This was removed because it may of offended someone.
SOLLY: What do you mean, the Holy Ghost?
SALLY: I said, the Holy Ghost done it.
SOLLY: He got you up the gut, the Holy Ghost did?
SALLY: Yeah.
SOLLY: You expect me to believe that the Holy Ghost took a night off from heaven, came down to number 42, Sheep Way, and shacked up with you.
SALLY: Yeah.
SOLLY: Let me get this right - the Spiritual ruler of the entire Universe, feeling a touch randy and in need of a bit of the other, manifests himself, comes down and nips into bed with you.
SALLY: Yeah.
SOLLY: Nice one. I don't get a bit of nooky out of you for two years and next thing you're having knee tremblers with a bloody archangel.
SALLY: He's not a bloody archangel, he's the Holy Ghost.
SOLLY: Oh yeah - if the Holy Ghost climbs into bed with you - it's down with the sheets and on with the job. If it's me, it's no, not till after we're married, we must save it up, it's precious.
SALLY: It's true.
SOLLY: It's so fucking precious you give it to every horny little poltergeist that comes banging on the bedroom door.
SALLY: Only one.
SOLLY: Oh only one. Sorry, not the Trinity. Three persons in one bed; no, just one sexy little seraph at a time. Sorry Solly, I'm saving my cherry for a cherub.
SALLY: I couldn't turn him down, he's the Holy Ghost.
SOLLY: What did he look like, did he have his head tucked under his arm?
SALLY: He's not that sort of a ghost.
SOLLY: How do I know what sort of a ghost he is, I've not been to bed with the buggers. Madame Palm's all I get for two years, not you no, you've got your feet in the air, being humped by Heavenly visitors.
SALLY: It was spiritual.
SOLLY: If it was so spiritual, how come he's left his little gift in you?
SALLY: It's a blessing.
SOLLY: I notice he doesn't stay around for the blessing. Oh no, far too busy dipping his holy wick in the lamps of foolish virgins. I mean I feel frankly, that if the Holy Ghost is going around shagging all and sundry, the least he can do is stick around and see his offspring through the creche stage.
SALLY: He said I was to tell you and you'd understand and marry me.
SOLLY: I see. I see. So my idea of the perfect wife is supposed to be someone who puts out for any dissipated sprite who fancies getting his end away with the scarlet women of the spiritual world.
SALLY: He *was* the Holy Ghost.
SOLLY: I don't care if he's the Holy Choir Invisible. I don't want any lecherous apparitions unsheathing their pork swords in my sheets.
SALLY: He was ever so nice. He said I could call him Brian.
SOLLY: Brian.
SALLY: Yes.
SOLLY: Brian, the Holy Ghost.
SALLY: Yes.
SOLLY: And do you recollect throughout two thousand years of scriptures the Holy Ghost ever being referred to previously as Brian?
SALLY: Erm, no.
SOLLY: So it never crossed your mind that this smutty seraphim, this rampant genie with his pants round his ankles, might perhaps not be an angel of the most high in rut, but some quite ordinary mortal with a gift of the gab and a penchant for banging underage briffit.
SALLY: I've never done it before.
SOLLY: I'm afraid, my dear, you've fallen for a very old line.
(PAUSE)
SALLY: Do you want me to show you what he did?
SOLLY: What?
SALLY: Do you want me to show you what he taught me?
SOLLY: What, all the way? Bareback?
SALLY: I can't get more pregnant, can I?
SOLLY: No.
SALLY: Somebody's got to be second.
SOLLY: Yeah.
SALLY: It's ever so nice.
SOLLY: All right.
SALLY: Between you and me, I never fancied him that much.
SOLLY: No?
SALLY: No, it wasn't very big.
SOLLY: That's not supposed to count.
SALLY: I know. But it helps.
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