John: Hey, look at the talent. Let's give them a pull.
Paul: Should I?
George: Aye, but don't rush. None of your five-bar gate jumps and over sort of stuff.
Paul: What's that supposed to mean?
George: I don't know, I just thought it sounded distinguished-like.
John: George Harrison, the Scouse of distinction.
Paul: Yeah, where's the old mixer?
Grandfather: Here, Paulie.
Paul: I've got a few words to say to you, two-faced John McCartney.
John: Oh, leave him alone. He's back, isn't he? He can't help being old.
Paul: What's being old got to do with it? He's a trouble-maker and a mixer, that's good enough for me.
Grandfather: It's your nose, you know. Fans are funny that way, they take a dislike to things. They'll pick on a nose.
Ringo: Aw, you pick on your own.
George: Honestly! Me mind boggles at the very idea, a grown man and you haven't shaved with a safety razor.
Shake: It's not my fault. I come from a long line of electricians.
Grandfather: Look, I thought I was supposed to be getting a change of scenery. But so far, I've been in a train and a room, and a car and a room, and a room and a room. Well, maybe that's all right for a bunch of powdered gee-gahs like yourselves, but I'm feeling decidedly strait-jacketed.
Lead makeup woman: What a clean old man.
Grandfather: Ah, don't press your luck.