I love Father Ted. There’s something about Irish humour that warms the soul. A mix of word-play, broad characters and the bizarre, Father Ted has always appealed to me.

The spoof of the film Speed, where Dougal has to keep the milk float above three miles an hour, and has to empty Father Jack’s pet brick to press down on the accelerator so that he can escape the impending blast. The moment that Dougal realises he isn’t made for for the cut and thrust of being a milkman, and wants to go back to being a priest. The moment he finally realises that all the housewives were naked as they waited for their deliveries from the erstwhile milkman, the ever raunchy Pat Mustard.

Honestly, if I’m having a bad day, I need to remember the words: Kicking Bishop Brennan Up The Arse.


When Ted tries to explain perspective to Dougal by gesturing out of the window and holding small, plastic cows from toy farm, with the words, “Small. Far away.”

The moment that Ted and Dougal are tasked with picketing a naughty film that’s being shown in the small cinema on Craggy Island, and they carry banners with the words: “Down with this sort of thing,” and “Careful, now.”


Anything, pretty much anything, that Father Jack says.


And Mrs. Doyle – yes, she’s a grotesque but, dear Lord, she’s funny. The bit where Ted can’t sleep and he comes downstairs in the middle of the night, goes into the living room, puts the light on and finds her there, just standing, with a tray of tea, waiting. As she does every night.