Great Python routine

Ken: Oh not that again.
Mum: He’s had a hard day dear… his new play opens at the National Theatre tomorrow.
Ken: Oh that’s good.
Dad: Good! good? What do you know about it? What do you know about getting up at five o’clock in t’morning to fly to Paris… back at the Old Vic for drinks at twelve, sweating the day through press interviews, television interviews and getting back here at ten to wrestle with the problem of a homosexual nymphomaniac drug-addict involved in the ritual murder of a well known Scottish footballer. That’s a full working day, lad, and don’t you forget it!
Mum: Oh, don’t shout at the boy, father.
Dad: Aye, ‘ampstead wasn’t good enough for you, was it? … you had to go poncing off to Barnsley, you and yer coal-mining friends. (spits)
Ken: Coal-mining is a wonderful thing father, but it’s something you’ll never understand. Just look at you!
Mum: Oh Ken! Be careful! You know what he’s like after a few novels.
Dad: Oh come on lad! Come on, out wi’ it! What’s wrong wi’ me?… yet tit!
Ken: I’ll tell you what’s wrong with you. Your head’s addled with novels and poems, you come home every evening reeling of Chateau La Tour…
Mum: Oh don’t, don’t.
Ken: And look what you’ve done to mother! She’s worn out with meeting film stars, attending premieres and giving gala luncheons…
Dad: There’s nowt wrong wi’ gala luncheons, lad! I’ve had more gala luncheons than you’ve had hot dinners!

Be good to yourselves, and all other living things.

Namaste