Angels? What are those then? I mean, I'm all for knocking off and going down the pub, but voices in the sky singing about how we're all to go down to this scruffy travellers' inn, sounds like you've had a few already. More likely some local band advertising their gig in the back garden.

(at the interview) My philosophy is that each sheep is an individual, and it is the shepherd's job to support them toward their own self-defined goals.

Wool? No, no. Totally allergic. That's why I have to wear man-made fibres.

Now that's a beautiful sheep. Where are my wellies.

I'm convinced they can fly with enough determination. Of course, the initial results have been a little disappointing. Maybe I need a higher cliff.

No worries sir, my strict training regime will have them ready for the Grand National, no doubt!

No, that's no problem, I'll just let them mix with my pack of wolves.

Now, I have a very good recipe for mint sauce.

I'm sorry, I can't watch the sheep tonight, I'm washing my socks.

Now that I've painted them lots of different colours it will save time not having to dye the wool later.

No worries on the 'falling asleep' front, I can't count.

Lambing season's best. Let a few die, it makes a treat for the dogs.

I'll report you for discriminating against me just because I'm agoraphobic.

Shall I carve?

(traditional yell from car windows at spring time where I come from) MINT SAUCE! REDCURRANT JELLY! GRAAAAVY! GET IN MY BELLY!

Oh, hold on a minute. Sheep are the ones with curly tails, aren't they? Go 'oink'. That's right, isn't it?

So, I make a loud noise and they run towards the guys with the shotguns, right?