First of all, l'd like to thank all of you who've flown in from the States. I'm really touched. As for the rest of you, l'd have thought that lots of frightful Americans flying in was an excuse for staying away, so I thank you, too.


It's hell out there. Matthew's trapped with an evangelist from Minnesota.


Carrie: Having a good night?
Charles: Yes. It's right up there with my father's funeral for sheer entertainment value.

Henrietta: Charles! Charles, we must talk.
Charles: Right.
Henrietta: The thing is, Charlie, l've spoken to lots of people about you. Everybody agrees you're in real trouble, Charles.
Charles: Am l?
Henrietta: You see, you're turning into a kind of serial monogamist. One girlfriend after another, yet you never really let anyone near you. On the contrary... You're affectionate to them and sweet to them. Even to me, although you thought I was an idiot.
Charles: I did not.
Henrietta: You did. I thought U2 was a type of submarine.
Charles: In a way, you were right. Their music has a naval quality.
Henrietta: Be serious, Charles. Give people a chance. You don't have to think 'I must get married', but you mustn't start relationships thinking 'I mustn't get married'.
Charles: Most of the time I don't think at all. I just potter along.
Henrietta: Charlie! Oh, God! The way you used to look at me! I just misread it, that's all. I thought you were going to propose and you were just working out how to leave.

Disastrous haircut.


Charles: What turn off? Better not be the B359.
Scarlett: It's the B359.
Charles: Fuck it!

Excuse me. I think I had better be where other people are not.


Ladies and gentlemen, l'm sorry to drag you from your desserts. There are just one or two little things I feel I should say, as best man. This is only the second time l've been a best man. I hope I did OK that time. The couple in question are at least still talking to me. Unfortunately, they're not actually talking to each other. The divorce came through a couple of months ago. But l'm assured it had absolutely nothing to do with me. Paula knew Piers had slept with her sister before I mentioned it in the speech. The fact that he'd slept with her mother came as a surprise, but I think was incidental to the nightmare of recrimination and violence that became their two-day marriage. Anyway, enough of that. My job today is to talk about Angus. There are no skeletons in his cupboard. Or so I thought. I'll come on to that in a minute. I would just like to say this. I am, as ever, in bewildered awe of anyone who makes this kind of commitment that Angus and Laura have made today. I know I couldn't do it and I think it's wonderful they can. So, back to Angus and those sheep.


Matthew: Gareth used to prefer funerals to weddings. He said it was easier to get enthusiastic about a ceremony one had an outside chance of eventually being involved in. In order to prepare this speech, I rang a few people, to get a general picture of how Gareth was regarded by those who met him. Fat seems to be a word people most connected with him. Terribly rude also rang a lot of bells. So very fat and very rude seems to have been a stranger's viewpoint. On the other hand, some of you have been kind enough to ring me to tell me that you loved him, which I know he'd be thrilled to hear. You remember his fabulous hospitality... his strange experimental cooking. The recipe for "Duck à la Banana" fortunately goes with him to his grave. Most of all, you tell me of his enormous capacity for joy. When joyful, when joyful for highly vocal drunkenness. But joyful is how I hope you'll remember him. Not stuck in a box in a church. Pick your favorite of his waistcoats and remember him that way. The most splendid, replete, big-hearted, weak-hearted as it turned out, and jolly bugger most of us ever met. As for me, you may ask how I'll remember him, what I thought of him. Unfortunately there I run out of words. Perhaps you will forgive me if I turn from my own feelings to the words of another splendid bugger: W.H. Auden. This is actually what I want to say: "Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone. Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum, Bring out the coffin... let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle, moaning overhead, Scribbling on the sky the message: He is Dead. Put crepe bows 'round the necks of public doves, Let traffic policemen wear black, cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East, my West. My working week and my Sunday rest. My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, I thought love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now, put out every one. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun. Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood, For nothing now can ever come to any good."

Tom: Splendid, I thought. What did you think?
Bernard: I, thought, splendid! What did you think?
Tom: Splendid, I thought.

Charles: Any idea who the girl in the black hat is?
Fiona: The name's Carrie.
Charles: Pretty.
Fiona: American.
Charles: Interesting.
Fiona: Slut.
Charles: Really?
Fiona: Used to work at Vogue. Lives in America now. Only gets out with very glamorous people. Quite out of your league.
Charles: Well, that's a relief. Thanks.

Carol Connelly: Is it a secret what you're doing here?
Melvin Udall: I had to see you.
Carol Connelly: Because?
Melvin Udall: It relaxes me. I'd feel better sitting ouside your apartment on the curb than any other place I can think of or imagine.

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