset about it]

Susan:
Men and toilets, the love that dare not speak its name. What's that about?

Steve:
[slams hand down] We are men! Throughout history, we have always needed, in times of difficulty, to retreat to our caves. It so happens that in this modern age, our caves are fully plumbed. The toilet is, for us, the last bastion, the final refuge, the last few square feet of man-space left to us! Somewhere to sit, something to read, something to do, and who gives a damn about the smell? Because that, for us, is happiness. Because we are men. We are different. We have only one word for soap. We do not own candles. We have never seen anything of any value in a craft shop. We do not own magazines fill of pictures of celebrities with all their clothes on. When we have conversations, we actually take it in turns to talk! But we have not yet reached that level of earth-shattering boredom and inhuman despair that we would have a haircut recreationally. We don't know how to get excited about... really, really boring things, like ornaments, bath oil, the countryside, vases, small churches. I mean, we do not even know what, what in the name of God's arse is the purpose of pot-pourri! Looks like breakfast, smells like your auntie! Why do we need that? So please, in this strange and frightening world, allow us one last place to call our own. This toilet, this blessed pot, this...Fortress of Solitude. You girls, you may go to the bathroom in groups of two or more. Yet we do not pass comment. We do not make judgement. That is your choice. But we men will always walk the toilet mile... alone.

[pause]

Susan:
Would you like me to put the lock back on the toilet door, dear?

Steve:
Would you mind?

Susan:
You should have asked.

[Jeff solves the toilet door problem by using a wedge to keep the door shut]

Jeff:
Area secure, 007.

Susan:
Have you phoned Sally yet?

Patrick:
No.

Susan:
Well phone her soon, Patrick. Or, no offence, I'll rip your throat out.

Patrick:
Sally, you need someone good enough for you. You don't want some mutton-headed city boy who spends all his time thinking about his cars and his golf clubs. You want somebody who can love you the way you deserve to be loved, the way I want you to be loved. Sally, you need someone who will love you forever, properly. You're my friend, Sally. I want to see you with the best. You need Mr. Amazing, Mr. Incredibly-Superbly-Fantastic...ness. In your heart, I'm sure you know I'm right.

Sally:
I don't want Mr. Superbly-Incredibly-Fantasticness, you stupid, stupid arse. I want you.

Patrick:
For God's sakes, Sally.

Sally:
What? What?!

Patrick:
I was talking about me!

Sally:
I'm sor- You're Mr. Superbly, Incredibly Whatever?

Patrick:
[gesturing to self] Well, yes!

Steve:
[nervously] How???...Who???...What???...Hippo!!

Susan:
[after announcing her pregnancy] Time's up, Steve. I think it's time for someone else to be a child.