Oh, God, God, God! What on earth was I drinking last night? My head feels like there's a Frenchman living in it.

Everything goes over your head, doesn't it, George? You should go to Jamaica and become a limbo dancer.

A man may fight for many things. His country, his friends, his principles, the glistening ear on the cheek of a golden child. But personally, I'd mud-wrestle my own mother for a ton of cash, an amusing clock and a sack of French porn.

I'm as poor as a church mouse, that's just had an enormous tax bill on the very day his wife ran off with another mouse, taking all the cheese.

Run away from the hills! If you see hills, run the other way!

Oh, God. Fortune vomits on my eiderdown once more.

You mean they actually rehearse? I thought they just got drunk, stuck on silly hats and trusted to luck.