John: Tell you what, we’re skint as you like.
Anne: How come? Where’s the money gone?
John: Luxury dog biscuits. Told you they’d be just as chuffed with the ones from Kwik Save.
Anne: What are we going to do?
John: You could get a job down’t cheese shop.
Anne: Sod off. I’m entering my twilight years. I should be parked on’t sofa eating After Eights in front of Corrie.
John: Rob a bank?
Anne: Don’t be daft. You wouldn’t even rob your gran when she broke her specs.
John: Fake my death, emotionally devastate our sons and flee to Central America with the insurance money.
Anne: Do you know what you are?
John: Go on.
Anne: A dunderhead with criminal pretensions.
John: Alright, don’t get your BHS undies in a twist.
Anne: The same one I fell in love with at Blackhall Rocks over a bread and dripping sarnie in the Summer of 1975.
It’s a cracking idea! What are we waitin’ on?
John: You not bothered about Mark and Anthony?
Anne: Come on, they can take a joke. Anthony’s bedded down in Basingstoke- he’s no stranger to humiliation.
I’ll push you off a cliff.
John: Hold up, love. Maybe I could get a cab and do some week-end shifts in Stockton-on Tees.
Anne: So you can have your 60th with a half pint of lager top down the Dog and Ferret? I don’t think so. I want to be suppin’ on cuba libras, me.
John: You’d have to act all upset, like you missed me.
Anne: Aye, well, I’ll just have to pretend the dogs have passed on.
Reckon we’ll drown you.
Anne: That should do it. I always said I was a canoe widow. Let’s cash it in.
John: Crikey, if you say so, Anne.
Anne: You bet your flat cap, I do. Grab a bottle of Blue Nun and we’ll make a list.