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A thirtysomething bank clerk from St Albans has his small-town life exploded by the arrival of his Russian mail-order bride.
Sophia: If you just wanted sex, go to a prostitute. John: Well, as it turns out, I did.
Nadia: You can't hurt me more than I'm hurt already. John: Well, Nadia, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to give it a bash.
John: [first lines - to the camera] Running, reading, going out, staying in, countryside, films - if they're good. Intelligent, of course, kind, pretty - I suppose, but it's not critical. Someone you can *really* talk to. I think communication is key.
Nadia: [in Russian] Are you a giraffe? John: [in Russian] Yes.
Alexei: What would we do with a baby? Sophia: Think of a name for it.
John: [Asking "Nadia" a bogus question, to see if she really does understand English] Are you a giraffe? Nadia: Yes.
John: I'll give you a tune later.
Alexei: [Disdainfully, to John] You, with your nice job and your big house, and you still have to pay for a wife.
Nadia: My name is Sophia. John: Sophia. Hello, Sophia. Mine's still John. Nadia: Hello, John.
Nadia: My name's not Nadia.
John: Excuse me. It's two Russians are staying here. Do you know which floor they're on? Porter: Yes, I know which floor they're on. John: [takes a banknote out of his pocket and holds it] And which floor would that be? Porter: [taking the banknote] We've only got one floor.
[last lines] Sophia: My name is Sophia. John: Sophia. Hello Sophia. Mine's still John. Sophia: Hello John.