Blitz

— A double Irish.
— Can't do, buddy. I'm closed.
— Listen up. I'm only gonna say this once. I ain't your buddy. When I ask for a drink, you say, Ice with that, sir? Now let's begin again. A double Irish.
— You want ice with that, sir?
— Don't be ridiculous. Who needs ice?
— That'll be five quid, sir.
— Like you said... you're closed.

— I've had a really nice time.
— Yeah.
— I'll call you.
— When? When are you gonna call me?
— Tomorrow.
— I'll tell you what. How about this summer... we'll do a picnic? Don't you think I know how this goes? Man says, I'll call you... and a woman's waiting and hoping. She's a slave to her mobile... while he's thinking, Well, I'll call her... tomorrow, some day, Monday. Doesn't matter. Well, here's a hint, yeah? It matters. It matters a lot.
— Tomorrow. I'll call you tomorrow.
— No, fuck off.

— So run the description by me again.
— Ain't you gonna take any notes?
— Do I look like I carry a pencil?

— Oh, yeah. The other thing, about you being a good cop. I meant that.
— Thank you.
— For a poofter.

Can I get you anything? How about a cuppa, coppers?

— You know what I want... so spill.
— Well, I need paying first.
— What do you have in mind?
— Serious. Serious money.
— Serious money? What, like the time of benefit?
— Yeah.
— Bony fucker, aren't ya? You don't have the brains of a chicken, do you? I doubt you have any real Irish blood in you, Radnor. Me, I'm a wild streak and a
Celt. Makes me unpredictable. Them Irish. Did you know they invented kneecap? It's a nasty business. They fix you up as best they can... but you'll always have a limp. How does that sound? Radnor the gimp. How does that go down in your retirement package?

— You replaced me.
— You're on compassionate leave.
— I'm back.
— Inspector Roberts, losing a wife is not easy.
— You lost your wife?
— Well, no... How would you feel about early retirement?
— We'd miss you, sir. You know who else would miss you? Olga, the 250-pound call girl you see every Wednesday. Your wife thinks you're playing squash. Well, you are, in a way.

You know what that is? Michael Jackson's shit. It's priceless. I got it off eBay.