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 us a can there.
Erin: A can of?
Rita: Beer.
Erin: I see. Alcoholic beer.
Rita: Oh, yeah, that's fucking beautiful.
Erin: While driving. OK. Fine. Good.
Rita: I mean, what a fucking instrument! Glorious!
Erin: Any idea what the speed limit is around here?
Clare: [holding t-shirt] "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?