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?

Gerry: Come on, girls, tome to hit the road here. You've been roped into going too then, son?
Michelle: Roped in? Hardly. He's riding Gary Barlow.
James: I am not! I just respect him as a songwriter, that's all.
Michelle: Aye, dead on, James, so you do.

Mary: That is enough! They're going to the concert, Da. And that's the end of the matter.
Newscaster: And, finally, panic at Belfast Zoo today when a polar bear escaped from its enclosure. The RUC have launched a widespread search and have warned residents in the local area to be extra vigilant.
Joe: Now will you see sense?
Erin: Aye, Granda, cos an escaped polar bear's going to track us down and kill us. As if Mammy's bothered about that.

Clare: The point is the polar bear's not the one stopping us going to the concert. It's our mothers. And we'll never get them to change their minds.
Michelle: We're not gonna try to change their minds. We're going to do something else.
James: What?
Michelle: Lie our holes off.

Clare: I have to say I'm not overly keen on being out in the open like this. Just because of the whole "There's a polar bear on the loose "that could maul us to death" thing!
Orla: It can try!

Michelle: Is it just me, or is that Gypsy an absolute ride?
Erin: Michelle! You cannot say that!
Michelle: What?
Erin: They're called Travellers now. You can't say Gypsy any more, it's insulting.
Michelle: Is it?
Clare: Yes. Yes, it is.
Michelle: Really?

Erin: Could you everybody stop being so racist, please?
James: I'm a bit scared of them. Is that racist?
Erin: Yes.
Clare: Very much so.
Michelle: Is "gypsy" even a race?
Erin: Traveller!

Clare: Erin, what are we going to do?
Erin: I don't know! She's fucking mental!
Clare: She's spelt Robbie wrong on every single T-shirt!
Erin: What?!
Clare: How are we going to break it to her?
Erin: That's what you're worried about, Clare? At this very second? That's what's concerning you, a spelling mistake?
Clare: I find it disturbing, Erin.

Rita: I tell you what, girls, I don't believe in God but, see, if I did...
Michelle: Ah, she's lost the plot.
Rita: ...that's what he would sound like!
Michelle: We should have took our chances with the Gypsies.
Erin: Travellers!

Michelle: Just put your back into it! The sooner this is done, the sooner we're back in that van and on our way to see Robbie.
Clare: Robie! I mean, it so obviously doesn't look right.