She: Do you like doing this job?
Inspector: Well, it's a living, isn't it?
She: I mean, don't you get bored reading people's poets all day?
Inspector: Well, you know, sometimes ... Anyway, I think I'd better be going.
She: (seductively) You've got a nice torch, haven't you?
Inspector: Er, yeah, yeah, it er ... it er ... it goes on and off.
She: (drawing closer) How many volts is it?
Inspector: Er ... um ... well, I'll have a look at the batteries.
She: Oh yes, yes.
Inspector: It's four and a half volts.
She: (rubbing up against him) Mmmm. That's wonderful. Do you want another look at the poet?
Inspector: No, no, I must be off, really.
She: I've got Thomas Hardy in the bedroom. I'd like you to look at him.
Inspector: Ah well, I can't touch him. He's a novelist.
She: Oh, he keeps mumbling all night.
Inspector: Oh well, novelists do, you see.
She: (dragging him onto the sofa) Oh forget him! What's your name, deary?
Inspector: Harness.
She: No, no! Your first name, silly!
Inspector: Wombat.
She: Oh, Wombat. Wombat Harness! Take me to the place where eternity knows no bounds, where the garden of love encloses us round. Oh Hamess!
Inspector: All right, I'll have a quick look at yer Thomas Hardy.

Monty Python