IN THE WORDS OF PATSY AND EDINA...

EDINA: ‘Couple of weeks I’ll be bendy like Madonna, darling. Then I’ll be able to kiss my own a*** from both directions.’

PATSY: ‘One snap of my fingers and I can raise hemlines so high, the world’s your gynaecologist.’

PATSY: ‘It’s so long since I actually remember going to sleep instead of passing out.’

EDINA: ‘You’ve given up drinking before.’ PATSY: ‘Worst eight hours of my life.’ PATSY: ‘I know what you’re feeling, darling, but really, I don’t even care.’ EDINA: ‘We’ll go on public transport, Pats.’ PATSY: ‘Are you mad? I’ve got nothing to wear on public transport.’

EDINA: ‘I’m sorry if that sounds selfish, but it’s me, me, me!’

SAFFY: ‘You’ve been getting dressed for three hours and you still look like a bloated citrus fruit.’

EDINA: ‘If you’re a bloody psychic psychologist, how come I’m always having to phone you?’

EDINA: ‘Cancel my aromatherapy, my psychotherapy, my reflexology, my osteopath, my homoeopath, my naturopath, my crystal reading, my shiatsu, my organic hairdresser.

And see if I can be re-birthed next Thursday afternoon.’

PATSY: ‘The last mosquito that bit me had to check into the Betty Ford Clinic.’