Nicholas Angel: What’s the matter, Danny? Never taken a shortcut before?
(Leaps over back-garden fences)
Danny Butterman: Is it true that there’s a point on a man’s head where if you shoot it, it will blow up?
Danny Butterman: Bring the noise!
(Turns siren on)
Joyce Cooper: FASCIST!
Nicholas Angel: Hag.
Sergeant Turner: Nobody tells me nothin’.
Nicholas Angel: Oy! When’s your birthday?
Underage Drinker #1: 22nd of February.
Nicholas Angel: What year?
Underage Drinker #1: Every year!
Nicholas Angel: Mr. Porter, what’s your wine selection?
Roy Porter: Oh, we’ve got red… and, er… white?
Nicholas Angel: I’ll have a pint of lager, please.
Danny Butterman: By the power of Greyskull!
Danny Butterman: So what made you want to become a policeman?
Nicholas Angel: Officer.
Danny Butterman: What made you want to become a policeman-officer?
Danny Butterman: Do you want anything from the shop?
Nicholas Angel: Cornetto.
[Andy takes a swig of beer, leaving a “moustache” of froth on his moustache]
Nicholas Angel: You’ve got a moustache.
DS Andy Wainwright: …I know.
Reverend Philip Shooter: Oh, fuck off, grasshopper.
DS Andy Cartwright: You wanna be a big cop in a small town? Fuck off up the model village.
Nicholas Angel: You’re a doctor, deal with it!
Danny Butterman: Yeah, motherfucker!
Danny Butterman: Ever fired your gun in the air and yelled, ‘Aaaaaaah?’
Nicholas Angel: Sergeant Butterman, the little hand says it’s time to rock and roll!
Danny Butterman: Where’s the trolley boy?
Nicholas Angel: In the freezer.
Danny Butterman: Did you say “cool off?”
Nicholas Angel: No I didn’t say anything…
Danny Butterman: Shame.
Nicholas Angel: Well, there was the bit that you missed where I distracted him with the cuddly monkey then I said “play time’s over” and I hit him in the head with the peace lily.
Danny Butterman: You’re off the fuckin’ chain!
[Angel is woken in the middle of the night with the report of a suspicious death]
Nicholas Angel: [on the phone] “Decaffeinated?”
[cut to shot of two decapitated heads]
[Mr. Skinner has tripped and landed with his chin impaled on a miniature church spire at the model village]
Simon Skinner: Ow! Thish really hurtsh… I’m gonna need shome ice-creeeem.