Moira: Okay, if you insist, one quick story. So, day three of shooting, Hamza and I find ourselves stuck in a hail storm.
David: Oh, my God, not tonight. Thank you, though.
Johnny: I'm sorry kids, your mother's had a rough couple of days. Moira, why don't we get to bed, sweetheart?
Moira: Ooh, frisky, John.