Derry Girls

Derry Girls is a British teen sitcom created and written by Lisa McGee. Produced by Hat Trick Productions, it is set in Derry, Northern Ireland in the 1990s. The first series was broadcast in January and February 2018 on Channel 4. The second series was shown in March and April 2019. Series 1 Children of the Crossfire [1.01] Erin: I won’t put up with it anymore. Teenagers have rights now, you know. Mary Quinn: Don’t be ridiculous. Erin: They do, Ma. It’s true. Sure, Macaulay Culkin might be divorcing his parents. Mary Quinn: Do you hear this? This’ll be someone she met at that stupid summer scheme you insisted we send her on. Her bloody “Friends Across the Barricades” thing. I have nothing against Protestants, I’m all for integration, I am, but if they’re letting their weans divorce them… Erin: Macaulay Culkin isn’t a Protestant, Ma. Mary Quinn: It’s only gonna give our weans ideas. Erin: Well, he might be. I didn’t meet him at Friends Across the Barricades. Mary Quinn: I don’t care where you met him. You’re not to see him again. Understood? Granda Joe: Them weans shouldn’t have to take the bus to school. You should be driving them, you useless shite. Gerry Quinn: I have to work, Joe. Granda Joe: Work? (chuckles) Is that what you call it? Gerry Quinn: Yes. Granda Joe: Why don’t you just leave my Mary alone? Gerry Quinn: Because we’ve been married for 17 years, Joe. We have two children. And because we’re in love with each other. Erin: Oh, boke. Granda Joe: I’ll find some dirt on you yet, boy. I’ve got people working on it. Aunt Sarah: Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not enjoying this bomb. Joe Quinn: Shocking. Mary Quinn: Desperate. Aunt Sarah: Disgusting and disgraceful. I have an appointment in Tropicana at 12:00. Fifteen minutes in the stand up. But sure I’ll not get over the bridge at this rate. It’s going to play havoc with my build-up. This is what they want. They want ordinary people to suffer. This is what it’s all about. Erin: I’m pretty sure interfering with your sunbed sessions isn’t very high up on anyone’s political agenda, Aunt Sarah. (The girls are not wearing their denim jackets over their blazers as agreed) Clare: What’s all this? I thought we were going to be individuals this year. Erin: Look, I wanted to, Clare, but my Ma wouldn’t let me. Clare: Well, I’m not being individual on my own! (Takes off jacket) Erin: Who owns the fella? Michelle: Me. Well, come on, then, ball-ache. Are you introducing yourself, or what? James: Hi. I’m Michelle’s cousin, James. Orla: Why’s he making that funny noise? Michelle: He’s English, Orla. That’s the way they talk. He’s my Auntie Kathy’s wean. I told you about my Auntie Kathy. She went to England years ago to have an abortion. Never came back. Never got the abortion, either. Lucky for you, James, eh? Ha! James: I didn’t actually know that. (British soldiers board the school bus) James: What’s going on? Michelle: I don’t know. But do you think if I told him I had an incendiary device down my knickers, he’d have a look? Erin: Michelle, he’s a soldier. Michelle: Ach, some of them are rides. I’m willing to admit it, even if nobody else will, because I’m a beacon of truth, Erin. Erin: You’re a mouth, that’s what you are. Erin: Please, Michelle. Michelle: No. I have no interest in David Donnelly’s spazzmo band. (eating Quavers) Clare: They look nice. Erin: I can’t go on my own. Clare: Are they nice? Michelle: Bring Bobby Sands. Clare: Sure, how could I go? I’m so weak I can barely walk. Michelle: What about Orla? Erin: Orla’s… Orla: I love my wee fingers. Erin: Orla’s mental. Come on, Michelle. I’m begging you. It’s my big chance with David. I’d do it for you. Michelle: Fine! But we both know you’re gonna just sit in the corner like a frigid fuck. Erin: I’m not frigid. Orla: You’ve never even kissed a boy before. You practice on your pillow sometimes, but you don’t think that’s the same. Erin: The reading of the diary was bad enough. I could do without the quoting it from memory. James: Michelle, would you mind showing me where the toilet is? Michelle: You are really starting to do my head in, do you know that? (PA chimes) Woman: Will the following pupils please report to Sister Michael’s office immediately? Erin Quinn, Orla McCool, Clare Devlin, Michelle Mallon, and the wee English fella. Thank you. Michelle: I wonder what that could be about. Mary Quinn: Erin, what in God’s name? Gerry Quinn: Did you kill that wee nun, girls? Erin: Of course we didn’t! Aunt Sarah: Then why were you pissing on her dead body and making sandwiches? Granda Joe: Say nothing, girls. Say nothing till we’ve seen a lawyer. Deirdre Mallon: Sorry I’m late, Sister. Couldn’t get over the bridge. This bloody bomb. I begged the Brits to let me take my chances, but the awkward bastards made me go the long way. Mr. Devlin: Sorry to keep you waiting, Sister. How long does it take to defuse a fecking bomb? Sure the wee robots do all the work. Oh, killing nuns now, is it? Clare: I didn’t, Daddy! Mr. Devlin: You wait until your mother hears about this. Sister Michael: Obviously, Sister Declan’s death was extremely shocking and unexpected. We’re still struggling to understand exactly what happened. Erin: Yeah? Can I just ask, what age was Sister Declan? Sister Michael: She’d have been 98 on Friday. Erin: Right. Might that shed some light on the situation? Sister Michael: How so? Erin: Does anybody else have any thoughts on the whole “her being almost 98 years of age” thing? Granda Joe: Struck down in her prime. Part-Time Job [1.02] Sister Michael: On Monday morning, several of our Year 13s will face their GCSE maths resit. Now, I know how daunting resit examinations can be, so if anyone is feeling anxious or worried, or even if you just want to chat, please, please, do not come crying to me. Gerry Quinn: Okay, that is one portion of redfish, one portion of whitefish, two bags of chips – Granda Joe: No, no, no! Two bags won’t be enough. Gerry Quinn: Two’s plenty, Joe. Granda Joe: Four! Four should cover it. Gerry Quinn: Three, then. We’ll compromise. Granda Joe: I’ll compromise you through that window. Mary Quinn: That’s enough, Da. Granda Joe: The tight bastard’s trying to starve us all, Mary! Erin: Any luck with the trust fund? Clare: No. According to my mam, we’re actually quite poor. Erin: Aye, I think we might be as well. Uncle Colm: There was a knock at the door, this must have been, ach, we’re talking eight, half eight, for I was halfway through me dinner. And up I got to open it, and there they both were, large as life. And the taller fella, though, to be fair, there was no more than an inch in it. Mary Quinn: Jesus wept. Uncle Colm: The slightly taller fella, he says to me, says he, “Do you know who we are?” Granda Joe: How’s a body supposed to enjoy his dinner? Uncle Colm: And I says to him, says I, “Well, I can’t be sure now, but maybe if you took off the balaclavas.” And then he says to me, the slightly taller fella does, he says, “Step aside. We are armed.” Orla: Class. Uncle Colm: And that’s when the smaller fella, although, as I say, we are talking an inch… Erin: Mammy, make it stop. Uncle Colm: …an inch and a half at most. Aunt Sarah: I need a drink. Uncle Colm: He has the bright idea of tying me to the radiator, you see. And I remember saying to myself, says I, “Colm, it’s a good job you have the Economy 7 on the old timer, or you’d be roasted here.” Aunt Sarah: Did you go for the Economy 7 in the end, Colm? I thought you said the hot water settings were a minefield? Gerry Quinn: For the love of God, Sarah, no diversions, please. Mary Quinn: Aye, come on, let’s pick it up. They tied you to the heater. Uncle Colm: They did indeed. And there I am, shackled to the thermostatic valve with me new shoelaces, when one of them, the smaller fella, or, hang on, maybe it was the-- Gerry Quinn: It doesn’t matter, Colm. Uncle Colm: Well, it was one of the two. He’s looking for the keys to the van, all ranting and raving and getting himself all worked up, threatening to set fire to my good chaise lounge and all sorts. By Jesus, they were absolutely desperate to borrow thon van. Mary Quinn: Colm, they didn’t borrow your van. They stole your van, used it to move arms across the border, and then they blew it up. Uncle Colm: Aye. Nightmare altogether. Clare: You will never guess what she’s done this time, Erin. Erin: Did she nick the noticeboard from the chip shop, Clare? Erin: So, firstly we have the tutoring. And out of everyone, I thought you might be best suited to that, Clare, because-- Clare: I’m the brightest. Erin: Well, in that conventional sort of way, I suppose. There’s also some babysitting. The child will be in bed, so you should just about be able to manage that, Michelle. Michelle: Oh, thanks. And you should just about be able to manage this. Erin: Always the lady. There’s also some gardening, mowing a lawn, et cetera. This will require a bit of muscle, so… you should take that one, Orla. James: No, I should do that one. It’s a man’s job, Erin. I’m a man. Michelle: That’s debatable. James: Well, I’m more of a man than Orla. Orla: I do not accept that. James: Come on, Erin. Erin: Fine. So that leaves dog-walking and washing a car. Orla: Is it a Renault Clio? Erin: No. Orla: I’ll take the dogs. Erin: Okay. (“Little Green Bag” by George Baker Selection is playing) Erin: Let’s go to work. Clare: It’s slave labor, Erin! Orla: It’s worse than slave labor. We’re not even getting paid! (They all walk upstairs to see what is going on; Michelle is doing the yoga) (“No Limit” by 2 Unlimited is playing) Michelle: All right? (But Erin stops the music) Michelle: Boo! Clare: Where’d you get all this? Michelle: Fionnula’s cupboard. I think she might have a bit of a problem. Erin: You think Fionnula might have a bit of a problem? Put it away and get back downstairs, now. Michelle: Sit yourselves down. Have a wee drink. Clare: No, Michelle. It’s wrong. Michelle: So are those ski pants, Clare, but that didn’t stop you pulling them over your hole this morning. Wait for it. (She starts lighting the alcohol as a flaming shots) Clare: Michelle! Michelle: Don’t be such a shower of bore bags. (She carries the flaming shots) Sláinte, motherfuckers. Erin: No, no, no, no! Michelle: Fuck, fuck, fuck! (She accidentally drops the flaming shots on the floor which makes the fire spreads on the floor to the curtains) (After tying Orla, Clare and Michelle to the radiators, Aunt Sarah and Mary Quinn tie James and Erin at the radiators) Erin: Why would two gunmen break into a chippy? James: Ah! That really hurt. Michelle: You’re such a pussy. Erin: What were they looking for? Orla: Chips, obviously. Mary Quinn: They were looking for the keys to the van. Keep up, Erin. Aunt Sarah: Do you think we should knock them about a bit? Mary Quinn: No. Aunt Sarah: Nothing drastic. Just a few slaps. Mary Quinn: I said no, Sarah. Aunt Sarah: What, not even the wee gay fella? James: I’m not gay. Mary Quinn: Okay, that should do it. Ready? Clare: I hate to be a health and safety stickler, but surely you’re not actually planning on leaving us like this, are you? (They hear the door slamming) Mary Quinn: (whispering) Back door. Back door. Back door. Hurry up. (Mary Quinn and Aunt Sarah leave) (“La Mer” by Charles Trenet is playing) (Fionnula returns back realizing what happened to these curtains) Clare: (gasps) Mary Quinn: (whispering) Push it, push it. Aunt Sarah: I’m pushing! I’m pushing it! Mary Quinn: Hurry up! Aunt Sarah: It’s locked! (They all come back to see Fionnula) Fionnula: What the fuck’s going on here, exactly?! Mary Quinn: Okay… Um, all right. Well, what happened was… (pointing to Michelle) Michelle was carrying this scented candle… (“Never Gonna Get It” by En Vogue is playing) Granda Joe: It’s just not as nice. The Miracle [1.03] Clare: Sweet suffering Jesus. It’s the morning already?! What are we gonna do? Michelle: Well maybe we could start with calming the fuck down. Clare: Calm down? We’re still on William of Orange, Michelle! We haven’t so much looked at the famine! Michelle: We’ve got the gist. They ran out of spuds. Everyone was raging. James: Well, I can’t tell my rebellions from my risings. Michelle: And whose fault’s that? If your lot had stopped invading us for five fucking minutes, there’d be a lot less to wade through! You English prick. Erin: It’s abuse. That’s what it is. It’s abusive. Does anybody have 10p? I’m ringing Childline. Michelle: You can’t ring Childline every time your ma threatens to kill you, Erin. Clare: Yeah, you can’t waste Esther’s time like that. Michelle: And anyway, you’re not alone We’re all gonna fail. We’re all gonna get our holes kicked, and we’re all in the same boat. Clare: I don’t wanna be in that boat! I wanna be in a different boat, sailing down a totally different river! James: Guys, all we can do is try our best. Michelle: Ach, don’t be such a fruit, James! Erin: Oh, my God! Look! (They all stare at the dog stroked by the army) Erin: Doesn’t that dog look like Toto? James: Oh, I suppose it does a bit, yeah. Erin: Looks exactly like him. Here, boy! (running over to him) Come here, boy! Here, boy! Come here, boy! Here, boy! Come here! Here, boy! Here, boy! Sister Michael: (on the phone) Could you put me through to Sister Thomas, please? Tommy! How are you? Yeah, not too bad. A retreat? (tuts) I dunno. I have judo on Friday. Don’t like to miss it. Now, I’ll tell you why I’m ringing you. So we’ve had an alleged apparition here this morning. Well, it’s in the weeping statue category. Sure, I know. Yeah, apparently there was a smirk as well. (chuckles) I mean, I’m not sure what Our Lady of the Sorrows has to be smirking about, but that’s by the by. Father Peter: Directly before the weeping, can you remember what you were doing, what you were talking about? Michelle: I remember that James was being a dick. Sister Michael: Miss Mallon. Michelle: I don’t like to use that word, Sister, but it’s so hard to describe James any other way, ‘cause he’s just such a dick. Father Peter: I don’t think you’re a dick, James. James: Really? Father Peter: Really. And you know who else doesn’t think you’re a dick? Our Lord. Sister Michael: For feck’s sake. Michelle: How do you know Our Lord doesn’t think he’s a dick? Father Peter: Our Lord doesn’t think anyone’s a dick. Michelle: I very much doubt that. Mary Quinn: I also have a question, pretty boy. Why are you encouraging all this? Father Peter: I wouldn’t say I’m encouraging it, I’m just open to the possibility. Mary Quinn: Well, I’m not. Not unless I see some cold, hard evidence. Father Peter: And maybe it’s there. Proof at last, Peter, proof at last. Mary Quinn: Is he all right? Sister Michael: I wouldn’t say so, no. He’s a priest, like. The Ukrainian [1.04] Erin: It’s class, isn’t it? Katya: Hmm. It’s much how I imagine. Erin: Oh, because of my letters? Well, descriptive narrative has always been a strong point-- Katya: No, not your letters. I see on news. Erin: What do you mean, you’ve seen on news? You don’t have news in the Ukraine. You don’t have televisions. Katya: Yes, we do. Erin: No, you don’t. Katya: We do. Erin: Really? Katya: Of course. Mary Quinn: Erin, stop hogging the Russian. Gerry Quinn: Yeah, come on, Erin. Give Orla a go. Erin: She’s Ukrainian, actually. Aunt Sarah: Yeah, go on, love. Say something to Katya. Orla: You name sounds a bit like “cat”. Aunt Sarah: God, aye, so it does. Granda Joe: You don’t know a Jack McGinley, do you? Moved to Moscow, ‘88, ‘89, it would have been. Erin: Seriously? Katya: No. Granda Joe: Stocky fella. Katya: No. Granda Joe: Curly hair, bit of a lisp. Katya: I do not know this person. Granda Joe: Ah, maybe just as well, love. He’s an awful prick. Erin: So, Katya, I’ve done a bit of an itinerary for your stay. You should have received a copy in my last letter. Katya: I don’t read your letters, Erin. Erin: I’m sorry? I don’t follow. Katya: Your letters, they bore. Erin: They’re boring. Katya: Exactly. Erin: That’s not what I-- Katya: I can smoke here, yes? Erin: No. No, you can’t. Mammy’s like a bloodhound. (Michelle, Clare and James peep in) Michelle: Your ma said we could come up and have a look at the Russian. Erin: Ukrainian. Michelle: Is this her? Orla: Isn’t she cracker? She’s half mine. Erin: No, she’s not, Orla. Orla: Aye, she is. Mammy said so. Michelle: You’re so lucky, Erin. I begged my ma to let me have one, but she said we’ve no room now that my dickhead, ball-bag, English prick of a cousin’s moved in. Talking about you, James, in case you’re wondering. James: Yeah, that much was clear. Thank you, Michelle. Michelle: Have you seen the one Jenny Joyce got, the fella? Massive, massive ride. I’ve been thinking. Maybe time for me to lose the rest of my virginity. And he’s definitely a contender. You help me. You put in good word with your Cossack friend. So we can… (makes squishing sounds) Erin: Would you stop that? Clare: I’m very sorry for all your trouble, you know, the whole hoo-ha at the power plant. Katya: Okay. Clare: When you think about it, we’ve actually got a lot in common ‘cause we understand what it’s like to be a young person from a troubled place. Katya: Hm, it is not the same. Chernobyl was terrible nuclear accident. You people like to fight each other, and, to be honest, no person really understands why. Erin: Well, there’s actually a political element to it, Katya, and there’s a religious element. Katya: But you’re not two different religions here. You’re different flavours of same religion, no? Erin: Well, yes, but… It’s a little bit more complicated than that, Katya. Katya: To me, is stupid. Clare: Oh, my God. It is stupid. It is so, so stupid. Katya: Who is this? Erin: Oh, that’s just James. Katya: You are handsome. James: (gasps) Katya: And also sexy. Michelle: Is her English not great? (Katya stands up and kisses James) Clare: What’s happening? Erin: Why would she do that? Why? Michelle: Fuck knows. He’s minging. Orla: She seems to be really enjoying it. Erin: Is he enjoying it? Michelle: It’s hard to tell. Clare: Well, if he’s not enjoying it, isn’t that sort of sexual harassment? Erin: Yeah, we should put a stop to it. Clare: Aye. Orla: Does anyone want a Fruit Pastille? Katya: And when Erin finished reading me her poetry, she showed me some old walls. Erin: I showed you “the walls”. I showed you the city walls, and they are nothing short of spectacular. Aunt Sarah: Ach, if she’s not into walls, she’s not into walls, Erin, love. Mary Quinn: Have you any news, Da? Granda Joe: Not really, no. Mary Quinn: Right. Shay Harkham was telling me you were in Duggan’s Bakery yesterday lunchtime. Granda Joe: Well, that’s hardly news. Mary Quinn: Two buns he says you ordered. Granda Joe: Well, I often do. Mary Quinn: An apple turnover… and a cream horn. Aunt Sarah: A cream horn? Erin: That’s not like you, Granda. Aunt Sarah: Sure, you couldn’t pay you to eat a cream horn. Granda Joe: Cream finger, it was. Apple turnover and a cream finger. Mary Quinn: Cream horn, Shay said. Katya: Horns, fingers. Who cares? Mary Quinn: He swore on it. Said he saw it being bagged up. Aunt Sarah: And Big Shay has eyes like a hawk, so he does. Mary Quinn: Shay said when you left Duggan’s, you turned up Pump Street. Aunt Sarah: Pump Street? Who do you know on Pump Street, Da? Mary Quinn: What were you doing heading up Pump Street with a cream horn, Da? Granda Joe: I was visiting a friend of mine. Mary Quinn: What friend? Granda Joe: A new friend. Mary Quinn: A male friend, was it? Aye, I thought as much. Buying cream horns for his fancy woman. Sarah, what do you think of that? Granda Joe: We met at the Stations of the Cross. Erin: What station? Granda Joe: Jesus falls for the second time. Aunt Sarah: I could do without the details, Da. Granda Joe: Maeve and me, we… We just get on well, that’s all. Mary Quinn: Maeve? That’s her name, is it? Granda Joe: Yes, that’s right. Mary Quinn: Maeve. That’s what she’s called, is she? Granda Joe: She is, aye. Mary Quinn: Maeve. Maeve. Really? Maeve? Katya: Why does your mother make that sound? Mary Quinn: I cannot believe this. Gerry Quinn: I think it’s a good thing, love. Granda Joe: Just keep out of it, you! Mary Quinn: And that’s who you were winking at in mass? Aunt Sarah: Winking? At your age? Christ, I feel sick. Granda Joe: It was only a friendly wink. Mary Quinn: There is no such thing as a friendly wink! Gerry Quinn: Is there not? Mary Quinn: Our poor mother is barely cold, and you’re straight back out there, winking away. Gerry Quinn: Your mother’s been dead ten years, Mary. Granda Joe: Look, I’ll not tell you again! Mary Quinn: I’m sorry. I seem to have lost my appetite. (she leaves) Gerry Quinn: (sighs) Granda Joe: You happy now? (“Young at Hearts” by The Bluebells is playing) Mary Quinn: Can you believe him? Flaunting it in our faces like this. Aunt Sarah: I don’t even know the man anymore. Granda Joe: Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Both: Amen. Maeve: Unbelievable. Gerry Quinn: Jammie Dodger? Maeve: Blessed art thou, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Michelle: Shh! You’ll scare Clive. Erin: Who’s Clive? Michelle: Clive. Clive is a wee Prod from East Belfast. Clive came back from Ibiza, got on the wrong bus at Aldergrove Airport, then fell asleep. Clive woke up in Derry, surrounded by Russians and Fenians. Clive is absolutely shitting himself. Erin: So where's the real Artem? Michelle: Giant’s Causeway, probably. Foreigners fucking love the Giant’s Causeway. Holiday [1.05] Mary Quinn: Already? They’ve started already? Gerry Quinn: I think it’s just a rehearsal, love. Mary Quinn: They’ve been playing the same three songs since 1795. What do they need to rehearse for? Orla: Well, practice makes perfect, Aunt Mary. You know, that is why they are so cracker. Erin: I’m sorry? Did you just call the Orange Order “cracker?” Orla: I’m considering joining. Erin: I don’t think they accept Catholics, Orla, or, you know, acknowledge our right to exist. Mary Quinn: Give us a hand here, Gerry. This’ll not close. We need to shift ourselves. We’re the last Fenians standing. Granda Joe: Relax, love. We’ve a good two or three hours before the rioting starts. Mary Quinn: I’ll not settle myself until we’re over that border, Da. Gerry Quinn: You’re absolutely sure we need the big clock, love? Mary Quinn: We’ve been through this, Gerry. Gerry Quinn: Definitely don’t want to bring the wee clock? Mary Quinn: I can’t be doing with the wee clock. Granda Joe: What exactly is your problem with the big clock? Gerry Quinn: I wouldn’t say I have a problem, as such. It’s just much heavier and takes up a lot of room. Granda Joe: I’m telling you, Mary. That’s how it starts. Now he’s dictating what size of clock you can pack. Next, he’ll be telling you what to wear, what to say. Before you know it, you’ll be faking your own death and assuming a new identity. Mary Quinn: Erin, I told you not to let him watch that Sleeping With The Enemy. Erin: Couldn’t stop him, Mammy. Granda Joe: Great show. Mary Quinn: Stick that in the boot. Gerry: (grunts) Granda Joe: You’ll be as well getting one of the wains to do it. Out of the way. (He carries a heavy bag with the big clock in it) Gerry Quinn: Right. Clare: Listen to it. I mean, just listen to it. They can’t… I mean, they don’t… Why do they have to be so loud? Mary Quinn: Breathe, love. Erin: It’s far worse for me, Clare. I mean, my hearing’s impeccable. Clare: I’ve read the same paragraphs 47 times because I can’t concentrate because… Oh, my God, the noise! This whale, he’s a bad brute, Mrs. Quinn. I have to know if they catch him. Can I come away with you, please? Mary Quinn: Okay. Well, if you mother has no objections, I don’t see why not. Clare: (sighs) Thank you. Thank you. I’ll never forget this. Thank you! Erin: She’s taking you to a caravan in Portnoo. She’s not giving you a kidney, Clare. Aunt Sarah: Listen, Mary. I just did a reading. The cards say if we go on this wee holiday, we’re placing ourselves in grave danger, which I’m not buzzing about, to be honest. Erin: You’re not psychic, Aunt Sarah. Aunt Sarah: I am psychic, Erin. I did a course. I got a certificate. Aye, this does not look good. Granda Joe: Still no sign of the lottery numbers, then? Aunt Sarah: No, Daddy. This psychic carry-on, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know. Last night, I woke up to this wailing sound. I thought to myself, “Jesus, it’s Granny Pat. She’s trying to cross over.” Now, it turned out it was only Aggie next door. She’d put the electric blanket on full whack and scalded the legs of herself. But still, it could just as easily have been-- Erin: The disembodied spirit of a dead relative? Aunt Sarah: Exactly. My nerves are wrecked. I’m living on a knife’s edge here. Is there any Rice Krispies? Orla: Shh! Shh! This is the best bit. (She accidentally drops the cup on the floor.) Mary Quinn: Okay, everyone. Remain calm. I need you all to listen very carefully. Mary Quinn: Okay, I’m going in. (Deirdre Mallon knocks at the door) For the love of God, don’t come in here! Deirdre Mallon: Everything all right, Mary? Mary Quinn: Stay back, Deirdre. This is the death trap. Deirdre Mallon: Listen, Mary, I hate to do this to you, but me and Martin are both working nights, and I’m nervous about leaving these two on their own, what with the day that’s in it. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could take them with you? Mary Quinn: Ach, away, Deirdre, it’s just-- Deirdre Mallon: The English thing? Listen, Mary, I understand. I mean, he’s my nephew, and even I find it hard to get past. If I’m totally honest, there’s times when I look at him and I feel… Well… it’s pure hatred. I’ll not dress it up. Mary Quinn: No, no, it’s not the English thing. Deirdre Mallon: I hope to God it’s not the gay thing you’re offended by. James: There is no gay thing. Deirdre Mallon: Because I’d be disappointed in you, Mary. I’ll not lie. Mary Quinn: Of course not. I mean, if anything, the gay thing sort of cancels out the English thing. James: Again, no gay thing. Michelle: You wouldn’t move over there, James? I can’t see past your massive closet. Mary Quinn: I’m just not sure we’ll have room in the caravan. Granda Joe: It’ll be grand. Us men can camp outside. Gerry Quinn: Oh, God. James: Oh, God. Granda Joe: Run and ask Jim across the road for the lend of his tent. Deirdre Mallon: Well, thanks a million, Mary. I owe you one. You know, if you want our Ryan to sort that gable wall of yours out, you’ve only to ask. Mary Quinn: What’s wrong with our gable wall? Jim: Now, once your tent is erect, you’ll want to think about where to safely store your food, because believe me, girls, you do not want to attract predatory animals into your sleeping area. Bears are particularly vicious. Erin: Yeah, I’m not sure how many bears there are in Portnoo, though, Jim. Orla: But there was a cheetah on the beach one time. Erin: That was a greyhound, Orla. Orla: I know what I saw. Erin: You can’t marry an Orangeman, Michelle. Michelle: That’s a pity, ‘cause I think there’s something really sexy about the fact that they hate us so much. (“Holiday” by Madonna is playing) (They all set off in the countryside) Gerry Quinn: I hope your father appreciates the fact that I was the one who got us out of that mess. Mary Quinn: He won’t. Nobody back there actually believed you were a Japanese tourist, Gerry. They all thought you were a nutcase. They took pity on you. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Dear God, no. Gerry Quinn: What’s wrong? Mary Quinn: I can’t find my purse. Gerry Quinn: I can see your purse right there. Mary Quinn: No, no, that’s my sterling purse. I’m talking about my punt purse. I can’t find my punt purse, Gerry. Blessed Saint Anthony, the grace of God has made you the patron saint of all things lost and stolen. I turn to you this day with childlike love and deep confidence-- Gerry Quinn: Look, Mary, calm down-- Mary Quinn: Calm down, Gerry? We have no punts! We can’t go to the Free State without punts. We’re puntless. We haven’t a punt between us. Oh, God, I think… I think I’m having a panic attack. Oh, stupid punts. Gerry Quinn: Over this? So what happened back there was totally fine, but this is worth having a panic attack about? Mary Quinn: You have to turn around. Gerry Quinn: There is more chance of me eloping with your father to a flip-flop shop in Hawaii-- Mary Quinn: Look, okay, fine! But that means we won’t be able to buy anything, which means we’ll have no food, which means we’ll all starve to death. So, you know, on your head be it, Gerry. Oh, actually, do you know what? I think I put it in the suitcase. Gerry Quinn: False alarm there, Saint Anthony. Sorry for troubling you. The Wee Lesbian [1.06] Aunt Sarah: Orla has got really into step aerobics. Her instructor says she’s a natural. Says she’s got what it takes to go all the way. Mary Quinn: All the way in step aerobics? Aunt Sarah: But it’s out of control now, Mary. She’s stepping morning, noon and night. Apart from anything else, it’s dangerous. She nearly came through the ceiling yesterday. Okay, she might be gifted, but I just want her to have a normal childhood. Gerry Quinn: Er, look, I’m sorry. Do you absolutely need it? Ciaran: I’m afraid I do, sir, yes. Proof of ID. Gerry Quinn: But you have my surname written on it there. Ciaran: How do I know that’s your surname? Gerry Quinn: Because I just told you it was my surname. Ciaran: You could be lying. Gerry Quinn: Why would I lie? Ciaran: To get your hands on someone else’s photos. Gerry Quinn: Why would I want somebody else’s photos? Like, who would pay for somebody else’s photos? Granda Joe: Stalker, maybe. Ciaran: Yeah, exactly. Very good, sir. A stalker. Gerry Quinn: I’m not a stalker. Ciaran: Look, why don’t you just go home and have a wee look for your wee docket? Gerry Quinn: No. This is ridiculous. Just open that up and take out one of the photos. You see? That’s me wife there. Ciaran: How do I know you’re not just telling me that? Gerry Quinn: Cos that’s me standing beside her. Ciaran: I suppose you do look a bit like this man. Gerry Quinn: I am this man. Ciaran: It could be you. Gerry Quinn: It’s definitely me. My name is Gerry Quinn. This is my father-in-law, Joe. He can vouch for me. Granda Joe: I’ve never seen this man before in my life. Sister Michael: I’ve just received a phone call from Louise Kerr’s mother, and it’s not looking great. Jenny Joyce: Oh, God, I just can’t believe it. Sister Michael: It’s unlikely she’ll be returning to school before the end of the year, so I think the only thing we can do now is -- Aisling: Pray for her? Sister Michael: No. What use would that do? No, I think the best thing we can do is decide who will fulfil the role of editor now. Jenny Joyce: Sister Michael, some of us have actually already discussed this eventuality, and the thing is, well, nobody is comfortable stepping into Louise’s shoes. Aisling: It feels a bit, sort of, disrespectful. Jenny Joyce: We think this issue should be cancelled. Sister Michael: Well, fair enough, if nobody is willing to take her place. Erin: I’ll do it. Jenny Joyce: Excuse me? Erin: I’ll take her place. I’ll step into her shoes. I’ll do it. Sister Michael: Really? Erin: Absolutely. Jenny Joyce: No, you can’t. We are making a statement. You’re ruining our statement! Erin: Look, girls, I know Louise meant a lot to you all. Jenny Joyce: She’s not dead, Erin! Erin: Well, not yet. Hopefully she won’t, you know, die, but if she does, the show must go on! Isn’t that right, Sister Michael? Sister Michael: You terrify me. Jenny Joyce: You can’t be the editor! Aisling: You’ve never even written an article, Erin. Erin: That’s because I can’t get anything past Rupert Murdoch over there! Jenny Joyce: This isn’t fair. You can’t let it happen, Sister! Sister Michael: I know. But I’m bored now, so it looks like I probably will. Good luck, all. Erin: This was written by a girl. A real life lesbian walks among us. Orla: I don’t really believe in lesbians. Aunt Sarah: Do you not think there’s an awful lot of lesbians about nowadays? You can’t move for lesbians. It’s wall to wall lesbians out there. Gerry Quinn: Really? Granda Joe: Oh, it’s true. Bridget Gallagher, she’s a lesbian. Mary Quinn: Bridget Gallagher, who works in the post office? Granda Joe: I believe so. Aunt Sarah: Is she not a vegetarian, Da? Granda Joe: Sorry, you’re right. Vegetarian, Bridget is. (“Let’s Talk About Sex” by Salt-N-Pepa is playing) Michelle: Read all about the wee dyke. Erin: We will not be censored! Orla: Lesbians really do exist! James: I support gays, even though I, myself, am not actually gay! Erin: Come on, Clare. Clare: I don’t wanna get involved. I’m sorry. Erin: Coward! Sister Michael: (after a choral performance) Lovely, altogether. You know, every year I sit backstage listening to the singers and it really makes me realize just how talented the professionals who originally recorded these tracks were. Series 2 Across the Barricade [2.01] Erin: That summer was a remarkable one. It was the summer we dared to dream. For generations, we’d known nothing but violence. Nothing but hatred. But finally we were saying, “Enough is enough.” Finally, we were saying, “Let’s give peace a chance.” (Orla opens the bathroom door) Orla: She’s up here! Erin: Jesus Christ! Orla: She’s pretending she’s on Parkinson again. Mary Quinn: (Off-screen) Parkinson? Does she know what time it is? I’ll Parkinson her. I’ve enough on my plate without Parkinson. Erin: Close the door! (But Orla comes in and closes the door) No, Orla. Leave, then close the door. (Orla leaves and then closes the door) Erin: And it was Wogan, for your information! Aunt Sarah: Will any of your crowd be going, love? Clare: My crowd? Aunt Sarah: Or can you not get Protestant lesbians? Clare: No, I think you can get them all right, it’s just… Granda Joe: I heard that k.d. lang on the radio yesterday. Christ, but she’s some set of pipes on her. You’re a very talented people. Clare: Thank you? Michelle: We’re doing it for peace, all right, Mary. A piece of that fine Protestant ass! (Erin and Michelle give a hi-five) Clare: God, you are such a hypocrite, Erin. Erin: No, I’m not. I just don’t think there’s anything wrong with some cross-community… Fiddling…relations. Orla: So, we need to head south-east for 0.5 Miles and you’ll receive further instructions shortly. Michelle: We haven’t even left the estate yet, Orla. These Prods have some serious moves up their sleeves, you know. They’re not as fucked up about sex as we are. They’ve put the work in, they know what they’re doing. Clare: They’re people, Michelle! They’re not sex toys! Michelle: I beg to differ. James: I’m really looking forward to making friends with some lads. Michelle: Lads aren’t going to make friends with you, James. Lads make friends with other lads. James: I am a lad. Erin: Aye, so you are, James. Clare: Okay, how much money do we have? Michelle: Look, the riding of the Protestants is one thing, but I really don’t see why we have to buy them a present. I mean they already have all the land, all the jobs and all the fucking rights. Erin: Aye, Michelle, that’s definitely the attitude we should have entering into this weekend. Dennis: A present for Protestants. Ah, now my next Protestant gift delivery isn’t due to arrive until Wednesday. And as it stands, I’m completely out of stock, what with there being such a high fucking demand for that sort of thing around these parts. Orla: That’s a shame. Clare: How much for the Subbuteo, Dennis? Dennis: We’ll call it 16 quid. James: Could we call it £1.76? Dennis: No, we fucking couldn’t. Erin: How about we give you the £1.76 and we pay the rest off in installments? Clare: Yeah. Which would be what? £3.56 over four weeks? Dennis: Jesus, check out Rain Wean. Erin: Or, you could give us the Subbuteo, and then we could work off the debt. Clare: Yeah, we could do chores and stuff. Dennis: Chores? What do you think this is? Little House on the fucking Prairie? Orla: Do you watch Little House on the Prairie, Dennis? Dennis: GET OUT! Michelle: (accepting a teddy bear from a Protestant boy) I’m going to keep mine on my bed, where I sleep. In me knickers. Father Peter: As some of you may know, I took a bit of a sabbatical last year. Michelle: Do you mean when you shacked up with a slutty hairdresser but then she dumped you? Sister Michael: Miss Mallon, please! Raise your hand if you want to ask a question. Father Peter: Okay, I think we should just move on. Sister Michael: The hairdresser certainly did. Protestant Boy: She’s coming! Michelle: Who? Protestant Boy: The woman. The small angry penguin woman. Michelle: Sister Michael! Shit! (Sister Michael arrives) Erin: Oh, good evening, Sister. We just popped round because we had a few questions about the British Empire, which the boys have cleared up for us now, so… Jenny Joyce: They weren’t talking about the British Empire, Sister. They were having a party. I could hear the music. Sister Michael: You will go far in life, Jenny. But you will not be well liked. Ms De Brún and the Child of Prague [2.02] Sister Michael: Sadly, Sister Patrick has decided to leave us. She’s returning to her missionary work, educating the heathen inhabitants of a primitive and savage place. Teacher: She’s taken a teaching post in Belfast, Sister. Sister Michael: Precisely. (At the theatre, Mary and Gerry are about to go and watch The Usual Suspects) Mary Quinn: Ach, this is lovely, Gerry. Gerry Quinn: I thought it’d be nice for us to do something together, just the two of us, you know? Aunt Sarah: (arriving to see them) Mary! Gerry! You’re not allowed to smoke in this place. Can you believe that? It’s barbaric. Gerry Quinn: Sarah, what are you doing here? Aunt Sarah: Mary said you were having a wee night to yourselves, so I thought you might want some company. Gerry Quinn: Why? W-why would you think that? Ciaran: Sarah! Gerry Quinn: Himself as well, is it? Great(!) Mary Quinn: Sweet Jesus. Ciaran: Hiya, how are ye? Aunt Sarah: They don’t let you smoke in here, Ciaran. Can you credit it? Ciaran: This is a nice surprise. When Sarah asked me to the cinema, I thought, well, I thought she meant just the two of us. Gerry Quinn: No, Ciaran, because that would be… What’s the word now? Normal. Ciaran: Double date it is, then, so. Aunt Sarah: Wonder what’s keeping daddy. (She goes to see Granda Joe) Gerry Quinn: Excuse me? Granda Joe: I’ve got the tickets. Mary Quinn: We haven’t decided what we want to see yet, Da! Granda Joe: Well, I liked the look of that one with all the lads in the line-up. It’s got your man in it, the farmer from glenroe. Mary Quinn: What, Gabriel Byrne? Ciaran: He’s done a fair bit since glenroe now. Granda Joe: (to Ciaran) Who are you? His agent? Mary Quinn: Da, I don’t understand this. You hate the cinema. Granda Joe: Not since I discovered it’s the only way I can spend time with our colm. It’s the one place the boring bastard doesn’t talk. Mary Quinn: But colm’s not here, is he, Da? (Granda Joe doesn’t answer) Da? Uncle Colm: And that’s not to say, now, that in my younger years, I didn’t enjoy a boiled sweet. But then I heard tell of a fella from Ballynahinch-- What was it his name was, now? I had it there a minute ago. Ach, it’ll come to me. Anyway, this Ballynahinch lad, and, as I say, his name escapes me, but he was mad keen on the boiled sweets. Sure he couldn’t get enough of them. But in the end, well, didn’t he choke to death on one? A pear drop, I think it was. Or a clove rock, maybe. But either way, it’s not how I’d want to go. Mary Quinn: I know, love. I know. (Then they all go in to watch the film) Erin: Ms. De Brún is amazing. I’ve just never met anyone like her. James: She’s an inspiration. Clare: Absolutely. Michelle: She really knows how to grab things by the balls. Clare: Oh, yeah! Erin: She’s changed my life, she really has. James: She likes my accent. Orla: I’d die for her. Erin: I think I would too, you know. James: Me too. Michelle: Aye, fuck it, why not? Clare: Yeah. I mean, obviously I totally agree. I’d die for her as well, but I’m also conscious of the fact we’ve only know her, like, two days. Erin: And? Clare: Well, is it a bit weird she’s invited us to her house at night? Erin: What do you mean? Clare: Well, she’s a teacher. Erin: She’s much more than a teacher. Clare: Yeah. No, obviously I get that. She’s great, but it’s just that I have a feeling it might be sort of frowned upon. Erin: God, Clare, you’re so conditioned. Clare: What’s that supposed to mean? Michelle: It means you need to loosen the fuck up. Clare: I am loose, thank you very much. Michelle: Face it, Clare, you’re a craic killer. Clare: I’m not a craic killer. I AM NOT A CRAIC KILLER! Jenny Joyce: Well, well, well. What are you guys up to? Erin: Nothing much. Clare: We were just hanging out at Ms. De Brún’s house. Jenny Joyce: You were at her house? At night? Well, that’s a bit inappropriate. Clare: Your ma is a bit inappropriate. Jenny Joyce: That doesn’t even make sense. Clare: Your ma doesn’t even make sense. Jenny Joyce: Is she drunk? Clare: Your ma’s drunk. The Concert [2.03] Aunt Sarah: John’s really dying for peace, like, isn’t he? It’s all he ever goes on about. I hope it works out for him. Granda Joe: Belfast! Sure, why don’t you just sell the wains into white slavery and be done with it? Mary Quinn: Gerry’ll be with them, Da. Granda Joe: That’s worse! Sure, they hate his kind there. Gerry Quinn: My kind? Granda Joe: Pricks. Erin: Wise up, Mammy! As if a polar bear’s going to rock up at a Take That concert! Orla: He wouldn’t get a ticket, for a start. They sold out months ago. Mary Quinn: You’d be surprised, girls. Granda Joe: Aye, thon boys will get in where draughts wouldn’t. Gerry Quinn: Sure, the concert’s nowhere near the zoo. Granda Joe: But he’s not in the zoo anymore, is he, Simple Simon? He’s sauntering about Belfast without a care in the world. Aunt Sarah: Aye, keep up, Gerry. Gerry Quinn: What I’m saying is that it would be quite a lot of ground for him to cover. Mary Quinn: They’re quick on their feet when they wanna be, love. Orla: Someone might give him a lift. Erin: Whose side are you on, Orla? Michelle: Come on, Mary. If you don’t let Erin go, then our mas won’t let us go. Mary Quinn: Well, neither they should, and I’ll be ringing them to say as much. Clare: Oh, brilliant! James: I hate my life. Mary Quinn: Look, girls, I know how much you were looking forward to seeing This and That. Erin: Take That. Mary Quinn: But there’ll be other concerts. Erin: No there won’t. The fact that this one’s happening is a miracle. Nobody good ever comes here ‘cause we keep killing each other. Aunt Sarah: And now we’re overrun with polar bears. Granda Joe: Where will it end? Erin: Seriously! (They all go upstairs to the room) Michelle: Well, I’m not letting that fat furry fuck ruin the biggest day of my life. Erin: What can we do? (Four of them listen to Michelle) Michelle: Right. Listen, girls. I’ve never told anyone this before, but sometimes, when Robbie’s being interviewed, it’s like he’s sending me messages through the TV, you know, like, telepathically or whatever. It’s like he’s saying we’re meant to be together. Erin: Aye, maybe don’t tell that to anyone again, Michelle. Ever. Michelle: Look, this is too important. I’m going to that concert. I’m not afraid of a fucking polar bear. Erin: Me neither! James: Nor me. Michelle: Bastard! Orla: I’ll kill it with my own two hands if I have to. Erin: Bring it on! Michelle: Yes! Clare: Okay. We seem to have gone down a weird road here, people. I think we just got a bit confused. We don’t actually have to fight a polar bear. And if we did, I wouldn’t really fancy our chances because, well, they’re massive. Orla: But there’s five of us so… Clare: The point is the polar bear’s not the one stopping us going to the concert. It’s our mothers, and we’ll never get them to change their minds. Michelle: We’re not gonna try and change their minds. We’re gonna do something else. James: What? Michelle: Lie our holes off. Erin: We need a better plan, Michelle. Michelle: This is a great plan. Erin: We cannot walk to Belfast. Michelle: How far could it be? Have you ever seen Northern Ireland on a map? It’s fucking tiny. Clare: I have to say, I’m not overly keen on us being out in the open like this, just because of the whole there’s-a-polar-bear-on-the-loose-that-could-maul-us-to-death thing. Orla: It can try. Michelle: Is it just me, or is that gypsy an absolute ride? Erin: Michelle, you cannot say that. Michelle: What? Erin: They’re called travelers now. You can’t say “gypsy” anymore. It’s insulting. Michelle: Is it. Clare: Yes, yes it is. Michelle: Really? James: Who are they? Erin: They’re just people, James. They’re just people exactly like us. Orla: Except different. Erin: Yes. No. Clare: (gasps) That’s actually racist, Orla. Michelle: No, it’s not. They are different. Erin: They’re not. Michelle: Well, they live in caravans, for a start. Orla: I wish I lived in a caravan. Michelle: Aye, me too. Caravans are class. Erin: Can everybody stop being so racist, please? James: I’m a bit scared of them. Is that racist? Erin: Yes. Clare: Very much so. Michelle: Is gypsy even a race? Erin: Traveler. Michelle: We totally suit. Erin: Have you actually met them, Rita, Take That? Rita: No, I can’t stand them, if I’m being honest, but their fans are so thick they’ll buy any old shite, present company included. Erin: I think you mean “excluded.” Rita: No, no I don’t. Erin: I see. Rita: Pop music isn’t really my thing, truth be told. It’s all so fucking soulless. Nah. I’m a classical head, all the way, but I’ve been banned from trading at Glyndebourne ever since I absolutely battered that Pavarotti fan, and when I say I battered, I mean intellectually like. I did kick the shit out of him as well. Pavo’s “La Boheme” is very muscular, but for purity of tone, you simply cannot fault Bocelli! I mean, listen to that, girls. Pass the can there. Erin: The can of… oh, beer. I see. (Orla passes the can of beer to Rita) Erin: Alcoholic beer. Rita: (taking a sip of a beer) Oh, that’s fucking beautiful. Erin: While driving. Okay. Fine. Good. Rita: Mmm. What a fucking instrument. Glorious! Erin: Any idea what the speed limit is around here? Clare: Robie? Rita: Close your eyes, girls, and soak it up. Erin: Sure, of course, but maybe you could soak it up with your eyes open and, you know, on the road. The Curse [2.04] Michelle: You’re such a wreck-the-buzz, Clare. Clare: Look, Michelle, drugs are illegal, drugs are addictive, but perhaps most importantly, in this country, you can lose your kneecaps if you’re caught doing them, and I like my kneecaps, Michelle. They suit my knees. Orla: You do have cracking kneecaps, Clare. James: Is that true? Erin: Sort of. Mary Quinn: I just cannot believe it. Aunt Sarah: Listen, Mary. no matter what you’ve done, you’re still my sister. I’ll stand by you. Mary Quinn: I haven’t done anything, Sarah. Granda Joe: Exactly, love. Everybody knows you didn’t mean to kill the old boot. God rest her soul. Mary Quinn: I didn’t kill her. Granda Joe: You know what I mean. Not kill. Hex. Mary Quinn: I didn’t hex her either, Da. It was just a very tragic-- Granda Joe: My mother, she had the gift too, you know. By God, that woman could make her enemies drop like flies. Mary Quinn: Look, I don’t have any gift. There’s no dark forces at play here. I just said something unfortunate that happened to-- Aunt Sarah: Cause her death? Mary Quinn: Coincide with her death. Erin: Right, well, that’s the dishes done. Would you like another cup of tea there, Mammy? Mary Quinn: No, I’m fine. Erin: I’ll just grab the Hoover, give the stairs a bit of a going over. Orla: And I’ll maybe do a bit of dusting. Mary Quinn: What’s gotten into you two. What are you up to? What do you want? Erin: Nothing. We just thought that we should pull over weight a bit more, Mammy. Orla: You do so much for us, Aunt Mary. Erin: You deserve a bit of a break. Mary Quinn: I can’t hex people, girls. It was an accident. Gerry Quinn: So, how’s the wicked witch of the northwest? Granda Joe: Who put 50p in the eejit? Mary Quinn: God, how am I going to go to this wake? Granda Joe: It’ll be grand, love. But, listen, say if things do get heated, try not to rise to it. The last thing we want is another dead body on our hands here. Mary Quinn: I’ll do my best, Da. Sister Michael: Father Thomas usually deals with the wakes, but he’s very sick at the moment. Bedridden, in fact. Gerry Quinn: God! What caused it? Sister Michael: Jack Daniels, mostly. Uncle Colm: And now, I don’t mind a bit of a breeze – if anything, I prefer it – but thon was aggressive. So I says to myself, says I, “Colm, this is no day for a do.” Sister Michael: What’s happening? Uncle Colm: For when the bride arrived – and as I say, by this stage the wind was fierce – Sister Michael: Am I dead? Uncle Colm: I’ve never heard wind like it. Sister Michael: Is this my wake? Uncle Colm: Howling like a banshee, it was. Sister Michael: Am I in hell? Uncle Colm: So the poor girl, the bride now, this is, she arrives anyway, and isn’t she no sooner out of the car than she’s lifted up in the air like a paper doll, and blown into a flowerbed. Sister Michael: That’s actually quite funny. Clare What are we gonna do? What in under God are we gonna do? Michelle: It’s fine. Clare: It’s definitely not fine. There’s drug scones down there. If people eat the drug scones, then we’ve drugged those people, Michelle. Michelle: So? Drugging people isn’t a crime. James: You’ve a very loose grasp of the law, Michelle. Erin: What kind of person brings hash scones to a wake? Michelle: Typical. I try and do a nice thing, and this is the thanks I get. Clare: It’s terrible. There’s old people down there. What if an old person takes one? Michelle: Why does everybody get so sentimental about old people? Old people are arseholes. Erin: We have to get them back. Michelle: Look, I’m not disagreeing with you. I bought that stuff so I could get high, not your great uncle Colm. Erin: Christ, can you imagine? Orla: Hold on a minute. Where did the scones go? Erin: Okay, I’ll head for the kitchen and grab whatever’s still there. The rest of you look out for any ones that have gone rogue, and remember, be subtle. Michelle: I can’t believe we’re doing this. It’s fucking heartbreaking. Erin: Look, Granda’s had one, and now he’s acting really, really weird. Michelle: You’re being paranoid, Erin. Erin: He was nice to Daddy. Michelle: Jesus! Erin: Exactly! And if my ma starts asking questions… Michelle: Your ma won’t trace it back to us. Erin: Are you for real? She traces everything back to us. She traces things we haven’t even done, back to us. Clare: Are you sure this will work? James: This is how you get rid of drugs, Clare. I’ve seen GoodFellas, like, 20 times. Orla: That’s not the only way. I watched this film once about this girl who was trying to hide drugs, and what she did was, she shoved them right up her-- Michelle: I’m not sticking a scone up my hole, Orla, I’ll tell you that for nothing. Clare: Okay, I’m going to flush. Erin: Go for it. (flushing multiple hash scones down the toilet; water gurgles in pipes) Erin: Is it working? James: Of course it’s working. (Water seems to be rising) Clare: Is the water rising? Erin: Jesus Christ! Why is the water rising, James? James: I don’t know. The water didn’t rise in GoodFellas. Michelle: Fuck! We’ve clogged it. Orla: Who has a plunger? Erin: I’m afraid I left the house without my plunger tonight, Orla. Orla: Aye, me too. Nightmare, so it is. All: Oh, whoa! The Prom [2.05] Sister Michael: Miss Cheung’s family have recently moved here to Derry so I hope you’ll all make her feel very welcome. It’s bound to be a bit of a culture shock, Mae. Things are done differently in this part of the world. But I’m sure you’ll soon feel as at home here as you did back in your beloved Donegal. Clare: There she is. Okay, so I say we just over there and be ourselves, girls. Well, not totally ourselves. We should definitely be a bit ourselves. We could also pretend we’re sort of better than we actually are, so, I suppose what I’m saying is we could present a version of ourselves as less -- Erin: Crap. Clare: Precisely. Michelle: Why do we even have to talk to her? Clare: Because she’s new, Michelle! Michelle: Urgh! I hate people I don’t know. Clare: And, in case you hadn’t noticed, she also happens to be Chinese. I mean, how class would it be to have a Chinese friend?! Orla: We could keep her in my toy box. Erin: No, we couldn’t, Orla. Orla: Oh, she’d definitely fit. Erin: That is not the point. Michelle: Fine. But can we agree it’s on a strict one-in, one-out basis? If she joins the group, James has to leave. Clare: Course! Erin: Absolutely. James: Excuse me? Clare: (greets Mae in Chinese) Mae Cheung: Is she all right? Michelle: Burning for you, Clare. Clare: I-It’s Cantonese. Mae Cheung: Right. Well, I’m from Donegal and we speak English there. Michelle: If you say so, Mae, but I spent the summer in Killybegs, and seriously? Not a fucking word. Clare: We just wanted to introduce ourselves and -- Mae Cheung: Okay, I think I see where this is going. I get this a lot. Dull white girls wanting me to join their gang because, well… Erin: We’re not dull. Mae Cheung: Sure. James: And I’m actually a boy. Mae Cheung: Whoa. She has a really fucked-up accent. Michelle: We know. Mae Cheung: (sighs) What’s in this for me? What are you bringing to the table? Orla: Cream crackers? Mae Cheung: I’m good for cream crackers, thank you. I’ll see you around, girls. (She is about to leave) Orla: Maybe we don’t need a Chinese person. We’ve already got a lesbian. Mae Cheung: What? Who? Clare: Me. Mae Cheung: Really? You don’t look like a lesbian. Clare: What do you mean? Mae Cheung: Just that you’re a bit…short. Clare: Well, there’s no height restrictions… as far as I’m aware. Mae Cheung: Interesting. I’ve always wanted a gay friend. I mean, ideally a fella. (Jenny and Aisling come to see them) Jenny Joyce: Howdy, folks! Michelle: Christ. Jenny Joyce: I’m Jenny. This is Aisling. We just thought we’d introduce ourselves and see if… Clare: Too late, Jenny. She’s ours. Jenny Joyce: I see. Look, these girls are great, but I do have a pen pal from the Caribbean, so, perhaps my circle is a little bit more diverse. Clare: Back. Off. Jenny Joyce: Think it over. Give me a call. Oh, and FYI, the prom queen vote closes today. Michelle: FY nobody gives a shit. Aisling: Here’s the wee ballot. Erin: I see you’ve thrown your hat into the ring, Jenny. Jenny Joyce: I had my arm twisted, but feel free to tick my box. (They leave) Michelle: Dirty bitch. Michelle: Well, this prom is going to be a full-blown dick-fest. You know, there isn’t even gonna be a DJ. Apparently, Jenny’s hired this fucking pensioner band. Erin: Christ, really? Michelle: I heard the drummer is at least 30. James: I don’t feel so bad about missing it now. It clashes with my thing. Michelle: The creep convention? Seriously? James: It’s not a creep convention. Michelle: Well, I think a load of perverts getting together to wank over some fella who fights with Hoovers and rides aliens in a telephone box, is the very fucking definition of a creep convention. James: It's a Doctor Who night. Me and my stepdad used to watch it when I was little. Michelle: Well, someone should have called social services then, James. Clare: You’re not going to the prom then, James. Well, I was gonna ask you to be my date. James: I’m sorry, Clare. Michelle: You were gonna ask James to be your date? What the fuck’s wrong with you? Clare: Well, it’s a bit more complicated for me. Michelle: You’re a lesbian, Clare, not desperate. Clare: Now, I don’t know who to ask. Michelle: Tell me about it. There’s at least five fellas that fancy the arse off me, but I just can’t choose. Clare: Yeah, that’s definitely the same. Erin: I’ll be your date, Clare. Clare: But, Erin, people might talk. They might get the wrong idea. Erin: Let them. We need to break down these ridiculous conventions. Clare: Are you sure? Erin: I’d be proud to have you on my arm. Clare: Thank you. Erin: Oh, God. John Paul’s over there. Christ, but it’s been so awkward since we broke up. Michelle: For fuck’s sake, Erin. He kissed your cheek at Kerry Coyle’s 16th birthday party, and then passed out in a puddle of his own boke. Erin: Yeah, he missed the boat, all right. Michelle: I’m sure the fact that he’s poking a model is some consolation. (They all sit round the table) Erin: Okay. Cara is not a model. She’s done some modeling. There’s a difference. Orla: I heard she’s gonna be on Baywatch. Erin: She’s not gonna be on Baywatch, Orla. Michelle: I heard that too, the Baywatch thing. Clare: So do I. Erin: They don’t have people from Derry on Baywatch, okay? We’re just too pasty. Look, it was never going to work out between me and John Paul. I realize that now because I’m looking for an intellectual connection, and he wants-- Michelle: To ride a model. Erin: She is not a model. Clare: Oh, my God. Erin: What? Clare: Looks like they’re breaking up. Cara: I can’t do this anymore. John Paul: Why? Erin: Jesus. Are they really? Are they breaking up? (Cara leaves as she is breaking up with John Paul) Erin: They are. They’re breaking up. This is class. Clare: What? Erin: Later. (standing up to come over to John Paul) Clare: Erin, what are you doing? Michelle: She has no respect for herself, and coming from me… Clare: That is bad. Michelle: Exactly. Erin: (to John Paul who has covered his eyes with his hands) Hey. Hey. Hey! John Paul: Jesus Christ. Erin: Sorry. What happened there was, well, I slightly misjudged the level of my own voice, I think. John Paul: You’re grand. I was in a world of my own. Erin: (sitting down opposite him) Everything okay? John Paul: Yeah, yeah. Erin: You sure? John Paul: Oh, yeah. Erin: Really? It’s just, I couldn’t help but notice that you and Cara were sort of breaking up a bit there. John Paul: Yeah. I mean, it’s all cool. Erin: Really? John Paul: It was mutual. It was definitely a mutual thing. Although maybe she wanted to mutually split up a bit more than I did. Erin: I see. John Paul: Now, I’m just not sure it was the right decision. Erin: It definitely was. John Paul: We just got each other, you know. I mean she’s so cool, and smart. Erin: Smart? Really? John Paul: And she’s a model, for Christ’s sake. Erin: She’s done some modeling. John Paul: I’m just wondering whether I should, like, go after her and try and sort it out. Erin: You definitely shouldn’t do that. John Paul: Really? Erin: Yeah, it’s needy. What you should do is take your mind off it. John Paul: Okay, cool. Sweet. How? Erin: Go out with me. I mean, go out with us, me and my friends. We’re going to this prom thing on Saturday night. John Paul: Prom? Sounds sort of… Erin: Shit? John Paul: Formal. Erin: Oh, no, it’s not. It’s actually not at all. It’s actually very informal. It’s actually really, like, laid-black, chilled, who gives an eff kind of thing. It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal at all. Erin: This is a huge deal. This is a massive, massive deal. I’m going to the prom with John Paul O’Reily, for God’s sake. Oh, come on, Mammy. Mary Quinn: I don’t care if you’re going to the prom with John Paul II, Erin. I’m not buying you another frock. End of story. Erin: But, Mammy, you don’t understand. Mary Quinn: There’s nothing wrong with your Easter dress. Erin: There is lots of things wrong with my Easter dress. Mary Quinn: I mean, it matches Orla’s. Erin: That being the main one. Orla: Honestly, Erin, I think we’ll look so cracker if we both rock in wearing these. Erin: Right. Well, I don’t. Aunt Sarah: Och, Mary, you’d think the wean’s been dropped into it. You wouldn’t nip in a bit for her? I’d do it myself but sewing plays havoc with my acrylics. Mary Quinn: Fine. Erin: I really like this fella, Mammy. Mary Quinn: Well, if he really likes you, it won’t matter what you wear. Erin: Och, come off it! Aunt Sarah: Have you a date lined up, Orla? Orla: I do, aye. Erin: What? With, like, a human? Orla: Yeah. Man on TV: This document is an insult to the majority of people of Northern Ireland! Gerry Quinn: All right, Ian, we get the idea, like. (The TV switches to a static. Gerry tries to get the signal back) Granda Joe: What are you futtering at? Gerry Quinn: The picture’s just gone a bit, sort of… (Granda Joe hits the TV) Gerry Quinn: Dear Jesus! Granda Joe: You have to give it a bit of a shock now and again. (He hits the TV again) You have to keep it on its toes. Gerry Quinn: I’m not sure you do have to keep it on its toes, Joe. It’s a television. (Granda Joe hits the TV repeatedly and more aggressively) Gerry Quinn: Okay, okay, okay! I’m just going to turn it off and turn it on again. That usually does the trick. (He turns the TV off and on again) There we go. Hm? It doesn’t seem to be anything happening now. Granda Joe: This stupid prick’s broken the TV, Mary! Mary Quinn: For God’s sake, Gerry. Granda Joe: He’s been futtering. Gerry Quinn: Excuse me. You’re the one that was thumping it repeatedly, Joe. Granda Joe: I’ll thump you repeatedly! Mary Quinn: Well, the pair of you better sort it out. London’s Burning’s on in 20 minutes. Aunt Sarah: God, Mary, but them poor fellas are flat out with fires, so they are. Jesus, but they never get a minute. (Granda Joe hits the TV repeatedly again) Mary Quinn: Aye, it’s a good job they keep themselves in such great shape. Aunt Sarah: Aw, don’t, Mary. That Greek fella… Mary Quinn: He could throw me over his shoulder any day of the week. Erin: Boke-o-rama. Erin: Right. I say we hit Primark first. Mae Cheung: Classy. Erin: Yeah, well, we have about £17.50 between us, Mae, so, needs must. Michelle: It’s grand. I swiped my ma’s credit card. (She shows them her ma’s credit card) James: Is that grand, or is that actually a criminal offense? Michelle: Look, we’ll just whack a couple of dresses on it, don’t take the labels off, wear them to prom, then return them the next day. The money will be back in her account as quick as it went out. Clare: No way, Jose. Michelle: It’s totally grand, Clare. I do it all the time. You just have to make sure that you don’t, like, spill anything on it, or, like, sweat. The President [2.06] Mary Quinn: When JFK came to Dublin, Uncle Colm met him, and Daddy didn’t. Granda Joe: Things are gonna be different this time, I tell you. Gerry Quinn: JFK spoke to Colm? Christ, that man didn’t have much luck, did he? Clare: Any word from Chelsea? Erin: Not yet. And we sent that letter over a week ago. Clare: Are you sure you got the address right? Orla: Chelsea Clinton, the White House, America. Clare: It just doesn’t make any sense. Michelle: Did you send it first class? Erin: We’re not made of money, Michelle. James: Look, Bill doesn’t even get here till four o’clock tomorrow. Michelle: “Bill?” Who are you? His Ma? James: We’ve got plenty of time, is all I’m saying. Clare: Do you know how packed that Guildhall Square is gonna be, James? You’d have to camp overnight just to get a glimpse of him. Erin: Chelsea will sort us out. Clare: Ach, I’m not even sure I trust Chelsea anymore. Michelle: Aye, Chelsea might be flaky. Orla: She does have crafty eyes. Erin: Okay, I’m not comfortable with the Chelsea-bashing, girls. Dennis: That’ll be £1.99. Clare: Right. Dennis: Is there some sort of a problem here, girls? Clare: Not a problem, as such. More of a-a-a question, really. Dennis: You think I’m here to answer questions, do you? Who am I, Magnus fucking Magnusson? James: He doesn’t answer questions, he asks them. Dennis: Pipe the fuck down. Erin: It’s just, it’s pink, white and purple, Dennis. Dennis: So? Erin: Well, it should be red, white and blue. Dennis: Says who? Michelle: The rest of the world. Clare: There’s also quite a few stars missing. Dennis: No, there’s not. Clare: There’s only 30 stars here. I mean, there should be 50, just because the stars represent states, so… Dennis: Some of them left. Erin: Some states left? Dennis: That’s right. Erin: Some states left America? Dennis: Yep. Michelle: When did this happen? Dennis: The other day. Orla: God, that’s desperate. Erin: I don’t know, I just feel like if 20 states left the USA, we might have heard about it. Dennis: Ah, they didn’t want to make it into a big thing. So these are the new, modern, up-to-date flags. They’ve just brought them out. Erin: Okay. It’s just, well, I’m not convinced that’s actually true. Dennis: Well, why would I lie? Michelle: Because you bought a fuckload of dud flags, and you’re trying to get rid of them. Dennis: GET OUT! Erin: (exiting the shop) What first attracted him to a career in retail, do you think? Clare: You can’t leave, James. James: This was always gonna happen. This was never my real life. It was just something that got in the way of it. Erin: What are you talking about? You love it here. James: I’m not sure I do. I think I just developed Stockholm syndrome. Michelle: Catch yourself on. You’ve never even been to Switzerland! James: Anyway, it’s not like I belong here. I never did. Michelle: That’s not true. You’re a Derry girl now, James. James: Piss off. Michelle: I’m serious. It doesn’t matter that you’ve got that stupid accent, or that your bits are different to my bits, well, because being a Derry girl, well, it’s a fucking state of mind. And you’re one of us. Series 3 The Night Before [3.01] (Uilleann pipes play) Erin: They told us we were young, yet we understood the enormity of it. We understood what was at stake. Our fear was replaced with something altogether more terrifying… hope. Hope is so much worse. With hope you something to lose… (Tape rewinds; voice distorts) Michelle: Oh, for fuck’s sake! What’s happened now? James: Your TV is such a piece of crap. Erin: No, it’s not. Your camera’s the problem. James: My camera’s top of the range! Michelle: It’s true. His ma only sends him really expensive shit, you know, to make up for the fact that she doesn’t love him. James: Michelle! Michelle: Oh, sorry, that came out wrong. I meant… Nope, can’t think of any other way to put that. Orla: That actor there looks so familiar. Erin: That’s you, Orla. James: We’re gonna have to reshoot this footage. Michelle: No chance! James: Oh, come on, Michelle! These kids from Germany made a short film about the Berlin Wall, and it won as Oscar! Michelle: Aye, but they probably had, you know, talent. Look, we need to face the fact that we’ve spent the summer making something that’s really quite shite. James: It’s not shit, Michelle! Well, the script might need a bit of work. Erin: Do not start on the script again! The script is a masterpiece! Michelle: The script is boring, Erin. It doesn’t make any sense. What’s it even about? Erin: Peace! Michelle: Urgh, I am so fucking sick of peace! It’s all anyone ever bangs on about. Okay, I think we should just cut our losses, and make a couple of fake videos for “You’ve Been Framed.” Orla: Oh, I can fall down three flights of stairs without even hurting myself! Michelle: It’s £250 a pop, people! James: No! Clare: Can I ask something?! Erin: Yeah. Clare: How much longer are we gonna ignore the elephant in the room? Orla: Where? Clare: It’s tomorrow, girls. Tomorrow! Christ, I feel sick. James: Why? You’re gonna walk it, Clare. Clare: I know that! I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about you four. If you fail your GCSEs the school won’t take you back. I don’t wanna have to make new friends from scratch, I’ll have enough on my plate with the A-levels! I’m just praying you lot will scrape by! Erin: Now, that is very considerate of you, Clare. Clare: I know! Erin: “Try to enjoy what time we have left.” It doesn’t even make any sense. Clare: It means we’ve failed, Erin. It means no GCSEs, ergo no A-levels, ergo no university, ergo the end! Michelle: “Ergo” wise up, Clare. Erin: You’re overreacting. Clare: I knew I should have cut ties with you lot a long time ago. Erin: It’s not our fault! Clare: Of course it’s your fault! You’ve dragged me down to your level, your stupidity has finally rubbed off of me. I was a scholar when I met you, Erin, a scholar! Erin: You were three! Clare: Our lives are over. Erin: I wouldn’t say our lives are over. Clare: Passing those exams was our only chance. We’re girls, we’re poor, we’re from Northern Ireland and we’re Catholic, for Christ’s sake! Erin: Oh, my God, she’s right! What type of future will we have? Michelle: We don’t need to worry about the future, Erin. If we fail, well, our mas are gonna fucking wipe us out, and dead people don’t need jobs. Clare: Oh, thank you, Michelle. that’s very reassuring! Erin: How bad do you think is it? Do you think it’s, like, grounded bad, or…? Michelle: Run-away-from-home bad. Erin: Exactly. Orla: And if it is run-away-from-home-bad, I’m afraid I will need my snorkel back, James. James: Okay, let’s not panic… Clare: Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! James: Let’s just wait until tomorrow, and see what we’re dealing with. Michelle: Or…we can see what we’re dealing with tonight. Clare: (hyperventilating) How?! The Affair [3.02] Erin: You said this was dicky, Michelle. Michelle: That was before the BBC Northern Ireland thing. This could be life-changing. You know, Pamela Anderson was just an ordinary girl at a football match when a roving camera stuck her on the big screen and then, boom. James: Yeah, but she looks like Pamela Anderson. Michelle: Okay, James, it’s hard for you to see it because we’re related, but I’m a ride. I am a massive fucking ride. (Aisling and Jenny come to see them) Jenny: Hey, guys. Not thinking of entering, are you? Michelle: We might be. Jenny: That’s cute. Aisling: So cute. Erin: Oh, bring it on, bitches. (Rock music is playing in the background) Michelle: I think the best thing we could do is just to get the routine on its feet. Erin: I agree. Michelle: I know we’re gonna smash this, girls. We are gonna lift that trophy. We are gonna perform live on the motherfucking BBC and we’re gonna wipe that smile off Jenny Joyce’s stupid face. Erin: Yeah. James: Let’s do it. Michelle: Hit it! (James switches the portable player on but music dies) (Later in this scene) Michelle: How many times do I have to fucking explain it? It is two steps forward, two steps back. It couldn’t be any fucking simpler. What the fuck is wrong with you all?! James: You’re the one that’s out of time! Michelle: Say that again, James, and I will floor you. I will lay you out. Erin: T think the first bit is pretty good. Michelle: The first bit’s shite, Erin. You look like you’re being electrocuted, and what the fuck do you think you’re doing, Clare, the Haka? (groans) (Clare storms out of the bedroom) Michelle: Fuck! Gabriel: (Off-screen) Come on, Mary. Mary Quinn: (Off-screen) I can’t, Gabriel. Gabriel: (Off-screen) No one needs to find out. Mary Quinn: (Off-screen) No, look, look, it’s not like I’m not flattered. (Clare is sneaking up slowly and stops and stares at them) Gabriel: You call me when you change your mind. Mary Quinn: When? You’re sure of yourself. Gabriel: I know how to get what I want. (closing the door behind Mary Quinn) Aunt Sarah: Mary, I’ve got a bit of a vegetable situation going on here. Mary Quinn: I’m coming! (Clare heads back to the bedroom to see them) Erin: It’s not my fault your choreography is pedestrian, Michelle. Michelle: Kiss my actual hole, Erin. James: Look, I think we all just need to calm down. Erin and Michelle: Piss off, James! (Clare knocks at the door; music stops) Orla: Okay, that, is it? I’m going solo. (Clare knocks again) Michelle: Oh, Christ, here we go. Erin: Screwdriver. James: Um, bell. Apron. Michelle: Fanny. Big fanny? Fanny pain. Clare: The plumber was trying to get off with Erin’s ma! The plumber was trying to get off with Erin’s ma, and now I need to give all of my sponsorship money back. James: We’re gonna need more details, Clare. Clare: I saw them together in the hall. He was whispering things to her, you know, suggestive things. Erin: My ma? He was coming onto my ma? What is he, some sort of reverse pedophile? Michelle: I bet Mary told him where to go. Clare: Not exactly. (Horn honks) Erin: Couldn’t you speed up a wee bit? James: No, I couldn’t! Clare: Are we even moving? James: I simply will not negotiate when it comes to road safety. Peter: Please welcome to the stage, Erin, Orla, Clare, Michelle and James. (Applause) Peter: The act you’re going to perform for us tonight, well, they’re absolutely huge. Michelle: That’s right, Peter. Peter: Matthew. Michelle: Matthew! Shit! I got it right in rehearsals, I just… Peter: It doesn’t matter. Michelle: No, I fucked it. Peter: Okay. Give us some clues, girls. Orla: Well, Peter… They are English, but we still like them. Clare: They’re also probably better known by their nicknames. Peter: Which are? And I think this just might give it away now. Erin: Ginger! Baby! Sporty! Scary and Posh! All: Tonight, Matthew, we’re gonna be The Spice Girls! Peter: Girl power! (Applause) Stranger on a Train [3.03] (Clare and Sister Michael are waiting for the time) Clare: (clears her throat) Sister Michael: Here we go. Clare: Ah! Sister Michael. Hi. Sister Michael: Clare. Clare: I wasn’t sure you saw me. Sister Michael: No, no, I did. Clare: Right. (thinking for a moment) Heading to Portrush? Sister Michael: Yep. Clare: Anything nice planned? Sister Michael: No. Clare: Okay. Ticket Seller: (talking to Conor on her phone) I just don’t see the point. Can we just move on? All right, Conor. The truth is, you never satisfied me sexually. Clare: Oh, please no. The Haunting [3.04] Clare: We had plans tonight. Michelle: We can turn our jeans into hot pants any day of the week. We’re talking about a free house here, Clare, a free house. We’re gonna be drinking, dancing and riding. Erin: Quick question on the old riding front there. Michelle: Go on? Erin: Who exactly will we be doing that with? Michelle: Young hot farmers. Donegal is coming down with them. Big strapping lads ripped to fuck from all the turf collecting. Clare: Oh, don’t worry about me. Michelle: There’s actually quite a few lesbians as well, Clare. Clare: Lesbian farmers? Really? Michelle: Lesbian farming is actually huge in the Republic. We’ll get you sorted, don’t worry. James: What about me? Could we pick me up a girl? Michelle: Can we pick you up a girl? Erin: Like she’s a thing? Orla: (in the van) Yeah, that is so out of order, James. James: I didn’t mean… I-I just thought… Michelle: Well, you thought wrong, James. James: Sorry. Michelle: Get in the van. (exasperate sigh) Dirtbag. Aunt Sarah: Look, Mary. Are they for Mammy’s grave, Da? Granda Joe: Aye. Mary Quinn: Ten years gone, would you believe it? Granda Joe: I don’t know why I bother. That Kitty O’Donnell next door, sue her plot’s like a jungle. Aunt Sarah: It is a disgrace. Granda Joe: If that useless bloody husband of hers doesn’t get his finger out soon, I’ll give it a going-over myself. Aunt Sarah: Daddy, how many times? You can’t strim the grave of another man’s wife. It’s inappropriate. Granda Joe: You could rear cattle in it, Sarah. Mary Quinn: Ten years, and not a peep out of her. Gerry Quinn: Who? Aunt Sarah: Mammy. Mary Quinn: Ten years, and nothing. Granda Joe: I don’t know what she’s playing at. There’s no excuse for it, love. Gerry Quinn: Her being dead is sort of an excuse. No? Granda Joe: She couldn’t give us a sign? She couldn’t rattle a teapot or something? Mary Quinn: Bridget Gallagher was telling me she went to see this psychic. Aunt Sarah: No! You know the problems I have with my aura. Gerry Quinn: Your aura? Aunt Sarah: The last time I went to see a psychic, sure I was tortured. The spirits were coming at me left, right and center. This one lad, he was in the American Air Force. Well, would he give over about that plane going down? Jesus, he had me demented. Aunt Sarah: Even so, Sarah, wouldn’t you like to know that Mammy’s happy, that she’s at peace now? Granda Joe: I’d give anything to speak to her again. Mary Quinn: Ach, Daddy. Granda Joe: Love to know what the hell she did with my good electric razor. Michelle: Arh! Where the hell are we? James: I’ll ask this woman. (to Sheila) Excuse me? Sorry to bother you. Sheila: (speaking in Irish)James: Jesus, is she having a stroke? Erin: She is an Irish speaker, James. James: Oh, why can’t everyone just speak English? Michelle: Well, your crowd had a good stab at forcing the entire world to, but we didn’t really enjoy it much, James. Imperialist prick! James: Can anyone ask her where this place is? Clare: Hmm, my Irish isn’t the best. I decided to keep on French and German, because I though it would give me more options if I wanted to, like, study abroad or whatever. Michelle: We’re not filling in your fucking UCAS from here, Clare. Sheila: (speaking in Irish)Michelle: What’s she saying? Sheila: (speaking panicky in Irish) (speaking warningly in Irish)Michelle: Just drive, James. Slan! Erin: Slan!(Meanwhile, the girls are still searching in the house)Clare: Anything? Erin: Broken vase. There was a window open in there. It must have blown off the shelf. Clare: Oh, thank God. Michelle: We are such fannies. Clare: Yeah. I mean, for a second there I thought it might actually… (screaming)Erin: Jesus, Clare!(Then they all scream when they see the mirror saying “Leave this place!”)James: Stop, stop, stop. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this. It’s important we don’t let our imaginations run riot here. The Reunion [3.05] Erin as Mary: I suppose he’s right to be nervous. About the boys’ school being here, I mean. Orla as Sarah: Why, Mary? Erin as Mary: Tonight’s gonna be wild, Sarah!(“Ladies Night” by Kool & The Gang is playing) Halloween [3.06] (“Gangster Trippin” by Fatboy Slim is playing)(So Erin, Orla, Clare, Michelle and James are getting ready and being dressed up as Angels)(Music distorts and stops)Mary Quinn: What are you supposed to be? Swans? Erin: We’re not swans? Orla: Are we not? Clare: We’re angels. Aunt Sarah: Angels don’t use crutches. Gerry Quinn: And swans do? Granda Joe: You’re a swan expert now, are you? Gerry Quinn: Yeah, that’s precisely what I said. Mary Quinn: God love you, son. Imagine beating you up just cause you like Slimboy Fat. James: Yeah, I still can’t quite believe it myself, actually.(Car horn beeps)Clare: That’ll be Daddy!(They all look out to see Daddy in the car)Orla: Ah, I love his wee toy car. The Agreement [3.07] Little Boy: 10p mix please. Michelle: That’ll be twelve pence. Little Boy: Twelve pence for a 10p mix?(Dennis appears from below the counter)Dennis: It’s called inflation dickhead. Michelle: Now, GET OUT! Michelle: What was the face all about? Erin: What face? Michelle: Earlier, when Dennis was talking about Niall you did a face. Erin: I didn’t do a face. Michelle: You did a face Erin. You did a face like this. Erin: I…would never do that face. I couldn’t do that face. That face isn’t even in my repertoire. Michelle: Oh, it’s in your repertoire alright, I’ve seen you whip it out over a dozen times, usually when you find something hard to believe. What was hard to believe Erin? Erin: It was just when you said that you didn’t want to get your hopes up. Michelle: Yeah! Erin: You don’t actually think he should get out do you? Michelle: He’s me brother. Erin: He killed someone. Michelle: I know that Erin. James: I’m not sure we should be talking about this. Erin: Isn’t this exactly what we should be talking about? I mean we have to vote on it. Michelle: It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. Erin: I’m sure that poor man’s family takes great comfort in that. Michelle: These things, they’re not black and white Erin. Erin: Aren’t they? Michelle: Nothing about this place is! Erin: Well I think the fact that you shouldn’t kill people is pretty black and white! Clare: Awkward, awkward, awkward, oh God it’s so awkward. Michelle: Fuck off Erin. And what would you know anyway, you’re nothing but a spoiled, selfish, sheltered wee brat.(Michelle storms out)''Michelle: You know I’ve never even visited Niall. Me Mam wouldn’t let me, she wouldn’t let any of us. She won’t even say his name any more. He had a son, the man, he had a teenaged son. We found that out later.Erin: I'm sorry Michelle.Michelle: You weren’t wrong. I mean you weren’t right either. There’s no answer to any of this is there? Erin: No, I don’t think there is you know. James: Do you want to get out of here?Orla''': Can we take that wee tiny horse? No. External links Category:UK sitcoms Category:Channel 4 (UK) shows Category:Cancelled shows Category:Teen sitcoms Category:Single-camera sitcoms Category:TV shows set in Northern Ireland