Fleabag, Season 1

Fleabag:
[About her stepmother] To be fair, she is not an evil stepmother. She's just a cunt.

Fleabag:
You know that feeling when a guy sends you a text at two o'clock on a Tuesday night asking if he can come and find you and you've accidentally made it out like you've just got in yourself so you have to get out of bed, drink half a bottle of wine, get in the shower, shave everything, dig out some Agent Provocateur business, suspender belt the whole bit and wait by the door til the buzzer goes?

Fleabag:
Dad's way of coping with two motherless daughters was to buy us tickets to feminist lectures, start fucking our godmother and eventually stop calling.

Feminist lecturer:
So I pose the question to the women in this room today: please raise your hands if you would trade five years of your life for the so-called "perfect body".

[Fleabag and Claire immediately raise their hands, then realise that nobody else in the auditorium has.]

Fleabag:
[to Claire] We are bad feminists.

Fleabag:
Oh fuck it, I have a horrible feeling that I'm a greedy perverted, selfish, apathetic, cynical, depraved, morally bankrupt woman who can't even call herself a feminist.

Dad:
Well... [beat] You get all that from your mother.

Fleabag:
Boo's death hit the papers. "Local cafe girl gets hit by a bike. And a car. And another bike."

Fleabag:
I'm not obsessed with sex, I just can't stop thinking about it. The performance of it. The awkwardness of it. The drama of it. The moment you realise someone wants your body. Not so much the feeling of it.

Fleabag:
When did you realise you were so good looking?

Arsehole Guy:
I knew I was different when I was about nine, but shit got real around 11.

Fleabag:
Shit got real?

Arsehole Guy:
You know... aunts got weird.

Fleabag:
I masturbate a lot these days. Especially when I'm bored. Or angry. Or upset. Or happy.

[Claire wrongly believes that Martin and Fleabag are planning a surprise party for her]

Claire:
Listen, I don't want to know anything about this surprise party but, if you could just, erm, have it at mine this Friday at 7:30, that'd be great. I can organise it and act surprised but if you could just, er... do you know what, why don't I just do it? I can organise it, do the food, act surprised, and just take it off your hands. I mean, I can see that you're busy, so...

Fleabag:
OK, if you want.

Claire:
Well, I don't want to, but I think it would be easier for everyone if I could just... OK. I mean, I've done it, it's done.

Fleabag:
I mean, the man's got a problem. But no-one wants to admit there's a problem because then they don't get to have crazy nights out with Fun Drunk Martin. He's one of those men who is explosively sexually inappropriate with everyone, but makes you feel bad if you take offence because he was "just being fun".

Fleabag:
"Chic" means boring. Don't tell the French.

Fleabag:
I did a fart the other day that was exactly like mum's.

Claire:
A door opening or suspicious dark?

Fleabag:
A door opening.

Claire:
It means you're getting mum's bum.

Fleabag:
God, I'd be lucky. My bottom dropped ages ago. My farts used to be like PAH! Now they're just fighting their way out.

Claire:
I haven't farted in about three years.

Fleabag:
Do you know what the lesbian app for Grindr is called? Twat nav.

Claire:
Don't make this fun!

Distant male voice:
SLUTS!

Fleabag:
[looking round, surprised] Yes?

Bank manager:
They keep asking me, "What do you want from this workshop? What do you want?" I'm not telling them what I want. I want to move back home. I want to hug my wife, protect my children, protect my daughter. I want to move on. I want to apologise, to everyone. Want to go to the theatre. I want to take clean cups out of the dishwasher and put them in the cupboard at home and the next morning, I want to watch my wife drink from them. And I want to make her feel good. I want to make her orgasm again. And again.

Fleabag:
Truly, I just want to cry. All the time.

Bank manager:
Cafes are a very difficult business. You've certainly made this one very unique.

Fleabag:
I also fucked it into liquidation.

Bank manager:
OK.

Fleabag:
And I fucked up my family.

Bank manager:
Did you?

Fleabag:
And I fucked my friend by fucking her boyfriend.

Bank manager:
Right...

Fleabag:
And sometimes I wish I didn't even know that fucking existed. And I know that my body, as it is now, really is the only thing I have left, and when that gets old and unfuckable I may as well just kill it. And somehow there isn't anything worse than someone who doesn't want to fuck me. I fuck everything. Except for when I was in your office, I really wasn't trying to have sex. You know, either everyone feels like this a little bit, and they're just not talking about it, or I'm completely fucking alone. Which isn't fucking funny.

Bank manager:
People make mistakes.

Fleabag:
It's why they put rubbers on the ends of pencils.

Bank manager:
Is that a joke?

Fleabag:
I don't know.

Fleabag:
There's always a stage when someone's falling in love with you that they lose their erection. They get confused, they panic, the stakes get too high, the blood rushes from their dick to their heart.

Arsehole Guy:
Oh, Jesus.

Fleabag:
And everything is fucked.

Dad:
Jesus, why do daughters say they get fucked up by their fathers when it's so often the other way round?