STEVE: How you been, gran?
GRAN: Oh, you know, not so bad, considering. So nice of you to come and see me, Steve, sit down. Oh, but take your coat off.
STEVE: It's not a coat, gran, it's a hoody.
GRAN: If it's got a hood, it's a coat. Now, get it off, or you won't feel the benefit when you get outside.
STEVE: Of course I will, gran. I'll feel the benefit in here - where it's pretty chilly, I have to say - and then I'll feel the benefit outside. It'll be a benefit festival of the first water.
GRAN: Don't be cheeky. Come on, take it off for your old gran.
STEVE: Oh, all right.
GRAN: There isn't that better?
STEVE: It's certainly colder.
GRAN: Don't answer back. Now, what about them glasses?
STEVE: What about them?
GRAN: Take them off too. There's not much worth seeing in my kitchenette, is there?
STEVE: What are you on about, gran?
GRAN: Take them off, or you won't feel the benefit later when there's something worth looking at.
STEVE: Like what?
GRAN: Like what, he says. God, you younguns have got no imagination. Like anything worth a good long stare: a sonnet, a chaffinch, a coyly proffered nipple.
STEVE: And you think I won't enjoy those if I've glanced at your slow cooker first, do you?
GRAN: Course I do. Stands to reason. Everything's relative, isn't it, lad? Like Einstein said.
STEVE: I don't think he was talking about coats.
GRAN: Coats, jackets, speed of light, all the same thing when you boil em down.
STEVE: You don't half have some funny ideas, gran.
GRAN: Funny? Funny?!
STEVE: Sorry, gran, I didn't mean-
GRAN: Don't be using the word funny when you're not laughing! Save it till you're giggling so much you dampen your undercarriage. Ee, you kids, you simply have no conception of feeling the varying benefits of different situations and their relative merits.
STEVE: Hang on, gran - aren't you wearing your glasses and two cardigans? What about your benefit?
GRAN: Makes no difference, does it? Poor, frail old lonely woman like me - I don't leave the house, do I? I've got nothing to look forward to. Where's my chaffinch, eh? Where's my gusset-wetting chuckle? No, that's for the young, I can't go out much no more, life's used up all it's tricks on me. I'll just stay here, alone, on me rickety bones...
STEVE: [Sigh] Do you want me to pop down and get your groceries for you, then, gran?
GRAN: [Bruightening] Thought you'd never ask, boy! Yes, get me some tuna, and a loaf. Oh, and a couple of bottles of Beefeater.
STEVE: Yes, gran.
GRAN: You are a good lad. Oh, and whilst you're there, let Mr Tiddles out, would you?
[She tosses him a bundle of fur. Enter a pissed off looking hairless cat]