- Ben: So this is where it begins. Holiday Hell.
- Susan: What is the matter with you?
- Ben: I don't know, Susan. Maybe it was the five year-old who kicked the back of my seat all the way from Gatwick. Or perhaps it was the rude, aggressive taxi driver who grossly overcharged us for a series of hair-raising, death-defying experiences. Oh, no. I know. I know what it was. Of course. It was the airline.
- [Angrily]
- Ben: They've lost my suitcase.
- [first lines]
- Susan: Well, this is it. We're officially on holiday.
- Nick: [jumps on the sofa] Great to finally have the chance to relax and unwind for a change.
- Ben: For a change? You? You're always on holiday. A holiday for you would be getting a job. I'm surprised the travel agents don't print brochures of you. I'm surprised they don't call you Nick Holiday.
- Nick: All right, father. You've made your point.
- Nick: Right, right. They've got washing powder here, right, just like we have; only it's called "Fairy"!
- [laughs]
- Nick: Those crazy guys!
- Susan: Nick, we have Fairy in England.
- Nick: No, we don't.
- Ben: Yes, we do!
- Nick: We don't!
- Susan: Why would we lie to you about something like that?
- Nick: I don't know. For attention?