Dylan Moran: Bernard Black

Cooking the Books

Bernard Black

Rich Guy: Those books. How much?
Bernard: Hmmm?
Rich Guy: Those books. The leather-bound ones.
Bernard: Yes, Dickens, the Collected Works of Charles Dickens.
Rich Guy: Are they real leather?
Bernard: They're real Dickens.
Rich Guy: I have to know if they're real leather because they have to go with the sofa.
[Bernard looks confused]
Rich Guy: Everything else in my house is real. I'll give you two hundred for them.
Bernard: Two hundred what?
Rich Guy: Two hundred pounds.
Bernard: Are they leather-bound pounds?
Rich Guy: No.
Bernard: Sorry. I need leather bound pounds to go with my wallet. Next.

Bernard: [to a cluster of skinheads] Which one of you bitches wants to dance? Hey, you know when you're doing your usual threesome thing you do on a weekend, and the moonlight's bouncing off your heads and your arses and everything, does that not get a bit confusing? Right. This is you, okay?
[prances about]
Bernard: Tra-la-la!
[stops]
Bernard: Millwall! That's the one! Do you know this chant? 'Millwall, Millwall, you're all really dreadful, and your girlfriends are unfulfilled and alienated... '
[three men punch him in the face at once]

Bernard: [speaking through a megaphone] Right, the shop is closed, everybody get out! Time to go home, come on!
Old Woman: But it's only quarter to three!
Bernard: Yes, but it's my shop.
[now shooing them out with a broom]
Bernard: Come on, go home, bye bye, get out...
Old Woman: That's hardly fair!
Bernard: It isn't fair at all. Get out!
Rich Guy: I expect better service!
Bernard: Well, expect away. Goodbye! Come on, all you time-wasting bastards, back on the streets. Thank you!
[slams door]

[Whilst vainly trying to fill in his tax return form]
Bernard: If you live in a council flat... next to a river... but are not blind... WHAT?

Nick Voleur: Now Bernard. About this new filing system you were telling me about.
Bernard: Ah yes well
[reaches into pocket and takes out handful of receipts]
Bernard: This is March to... boobelyboo
[takes out more receipts]
Bernard: this is err... misc
[takes out more receipts]
Bernard: and this is... other.
Nick Voleur: Bernard. This new filing system. It's very closely modeled on the old one isn't it?
Bernard: Well Nick I'd actually go further than that. I'd say it was more or less exactly... the same...

Manny: I've been gravely injured now. I don't have to do my accounts. You're a witness.
Manny: I could do your accounts.
Bernard: What?
Manny: I'm an accountant. I was. It's the least I could do
Bernard: You mean you could do more?
Manny: Yeah.
Bernard: Could I have a glass of wine?
Manny: OK.
Bernard: And a ham sandwich?
Manny: If you like.
Bernard: With pickle?

Bernard: [customer buying book, hands it to Bernard] Oh, we've got a special offer on this one.
Customer: Really?
Bernard: Yeah, it's free if you break my legs.
Customer: [pauses] Fair enough
Bernard: GREAT! I'll get the hobbling post, there!
[Waits for the customer to respond]
Customer: Wait, I think I've read this one, that's the problem with Woodhouse isn't it?
Bernard: It's all terrible, just hurry up and break my legs!
Customer: But I've already read it! No, I'm sorry, I've got to go!

[on being a pregnant woman's 'birth partner']
Bernard: Urk. That's going to be intense, a lot of blood, a lot of shouting, and urm...
Fran: Oh, no no no, I'll just get drunk. In fact, she'll be on drugs, I'll be drunk, it'll be just like the old days.

[attempting to fill in his tax return form]
Bernard: "What is your mother's maiden name?" What's her first name? I just knew her as "Ma"! That'll have to do.
[writing on the form]
Bernard: 'Ma. Possibly deceased'.

[to three violent skinheads]
Bernard: Hey, you know when you're doing the usual threesome thing you do on a weekend, and the moonlight's bouncing off your heads and your arses and everything, does that not get a bit confusing?

Bernard: Millwall fans, are we? Have you heard this one? "Millwall, Millwall, Millwall! You're awful! And your girlfriends are all unfulfilled and alienated"

Bernard: Get out. Bye bye. Come on, all you time wasting bastards, back on the streets. Come on. Bye bye bye. Goodbye. Thank you. Bye bye bye. Back to life. Back to reality. Thank you.