Me (to newsagent): Excuse me, do you have any new white Kit Kats?
newsagent: I'm afraid not.
Frank Sinatra (bounding into shop): Hey knucklehead, what are you, some kind of commie?
Frank Sinatra: Don't give me lip, little man.
Me (ignoring Ol' Blue Eyes and addressing newsagent): do you know if the other shops stock them?
Newsagent: No. Sorry.
Frank Sinatra: Send in the clowns, you putz.
Me: No. Goodbye.
Me: alright Jesus.
Jesus: Not really. They've nailed me to a cross . (coughs) do you have any cigarettes?
Me: Sorry, I don't smoke.
Jesus (looking up): Oh my Lord, why have you forsaken me?
Me (shrugging): I don't think he's listening.
Jesus: Are you sure you don't have any cigarettes?
Me: Sorry, no. Bye.
Me (to newsagent): I'll have this Crème Egg and a copy of the Standard, please.
Newsagent: Certainly sir.
Madonna (pushing in front of me): Do you have any phone cards?
Newsagent (ignoring Madonna): That'll be 77p.
Me (handing over one pound): There you go. Keep the change.
Madonna: Excuse me, I would like a phonecard.
Me (turning to face Madonna): Young lady, you are extremely rude. I suggest you learn some manners.
Madonna (sheepishly): Sorry.
Me: And get your hair cut.
Me (singing under my breath): .mmm .hmmm is your figure less than Greek...dum dee dum...
Jonathan Ross (leaping down supermarket aisle in a snakeskin suit: Wahey groovy fellas! What have we got here!?! Kidney beans reduced by 20p.
It's a winner!
Me: Oh dear.
Jonathan Ross: Wahey! Brill! (smiling maniacally) Aren't you themanwhofellasleep?
Me: I believe you are mistaken.
Jonathan Ross: It's you, isn't it?
Me: Oh dear. Yes. Please leave me alone.
Jonathan Ross: Brilliant! Shall I get my nads out!?!
Jonathan Ross: Crazy! (slapping me heartily on back)
Me: Please don't do that.
Jonathan Ross: Sewiosly, you're a brilliant fella!
Me (pulling out rusty spoon and stabbing Jonathan Ross in the eye): Sorry. Goodbye.
Newsagent: That'll be £1.45.
Me: I've got nothing smaller than a £20 note. Sorry.
Newsagent: Not a problem
Damon Albarn (dressed as hip hop gangsta): Hello.
Newsagent: We've sold out of the Standard.
Me: Never mind. I only wanted it for the magazine.
Mike Leigh: Pah!
Me: It's quite handy, because I always forget to buy a TV guide.
Mike Leigh: Vah!
Newsagent: You can try next door. They might have a copy?
Mike Leigh: Gah!
Me: Thanks, I'll do that. Cheerio.
Mike Leigh: Raaaghhhfhhhh!