Originally Posted by J-B:
“Just phoned up to try and get a table booked.
McBeale: Och aye this is Beales, square go like.
J-B: Hi, I'd like to book a table please.
McBeale: Whin wid ye lik' tae book?
J-B: 7.30pm on Friday please. A table fo-
McBeale: Hold yirself there laddeh, I cannae shift muh hands to write it doon that quick.
J-B: Ok no worries.
McBeale: Muh son who ain't muh son caved mah heed in wae a wee caber and noo I'm reet crippled.
J-B: Oh no...
McBeale: How many of yis will be scrannin' doon wae us lad?
J-B: Just MyLauren and I. Can I make a special request?
McBeale: Och aye, anything yis want.
J-B: I'd like the table to be candlelit, with a bottle of your finest red wine waiting on arrival, and some gentle smooth jazz playing in the background.
McBeale: Och that soonds dead romantic, last teem ah got romantic was when ah had sex oan the spot ah dragged wee Lucy's corpse from, ah were daein it wae her dad, square go like. Reet there on the floor.
J-B: Erm... So that's all confirmed then?
McBeale: Och aye. Ah'll be oot back when yis come doon, Steven lad won't have us oot front because ah willnae stop tellin' punters aboot Bob and Lucy.
J-B: Fantastic, we'll be the-
McBeale: Dinnae ye dare be late. If ah cannae see yis and yur bird by 7.35pm it'll be the common for both of yis, nae question aboot it.
J-B: Bye.
McBeale: Nae bother lad.
Thanks.”
Deeply unfunny and trying too hard. Sad.
”
Never realised she heralds from Scotland either. 
