Stephen: You got a mog in there, have you? You got a kitti-puss? Lovely. This is
Clover, my daxie. I've always had daxies. I like smooth coated daxies best.
Hugh: Really? Is that right?
Stephen: So, what sort of mog-wog is your pussy-kit? Mm? It's a tabbles, a
tom-tom or what?
Stephen: Ah, Burmie! I love a Burmie. Is it boy or girl Burmie?
Hugh: Oh Christ... oh, it's a... he's male.
Stephen: (into basket) Hello, Mr Burmie. What's your name then?
Hugh: Yes he can't speak actually.
Stephen: Ah, but they can understand every word, can't they?
Hugh: Not much evidence for that.
Stephen: My first daxie, my first ever daxie was called Sculley. I named him
after Hugh Sculley who presents the Antiques Roadshow. I love that programme,
Stephen: Do you know what I do of a Sunday? Every day, after we've had our walk,
as Clover and I always go walkums for a Sunday... well, you know just Clover and
me and of course my little pooper-scooper, er, er, er, because that nasty Parkie
man doesn't like to see poochie-poop on his best grass, does he? No,s o...
Hugh: Oh Christ ...
Stephen: And of course I don't like to see poochie-poop on my best carpet, and
if I do, Clover knows he can expect a visit from a smack fairy.
Hugh: So we come back and I make myself a cheese and tommy-toe toastie.
Hugh: A what? A cheese and what?
Stephen: Tommy-toe. Tommy-toe. Tommy-toe.
Stephen: Tommy-toe. Tommy-toe.
Hugh: Don't say it again.
Stephen: I make myself a cheese and tommy-toe toastie, sometimes two toasties,
and an old muggles of tea and I just snudget down in front of the television and
I watch the Roadshow. I love my Sunday afternoonies.
Hugh: Jesus Christ help me.
Stephen: And of course if it isn't the Roadshow, they might have the animal
programme with Desmond.
Hugh: Desmond Morris.
Stephen: Ah yes, but we call him Desmond in our house, cos he's like a friend.
He's like an old chum, this Desmond. Or we might watch Masterchef with Lloydie,
or the Clothsies Show with Geoff Pantsy-wancy. We love our Sunday afties, don't
Stephen: So what's wrong with Mr Burmie?
Stephen: Mr Burmie. Why's he come to see Vettiloo? Has he got a poorly tums?
Hugh: Did you just say Vettiloo?
Stephen: Sore throatie? Mm? What's wrong with Mr Burmie?
Hugh: I've brought him in to be killed.
Hugh: He's got cancer of the liver, so I've brought him in to be put to death.
Stephen: Cancer of the liver?
Hugh: Oh God...
Stephen: (to the cat) You've got cancey-diddlies then, have you, Mr Burmie?
You're going to be put to deathies, are you? Is your little heart going to make
a stoppy-wap-wap? Are they going to go killichum-chums? Are they going to put
your coldy-woldy body-wod in a groundy-wand, are they? Eh?
Dachsund: (looking up) Yeah?
Vet: What can I do for you?
Dachsund: (looking at Stephen) I'd like to have this man put down, please.