Oh, that's great.
(CHUCKLING) Don't know why we've ordered so much water.
We've all got rabies.
So, basically, just get crisps shaped like rockets,
rainbow-coloured ice cream,
you know, the sort of stuff that all the other kids have at their parties.
Blimey! More? What are we doing? Opening a dolphinarium?
Good. Sorted. So... Sorry about that. Where were we?
- Uh, healthy eating. - TERRl: Beneficial Lifestyle Choices.
- Get in. - What?
I've just landed Andy Murray.
- Yay! That's brilliant! Andy Murray? - Andy Murray! Well,
- I've definitely got Andy Murray. - Andy Murray,
- the face of Healthy Choices. - GLENN: Oh, all right.
- TERRl: The tennis player? - No, the fucking pianist.
Nicola Murray nets Andy Murray.
OLLY: We both netted him together. TERRl: Are you sure you want him?
- NICOLA: Uh, yeah! - Murray?
Doesn't it sound like nepotism?
Like, in the way that people think Russ and Diane Abbott are related?
- OLLY: Yeah. - Possibly.
And Bill Murray's her father.
Okay, I'll level with you. I don't like him.
NICOLA: Who would you suggest then, Terri?
- Paula Radcliffe. - Pooey Paula?
That's not healthy.
Shitting in your own pants, that's definitely not a healthy image.
She could demonstrate how to do the hop, shit and jump.
That is very unfair. It only happened once.
Once is all you need!
Imagine if Bruce Forsyth, beginning of Strictly Come Dancing...
(GROANING) "There we go!"
You'd never hear the end of that. And quite rightly.
Terri, can we move on from your hatred of Andy Murray
and can we start trailing a major DoSAC initiative?
Now, don't give any details at this stage,
- just say it's major TBA. - TBA?
- To be announced. - Oh. Just...
It's really self-defeating if I have to explain abbreviations to you.
- Sure, sure... - FFS.
- What's FFS? - Oh, for fuck...
Oh, we're going to need Malcolm clearance, Olly. Okay?
Glenn, can you get rid of all this water as well?
It looks like something out of fucking Doctor Who.
Here they come. It's the Flying Scots-curry-man.
♪ Where's your poppadum? ♪
You have got to try this aubergine. It's cooked in ghee.
I fucking love ghee. It's like fucking freebasing butter.
Have some more wine. Come on, get quaffing.
(MOBILE RINGING)
Oh, Christ, here we go. No, we don't do takeaway. Right.
(ALL LAUGHING)
Listen, see, if this is recorded spam,
I'm gonna hunt you down and burst your fucking lungs.
Where actually are you, Malcolm?
I'm on holidays.
Where are you on holiday? Where?
Right, okay, I'm in Thailand in a sex bar.
About to get a fucking facial.
Right. Quick summary. Andy Murray, famous tennis player,
also a lovely Scotch person,
face of Healthy Lifestyle Choices.
Nicola Murray, slightly panicky minister-lady,
wonder if that's okay with you?
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Andy Murray.
Yeah, Andy Pandy fucking Gandhi having a hand shandy.
Whatever. Just, you know, fuck off out of my life. Okay?
Okey-dokey.
The man from Hell Monte, he say, "Fuckin' aye."
Sorry about that. Everybody's heard about the cooking, so it's...
So, Malcolm, what's all this about?
Well, I know that these are hard times for print journalists, yeah?
I mean, I read that on the internet.
I mean, one day you're writing for the papers
and the next, you're sleeping under them.
What, so this is like Malcolm Tucker's soup kitchen?
Well, it is, kind of, in a way.
I just think that you should have one big square meal
before you end up fucking living off white lightning in your own faeces.
Come on, get stuck in. I'll dish it up for you.
What about Tom bringing back Steve Fleming?
That kind of makes you old news, doesn't it?
You repositioning yourself, Malcolm?
This is about a guy sharing his ghee. That's it. Okay?
So, you're not currying favour, then?
(LAUGHING) Sorry.
- Fuck you. Get out of my house. - That was quite funny.
- Get out of my fucking house. - That was good, Geoffrey.
That's it. I know... I mean, no wonder nobody's fucking buying your paper.
He's really on holiday?
Malcolm hasn't been on holiday for 10 years.
Malcolm's got to keep moving or he's dead.
He's like a shark. Or Bob Dylan.
TERRl: Well, who's driving the bus? STEVE: Morning!
- Morning, DoSAC. - GLENN: Oh.
Bollocky bollocks. It's the Ghost of Christmas Shit.
There's your answer, Terri. That's the man driving the bus.
- That's Reg bloody Varney. - Your name?
All stops to electoral oblivion. Ding ding.
Get in my office, come on. It'll buy us a bit of time.
GLENN: So, come on. Have a look.
I've never seen Steve Fleming in the flesh.
You're lucky.
For a man who brought us back into power, he's not very imposing,
is he? He's like a Lego policeman.
Look at him. Super Mario.
Morning, campers!
- Steve Fleming. - Oh, no.
Hello. Oh! Okay.
- Hello, Nicola. - Hi.
You look like you've lost some weight.
- Do I? - STEVE: Yeah.
I don't think so, but...
I think so, yes. No, your face looks quite gaunt.
- Muscly. - Does it, now?
Anyway, I come bearing caffeinated gifts.
- Oh, thank you very much. - Okay. Thank you very much.
TERRl: That's very thoughtful, thank you very much.
I'm going to cut to the chase. I need you to publish
all the crime stats since 2004
as an accompaniment to our Transparent Government launch.
From 2004 up to the last quarter.
Okay. We are just about to launch Healthy Choices.
- With Andy Murray. - Andy Murray! Whoa!
- Ace! - Good joke.
We'll make a minister of you yet.
I mean, after that, we can try and get you something for, say, end of the week?
After? Why after? Why not right alongside?
Or, here's a thought...
Before.
Because we're under-resourced and it's not a priority.
The PM thinks it is a priority. It can be done.
Oh, I seem to have reached the end of my argument.
(LAUGHING)
Okay. Well, look, why don't we say Thursday lunchtime. Okay?
Well, you've got Fran's leaving lunch on Thursday.
I have got a lunch. Thursday afternoon.
Yes, I don't give a fuck about Fran's leaving lunch.
I'm saying now, now, now, now, now, now. Now!
Okay. Chillax. We're on the case, Steve.
Lovely. Thank you very much.
Good. Okay. Well, it's a delight to see you again.
- Oh! - Oh, I get another one.
Mind my gaunt face.
(BOTH LAUGHING)
- Bye-bye. - ALL: Bye.
- Bye. - OLLY: What do you call that?
Obsessive repulsive disorder, I would say.
I'm going to ring Malcolm.
Holiday or no holiday, I'm going to ring Malcolm about this.
"Caffeinated gifts."
- Malcolm never brought us coffee. - Bloody lunchtime.
- I like him. - Yes, well, you like bath salts.
You're basically an idiot.
So, everybody's for coffee, yeah?
- GEOFFREY: Mmm-hmm. - Yeah, I'm sorry I can't do espressos.
But I've made this so thick and black,
it'll be like fucking drinking plimsolls.
This Steve Fleming thing is going to end in tears, isn't it?
I mean, you sacked him last time.
All right. Right. Okay. Off the record. Right? Okay?
While Steve is a useful tool,
and I do emphasise the word "useful" here,
I'm still running the show. Right?
If you're still running the show, why do you need to tell us?
Geoffrey, all I'm saying is this.
It would be very much fucking appreciated
if you could emphasise the fact that I'm the heart of government.
Because it's fucking true. I am the heart.
I am the ventricles. And the fucking aorta.
(CHUCKLING) Malcolm, we get it. You're still the star of the show.
It's not for me to say that.
No, you're still the star of the show.
Yeah, until they start wheeling out the celebrities.
What's next, Malcolm? Ant and Dec as the new fucking litter tsars?
That's when you know you're 20 points behind in the polls.
Oh, well, thank you very much, Mr Fucking Prick Robinson.
Nicola, it's your nephew on the phone.
- What? Oh, I didn't... - Your nephew. Andy Murray.
Fuck! On the line, now? Oh, my God! It's Andy Murray on the line! What line?
- Press two. - He's not there, Terri.
- Fuck's sake! - Maybe it was three.
God, it drives me insane! Is he there now?
Yeah, yeah. Hang on, let me just get him off hold.
It really pisses me off! The fucking phones in this whole...
Andy! Hello. It's Nicola Murray, yes. What a delight to talk to you!
- Hi, Malcolm. - Olly. Andy Murray.
Oh, good. We are literally confirming him as we speak.
Ditch him. We can't go with celebrities. Right? It's just gonna look bad.
- NICOLA: Done deal. - Why?
MALCOLM: We're gonna look desperate, all right?
Well, Steve Fleming likes the idea.
Never mind what Mummy says. Just do what Daddy says, right?
Yeah, whilst you're on, there's another thing.
Uh, Mummy has asked us to publish the crime stats
as part of the Transparent Government initiative.
- Is that all right with Daddy? - It's fine.
Really? Because Nicola's got that baffled, panicky look
like a child on the ghost train.
Give me a second while I look up my little file
of things I really don't give a fuck about.
And here we have under the letter N, we've got nail-bombing golf clubs,
there is the National Trust, there is Newcastle.
Nicola Murray. Yes. She's still there.
So, fucking can Andy Murray and just get on with the fucking crime stats.
I'll make sure that Kate liaises with my press whiz kid, Terri Coverley.
She's a woman.
But listen, if there is anything else we can do for you,
please don't hesitate to call. Dare I say it, we are here to serve.
(LAUGHING) If you'll excuse the pun.
All right, Andy. Take care. Bye.
- Malcolm says we have to drop him. - What?
Andy. He's not in, he's now out.
Apparently, according to Malcolm, sent to bed without any barley water.
I mean, he's a fucking tennis player. We're not asking Shane MacGowan. Why?
It's nothing personal. He just said bringing in celebrities looks desperate.
He said it's the sign of a dying government.
We are a dying government!
Our hair's falling out and we're coughing up blood
and our kids are asking us to change the will.
Look, he was quite clear about this.
He said just, you know, kill it. Kitten, breeze block, sack, canal.
Oh, I can imagine him being clear about it.
Right. We've got to get on to...
- You've gotta get on to... - TERRl: Me?
...Andy Murray's people and find a polite way of saying, "Piss off, Andy.
"Apparently you're too well-known to front our public awareness campaign."
- Right. - Right.
Good news is I have done all that pile and that's in the system.
- OLLY: Excellent. - Oh, fuck me! What the hell is this?
It appears to be a trolley full of crime stats.
"Vandalism." "Bicycle theft."
Oh, this is ridiculous!
Oh. Well, that's given us an unexpected head start. Well done.
I would kill you but I'd have to add you to the fucking figures.
NICOLA: Okay. Think about what you're gonna say.
- Yeah. Okay, I've done that. - What? Already? Is that enough time?
Kate. Hello. Uh, Terri Coverley.
Yes. Yeah, we're thrilled about Andy being on board.
(WHISPERING) Get on with it.
TERRl: (STAMMERING) No. I'm not actually saying that it's...
Shit! End the call. End the call. It's Moustache Sally.
Steve Fleming's here. Put the phone down.
- Ah! - TERRl: Sorry, can I call you back?
- Nicola Murray! - Can I call you back? Bye.
How are the crime stats coming along?
It's not easy, Steve, as you can see.
But Glenn and Olly are on top of it.
"Other theft." What the fuck is other theft?
I don't know what other theft is.
If you want to stay late or pull an all-nighter if you think it'd help...
You want us to work all through the night on this?
It would be very much appreciated upstairs.
Ah, well. I'm an atheist.
(LAUGHING) By the Prime Minister.
I did get the joke, by the way.
(MOUTHING) Well done.
Good morning, good morning, good morning. I'm back.
I'm sorry I left my sombrero at home but here I am.
What do you think of the tan, huh?
What do you think of this shade? I call it Custard Cancer.
- Oh, thank you very much. - Where did you go?
I went to, um, Easter Island.
I thought I'd spend my time there rechiselling all the statues,
so that they'd look like Westlife. How about a coffee?
Oh, I've sent you a link to Andy Murray's website.
There's something you should see.
Andy Murray's website?
Andy says, "Just agreed to lead the government's Healthy Choices campaign.
"Eat, live, be well." Fuck a Pot Noodle.
Sam, prepare my horse.
I ride to DoSAC.
- Hello, Terri. - Morning, Nicola.
- Who am I, Terri? - You're Nicola? Nicola Murray?
- Ah. Secretary of State for... - That's right. I'm Secretary of State.
So, why has a sports personality
launched my policy on his fucking website?
Ah! No, I know. I know exactly why that is.
You didn't make the phone call, did you?
- Well, uh, yes. - Um, in other really bad news...
- Good morning, by the way. - This is about the crime stats, yeah?
Yes. Some of the crime stats that we published,
as it turns out, were unverified and not ready for being in the public domain.
- Uh, Marianne Swift of The Mail... - Oh, Swine-Face Swift.
That's the one. She noticed a drop
in the figures for aggravated burglary in the last quarter.
- Whereas, when she checked it out... - There was no drop.
- Yeah. - Right.
So, Swine-Face Swift and her piggy hack-hog colleagues...
Exactly. So, we're getting a lot of oinking on the phones.
So, basically, what that means is that the department,
well, essentially the royal you,
um, seem to have massaged the crime figures.
Great. Thank you, Steve fucking "Oh, Nicola!" Fleming.
Yup. He is a fucking... ninny, isn't he?
- Bring my dispatch boxes. - Okay.
- Malcolm! - Oh, there he is.
Bob Carolgees. How's the wee comedy dog?
Welcome back. Good holiday? I hear your kitchen's lovely this time of year.
- Yeah. Well, actually, I went to Spain. - Oh, nice.
Yeah, yeah. I went to Malaga. It was lovely.
I was golfing with Stephen Hawking, he's fucking shit.
He lied about his handicap.
Mind you, I never had to hire a golf buggy. I just sat in his lap.
Please. Why do we have to be like this? All this negative energy. Come on!
- What? - Well, we've got to work together.
So, you know...
So what? I mean, that doesn't mean we have to like each other, does it?
- No, I mean... - Sorry.
We both know we don't like each other. Everyone knows that.
We are the Gallagher brothers of politics.
How does that work? Does that mean that I am the semi-talented songwriter
and you're the fucking loutish prick? That's a lovely analogy.
You were the one who forced me out of the sodding band.
(CHUCKLING) Come on, let's have a chat.
You were asked to leave the fucking band.
And you wouldn't fucking go, would you?
You had to hang on in there like a limpet up a whale's arse.
Why do you thrive so much on being disliked?
People hate me? Good!
Bring it on. Do you know what they think about you?
Oh, I'm sure you're gonna tell me, Malcolm.
I'll tell you exactly what people say about you.
- All right. Go on, then. - Fuck all!
Oh, do they? Fuck all?
People have got no fucking opinion about you.
You're like fucking Special K or fucking The Moody Blues.
Actually, you're fucking white noise in the background.
Funny? Is that funny? Do you find it funny?
No, I don't find anything you're saying funny whatsoever.
And I'll tell you a home truth, Malcolm Tucker,
the people who are really hated in this country,
the people who are really hated, are us. This government.
How about we stand together?
(MOBILE BEEPS)
Let's both be team players, shall we?
Were you the Einstein that okayed this fucking Andy Murray thing at DoSAC?
Because I've got The Telegraph on here.
And you've probably got The Times asking why the budget's been pre-announced
- on Twitter by fucking Ryan Giggs. - Shit!
"The last quarter's crime stats, which DoSAC have published,
"are unconfirmed projections." Shit!
- That's DoSAC for you. - Come on, Malcolm. Team players!
Bring me sunshine.
No, we're not manipulating the figures. Somebody quite simply made a mistake.
- No. No, I couldn't possibly say who. - Glenn Cullen.
Glenn. With one N.
NICOLA: We have actually decided to go in a different direction from Andy.
- Good holiday? - Shut it, you fucking hairdresser.
Got any photos?
I've got a photo of you in a minute in your cock nailed to the desk.
Hey, you want to see something that's truly worth photographing?
Look at Steve Fleming at work, eh? That's the real master of spin.
He's Spini fucking Hendrix.
Nicola, you and your department have screwed up!
I'd like to agree with the previous speaker,
only adding the words "fucking royally".
Oh, Jesus! Am I being gang-bollocked?
Andy Murray's Henman-fisting us in the press.
- Well, we... - We can't have...
With undue respect, Malcolm,
the crime stats cock-up is a much bigger deal. Yeah.
This is such a great double act, isn't it? Good cock, bad cock.
I'll tell you what. Why don't you go first, man? I need a wazz.
I like you, Nicola, I quite like you.
But darling, I've got to ask you, what the bloody hell happened?
Like you asked, we published the crime figures
from 2004 up to the last quarter.
Yes. Up to the last quarter but not up to and including the last quarter,
you dozy mare!
"Up to" includes the thing you're going up to. Right?
If we say count up to 20, it means count up to and include the number 20.
The events leading up to the Second World War
do not include the Second World War.
We haven't got time for a semantic argument about this.
- Listen, sweetheart... - Do not fucking call me sweetheart!
I think you'll find that Steve was addressing me.
- The tache is a bit of a giveaway. - I will draft a statement.
You fucking will not draft any fucking statement.
I've been minding the shop!
You were fucking minding the shop and what happened?
A bunch of fucking school kids came in and fucking dropped their trousers
and fucking had a shit in aisle five.
Well, thank you for giving us a guided tour
around the Freudian nightmare of your head.
Could you two decide between you in which order and from which direction
I'm going to be shafted?
Andy! Let me talk you through the decision there.
We do need to go in a different direction. Mmm.
(STAMMERING) Well, that's probably... We need to go black.
What? Sentiment? Comedy?
Would you like to speak to Oliver Reeder?
'Cause he's the sort of mastermind. The person...
- Don't tell him that. - The whole...
Hello, Mr Murray.
(STAMMERING) I can assure you that you would remain my number one choice.
But, you know, I put it together and I don't get to have the final say
on anything, really. You know, in any section of my life at all.
- Or even in my personal life. So... - GLENN: Digging. Stop digging.
(WHISPERING) So... Shut the fuck up!
Ignore him. Just come with me. Come into my office.
Let's deal with the crime stats...
Come on. Malcolm, Malcolm. Malcolm!
(LAUGHING) Sorry about this, everybody.
Goodbye. Give my regards to the rest of the fucking Village People.
TERRl: Sorry, Nicola, Malcolm, excuse me. It's Andy Murray.
He's insisting on talking to you.
- Talk to him. - What?
Get him back on board. Fucking talk to him.
- No! - (WHISPERS) Yes.
- You cannot be serious! - Was that an attempt at a joke?
You told me to kill it. I've killed it.
- No. No, no, no. - Right now, some photos in the papers
of a very boring man with tight white shorts on
is going to be a very pleasant distraction
from Steve's fucking crime stats abortion.
If we need a fucking celebrity, can we try somebody else?
- Steve Redgrave. - He's a boring fuck!
- Lewis Hamilton. - Fucking boring, boring fuck.
- And fucking drives a car. - Chris Boardman.
Fucking cyclist! Are you fucking mental? Everybody hates cyclists.
Even fucking cyclists hate fucking cyclists.
Plus, he's a boring fuck.
- I cannot... - Paula Radcliffe?
- No, she shat in the street! - And she's a boring fuck as well.
How about we just launch the policy without a celebrity?
Oh, great idea. Hello, there. Hi, everyone. I, Nicola Murray,
would like to say to you
that even though you don't fucking know me from fucking Adam,
I think you should cut down on carbs.
Lads, let's get this crime stats cock-up sorted.
What have you both got so far?
Well, actually, now we've been trying to think of
a replacement for Andy Murray.
- (CLEARS THROAT) Yeah. - Some of the women footballers.
Uh, Jessica Clark or Sue Smith.
- We don't think that would happen. - Or Faye White.
I cannot believe the energy going into Andy Murray!
(LAUGHING) I can't.
What's his problem?
Just try and wrap your gin-addled brain about this, right?
I did say I was at the heart of government. But when...
- Malcolm. - Excuse me.
- I need to talk to you. - One second please.
Listen, when that...
(PHONE STOPS RINGING)
When that incident occurred I was on holiday.
Are you saying to me
that my wee caravan's a great fucking waste of time?
And my stupid fucking wing mirror extensions?
The crime stats and Andy Murray, Malc. It's a double fault.
Listen, if you are not a prostitute or a pizza guy, fuck off!
Steve, listen, could you eat or fuck whatever's at the door
on your fucking way out, please? No, thanks.
How can I be held responsible?
What? For what? I've created a what around the government?
I've created a vibe?
Listen, son, the only fucking vibe you have to worry about
is the one that your wife hides in her knicker drawer.
I am on top of this, okay?
Oh, fine, fine. You know, I'm just saying
I'll gladly lend you a hand if you feel the need to keep your head down.
I don't need to keep my head down
because unlike yourself, I don't give blowjobs to truckers.
- (KNOCKING) - I said fuck off!
(ALL EXCLAIMING)
Oh, it's Lord Nicholson.
What an enormous pleasure this is.
Well, in fact, it's the Right Honourable the Lord Nicholson of Arnage.
And the kissing of feet may commence.
You got all your stuff ready for your official lording ceremony?
Have you got your mink thong and your ermine colostomy bag?
No, I don't, no. I have to hire that, unfortunately.
I can't wear it on the Tube or the bus, but I would.
It would be great larks but there we go.
- How about a coffee? - Coffee?
- Well, if there's coffee going... - There we are.
...I'd never say no to a nice cup of coffee.
- Will you have a coffee... - Do you not drink coffee any more?
Is it all port and swan's blood these days?
Swan's blood. That does sound nice.
No, I'm just sort of passing through,
because obviously we need to start booting up this crime stats enquiry.
But it's, in effect, an investigation into the facts.
But I thought since I was passing through...
Yeah. But you don't have to talk to me about that, do you?
'Cause I was on my holidays then. Did you get my postcard?
Well, I will speak to whomsoever I need to speak to,
- holiday or no holiday. - Where did you learn to speak like that?
Is there a special school that's just you and Brian Sewell?
- I'm going to leave you to it, frankly. - So soon?
And I'm going to make tracks as well, Malcolm.
Okay, good to see you both.
The problem is that you are shifting from the man people love to hate
to the man people just hate.
From Simon Cowell to Piers Morgan.
See you later. Remember, my door's always open.
OLLY: I had no idea, no idea that it was Malcolm
who drafted Fleming's resignation letter in 2003.
I forgot your political memory only goes back two issues of The Economist.
Hey, there's a reference to you here, Cullen.
Where?
Alleged to have assaulted an elderly aide at a party conference...
- Elderly aide? - Elderly aide.
God, that makes me sound like a fucking stairlift.
God, cheap flights are back.
Look, there's something here from Continental.
"Go to New York..."
- Hey, Dora the Explorer. - Still here, then, Malcolm?
Time for a milky drink? Come on. Come on in. I want to have a word with you.
There you go. How was Cabinet? Was it good?
Is Tom looking after you?
You're all over the newspapers like a pissing puppy, Malcolm.
Well, I think you'll find that's what we masters of the dark arts call a blip.
Tomorrow that will all be old news.
It'll be like the fucking War of the Roses. Or AIDS. Remember AIDS?
Listen, Nicola, see that... Did Julius mention to you about his enquiry?
- Yeah. - The enquiry into the whole fucking
- crime stats cock-up? - Yeah.
You know the phone call that came through to me from your office?
- You know, about the whole idea? - Yeah, yeah.
It didn't happen, right?
You want me to cover your back?
I want you to get the old enquiry screen out
and slap it on, fucking factor 50, why not?
Listen, I'll tell you what. This is what I'll do.
I will get for you some really good press attention
for your fucking Healthy Choices nonsense. How about that?
I'll get you some big fucking healthy headlines.
You're in no position to give me anything.
You can't even get a fucking bagel cleaned up off your door.
Do you mind?
What? Do you think I can't get it up any more? Is that it?
You're looking at fucking Lazarus, sweetheart.
And not just plain Lazarus. I'm fucking self-raising Lazarus, right?
Yeah. So I'll tell Nicola to expect your call on Healthy Choices
- sometime this afternoon. ...Choices would be absolutely great.
- Well done, Malcolm. - He's very impressive, isn't he?
In a way that Chairman Mao was actually quite impressive.
Well, that's the thing about the evil, isn't it?
Their amazing work ethic.
How are the hacks?
Ready to eat their own cocks.
(SNIGGERS) They're only journalists, Steve, not fucking Rangers supporters.
I know they are.
Yeah, well, I need 10 minutes. I need to google some jokes about Andy Murray.
- Shall I go first? - Warm them up.
Tell them Olivier is on his way
but in the meantime, here's an audience with Peter fucking Bowles.
...Tuesday meeting. What do you think?
Oh, there he is! Screaming Lord Crutch.
I like the flunkies, by the way. That's a very nice touch.
It's a wee bit Graham Norton.
Don't needle me, Malcolm. Not when people are under scrutiny.
- I'm under scrutiny? - Yes.
I'm fucking Nosferatu. That's really fucking scary.
I'm walking on. We're moving on. I'm lan Botham.
I'm walking on for hospice care.
How's it going with Lord Bonnie Longford?
I've not been in yet. I've just been standing here for 20 minutes.
So, if this phone call does come up...
No! No, that's not...
You're nothing if not persistent, are you, Malcolm?
- I wasn't... She was... - Don't do that!
- I made it quite clear... - I was standing over there
and I thought, "Nicola's choking." But she wasn't. She was laughing,
retrospectively, at your massive shiny head...
Oh, what happened? Did you get heckled off?
What was the line? "Taxi for Tom Selleck"?
Yeah. Could I have a quick word? Just five minutes.
(SIGHS)
So, Malcolm, mate.
What is it? What's...
What's the problem? You look like you fucking coughed up your own twin.
(CLICKING TONGUE)
No, no, no, no.
I need to talk to Tom.
No, Tom isn't immediately available to you.
Fuck off.
Malcolm, the Prime Minister respects you enormously.
Sam, get ahold of Pat, right...
Actually, I'm going to need that. That's an official Blackberry.
(KNOCK ON DOOR)
- Fuck off! - Right. Your five minutes starts now.
- MALCOLM: Fuck off. - This is an acutely
private moment, Julius.
Would it seem terribly rude if I asked you to shit off for five minutes?
Yes, it would.
- MALCOLM: Can you fuck off as well? - Julius, what...
Sorry. Excuse me? Julius, what is the deal...
At the moment, Malcolm is getting the sack.
Shit. Now? Literally? I mean, I'm actually in the sacking?
Yeah, well, let's see what the fucking Prime Minister has to say about that!
Huh? Let's see what he has to say.
Listen to me a minute! The Prime Minister
supports you fully in whatever you decide to do next.
You. Fucking Nicola. Right, tell them.
Fucking tell them that there was no fucking phone call.
Speak! I fucking ask you, speak! Open sesame.
I'm not here, Malcolm. I'm not...
- You are fucking here! - I'm not seeing this.
Open your fucking mouth for once and say something!
I'm not getting involved.
You fucking speak! You've always fucking got something to say.
- I'm only a cabinet minister! - Fuck off, then.
- Malc. Malc. Come on, Malc. - Don't fucking touch me!
You cannot fuck me! You cannot fuck me!
I am unfuckable! I have never been fucked!
And if you fucking try and fuck me, you'll find my fucking arse
will fucking grow fucking fangs.
STEVE: All right. Now, come and listen to me.
I'll fucking snap your fucking cock off.
Will you listen to me? Malcolm Tucker, will you listen to me?
Go right ahead. Yeah. Let's hear it. Let's hear it.
Listen to me for one second.
Go right ahead.
I wouldn't tell you what I've just told you
before I'd told the press pack, would I?
That would be very, very unprofessional.
So, there's no point in getting angry because the show's over.
It's curtains. No curtain call.
Everyone loved the show
but it just wasn't buttering any parsnips any more, brother.
Yeah. You don't have the fucking balls, apart from that great inflated
fucking ball on the fucking end of your fucking neck.
Ooh, look. Oh.
STEVE: (SOFTLY) Malcolm Tucker resigns.
- Looks pretty factual to me. - Fuck this. Fuck this. Fuck you all.
- Just fuck off. - No, no. That's all right.
Kate! Kate, yeah.
- (WHISPERING) It's Andy Murray's agent. - Ah. Get her to piss off.
- Hi. Uh, no. Absolutely not. - Malcolm's gone.
I'll call you back. What did you say?
Malcolm Tucker has resigned. Malcolm's resigned. He's resigned.
TERRl: What? OLLY: Take the telly. Take...
GLENN: Tucker's gone. TERRl: He's resigned?
(ALL LAUGHING)
Happy days! Now, we don't have to...
I just want to hug someone. Please?
Is this good? I mean, it feels good but...
OLLY: Yeah. GLENN: Are you sure it's good?
Not because I don't want to hug you, Terri.
We're not fucking finished!
You are finished, though. That is what I've been trying to...
Out of the way! What are you doing to her?
Don't worry. Just... Leave her fucking alone.
Don't worry. It's all right, it's all right.
TERRl: Yeah, listen. Wine.
TERRl: I've got some wine. OLLY: Get the wine. Get the wine.
I've got some wine from the Tackling Drugs Changes Lives launch.
Where is it? Need a bit of help with the...
- What is it? - It's just, this is a bit...
- The... - TERRl: Oh, Nicola! Hi!
- OLLY: Malcolm's gone. - I know.
- Would you like a glass of wine? - No, I'm good, thanks.
OLLY: It's fantastic! NICOLA: I know, yeah.
I've sorted everything out with Andy's agent.
- That's... Well, I mean, more or less. - Good stuff.
TERRl: I can't get it out.
- This is no way to celebrate. - TERRl: Shall I run it under a hot tap?
- I'll go run it under a hot tap. - Don't run it under a hot tap,
- it's white wine. - TERRl: A cold tap, then.
What good's running it under a cold tap gonna do?
That's only going to make it worse.
Don't do that! That looks awful.
Get back to fucking Wind in the Willows, 'cause that's where you fucking belong.
I didn't ask you to... I didn't ask you to come back in.
- I'm not fucking... - Would you leave my office, please?
I'm not fucking gonna waste my breath on you. As for you...
Malcolm, I am sick to death... You can explain...
(MALCOLM YELLING)
- Don't touch me, Malcolm! - I'll fucking touch you if I like.
Because I'll tell you this, man, you shafted me, boy.
- I'll fucking strike you, Malcolm. - Don't you fucking touch me.
- I warn you! - Don't touch that scarf!
That's Paul Smith.
Twat. Move!
You will see me again!
You will fucking see me again!
(REPORTERS CLAMOURING)