Coronation Street

Richard Rutherford is in the living room icing a cake. His boyfriend, Peter, is frying chips in the kitchen, and his accountant, Donaldson, is putting on her makeup in front of the television.

Richard Rutherford: That's not a mirror, you know. It's Huw Edwards, reading the news.

Donaldson: I know, but I look startlingly like Huw Edwards, so it's the same as looking in a mirror.

Richard Rutherford: Oh, blast it all, we've run out of honey! Peter, quick, go down to the corner shop, buy all the packets of Lockets they've got, crack them open and pour the honey into this pot. And hurry, she'll be here in three minutes.

Peter: They sell honey at the corner shop, too. Couldn't I just buy a pot of honey?

Richard Rutherford: No, I think my way's better. Now chop-chop, it's not every day the Queen comes for dinner.

Peter: No, but it's at least every second day. Four times a week on average. And even when she was away on a diplomatic visit to Bulgaria last week she phoned us at three o'clock in the morning and woke us all up, just to say hello.

Richard Rutherford: Two minutes. Get those Lockets, quick.

Donaldson: You can't afford more than seven packets.

Peter departs.

Richard Rutherford: I hope he doesn't take too long.

Peter returns.

Peter: They only sell Tunes. I got seven packets.

Richard Rutherford stuffs the packets of Tunes into the honey pot, just as the Queen walks in, carrying a large pie.

The Queen: There was a cat outside, so I killed it and baked it into a pie for you.

Peter: Tiddles?

The Queen: I prefer to be called Elizabeth.

Donaldson: How did you bake a pie outside on our doorstep?

The Queen: I'm the Queen. I can do whatever I want.

Richard Rutherford: Cake?

The Queen: I prefer to be called Elizabeth.

Peter: Look, I was quite attached to that cat.

Donaldson: Well, Tunes cost more than Lockets at the corner shop, so you wouldn't have been able to afford cat food this week anyway.

Richard Rutherford: Well, don't just stand around chatting, everyone, sit down and I'll pour the tea.

Peter: It used to bite my foot affectionately in the morning.

The Queen: Shut up about your stupid cat, you filthy little commoner. Where's my tea?

Richard Rutherford: There, in the cup right in front of you.

The Queen: Well I don't like it. Put some honey in it.

Richard Rutherford: One Tune or two?

The Queen: I prefer to be called Elizabeth.

Peter: Look, I'm sorry, Elizabeth, I know you enjoy coming here to visit Richard Rutherford on a regular basis, but that was my pet cat you baked into a pie there, and I'm upset about it. I only bought Tiddles two days ago, after you baked my previous cat into a pie last week. You could at least apologise.

The Queen: How dare you call me Elizabeth, you horrid proletarian? Address me as Your Majesty, or I'll have you thrown in prison!

Peter: But you said...

Richard Rutherford: Stop being rude, Peter. Eat your pie.