Grant Naylor

“Your explanation for anything slightly odd is aliens,' said Lister. 'You lose your keys, it's aliens. A picture falls off the wall, it's aliens. That time we used up a whole bog roll in a day, you thought that was aliens.”

“Lister patted the towel rail against his left palm. 'I'm going out like I came in - screaming and kicking.''You can't whack Death on the head.''If he comes near me, I'll rip his tits off.”

“Just a pot noodle. Oh - and I found a tin of dog food on the tool shelf.'Misery hissed through Lister's gritted teeth. 'Well,' he said finally. 'Pretty obvious what gets eaten last. I can't stand pot noodles.”

“Twelve!!! Twelve years old!!? When you lost your virginity, you were twelve???''Yeah.''Twelve??' Rimmer stared into the fire. 'Well, you can't have been a full member of the golf club, then.”

“Why d'you say "Mayday"? It's just a bank holiday. Why not "Shrove Tuesday" or "Ascension Sunday"? He turned back to the communicator. 'Ascension Sunday... Ascension Sunday.' He thought for a while and then tried: 'The fourteenth Wednesday after Pentecost... The fourteenth Wednesday after Pentecost...”

“It wasn't a beautiful face. But it was a nice face. It wasn't a face that could launch a thousand ships. Maybe two ships and a small yacht.”