(deleted scene)
Is your department looking at a 10 million overspend? Yes, or no?
Well, I don't have the figures to hand, but all I can say is that if there has been an overspend or a perceived overspend within this department, then certainly I think I've – (sees Jamie mime fellatio) He's not gonna do that, is he?
MalcolmOh yes, he will, and he will do a lot more. Jazz hands, he'll be touching you up under the table, he's got all the tricks.
No he won't! Fuck off, Malcolm.
Malcolm
You, listen. First things first: you need some interruption lines, yeah? Something that you can throw in.
All right: how about, er, 'I will answer the questions in the order you asked them, Jeremy'.
That makes you sound like a smug Oxbridge twat. Oh, I know you are, but everyone doesn't need to know.
(deleted scene)
(seeing Ben Swain arrive)
Malcolm
Oh hey, hello, here he is! The walk of shame.
You never told us you had epilepsy of the eyes. Was that a sweat, or were you crying?
Malcolm
Have I seen you on the telly?
(laughs) Yeah. Blockbuster, 1991, I got a Gold Run.
Malcolm
You know what, I have never seen anyone sweat so much in my life. And I've had a sauna with Pavarotti! I know that politicians and hot air are supposed to go together, but I've never actually seen one vapourise!
Can I get you two fellows a drink?
Malcolm
An orange juice, yeah, yes.
Oh, I'll have a pint of 'Fuck right off and die, you miserable fucking tosser'. Do they do that in here?
Malcolm
He's a wee bit disappointed.
We'll get you on Newsround next time. You reflected badly on me, and I don't like that.
Oh come on, Jamie, look, I'll get you a drink and then we'll –
DO YOU WANT A FUCKING SPLINTER GLASS FACIAL? I'm not pretending to hate you here, I actually fucking hate you! I'm not playing a fucking game. Fuck off! (leaves)
Malcolm
He trained as a priest.
Really? Yeah, he'd be fantastic, I'd confess everything to him.
(deleted scene)
Glenn (in his sister's Welsh cottage, on the phone): Ah, Malcolm. Terri's just rung about the wankers' announcement, and I thought you'd want to know, Hugh's on the way to the airport, but do you want me to definitely tell him to get on the plane?
Malcolm
No, it's too fucking late. What's he gonna do, come and shadow the shadow of DoSAC shadowing him? Show him where the bogs are?
Yeah, but you told me to tell him to come home.
Malcolm
Did I?
Ollie (in Malcolm's office, on the phone): Right, Hugh, hi. Er, no, I don't think you're going to be wanted back here.
Malcolm
What is the problem?
He's on some road somewhere where he can't do a U-turn for about five miles or something.
Malcolm
Good! I like to know that I can still make him miserable even though he's 12,000 miles away.
(Downstairs at Number 10, Malcolm has an awkward run-in with Cliff Lawton.)
Malcolm
Elvis! Sorry, sorry. Cliff, Cliff. Where are you off to?
I'm actually off to, uh, to see an old colleague, you know, from the old days, from, uh...before you asked me to resign.
Malcolm
Oh, lovely, lovely. Well, look, I'd love to stop and chat to you, but you know, I'd rather have Type 2 diabetes.
Malcolm
Yeah, Happy New Year.
(As Malcolm enters his office, he finds, to his surprise -- or is it dismay? -- Geoff Holhurst. Geoff stands up to greet Malcolm.)
Malcolm
Right. Hi, Geoff, don't stand.
GGeoff
Oh. (Geoff sits back down)
Malcolm
No, no, I mean, "Don't stand against Tom." Now do you see what I did there? I was both being funny and also deadly serious.
GGeoff
Yeah, now where did you hear that, Malcolm? I'm not standing.
Malcolm
Never mind where I heard it from. The thing is, Geoff... (Malcolm sits down in his chair) You're gonna waste everybody's time.
GGeoff
I'm not standing, Malcolm. I'm just trying to start a debate, you know, a policy debate, about the future direction of the party and of the government.
Malcolm
Because first, you've got no credentials. I mean, you're so back bench you've actually fucking fallen off. You're out by the fucking bins where I put you.
GGeoff
Hello? Are you listening to me? I'm not standing.
Malcolm
Secondly, I'm gonna tell the Mirror about all the drinking.
GGeoff
(laughing) I'm not drinking.
Malcolm
And thirdly, I'm gonna tell the Mail about the affair. And fourthly, you've got a tiny head.
GGeoff
(offended) No I haven't!
Malcolm
Yes you have. It's out of proportion, everybody mentions it.
Malcolm
See? You're shaking it, and I can hardly see it move. Are you shaking it now? Are you shaking it now? I can't tell.
GGeoff
I'm not standing, okay? My head is the right size, all right?
Malcolm
It is very petite. So you're not standing...
Malcolm
Right? You will not stand against Tom.
GGeoff
I've said. I've bloody said.
Malcolm
Okay, thank you, Geoff. Let's go. Arriva-fucking-derci. (Geoff gets up from his chair, and he and Malcolm shake hands.) Let's have lunch sometime, yeah? We'll have a tete-a-tiny-tete.
GGeoff
(leaving the office) Jesus...
(And now, Nick Hanway, a government press relations officer, is entering his way into Malcolm's office.)
Malcolm
(seeing Nick enter) Oh, Nice Nutter Nick!
Malcolm
(standing up again) Just, you know, putting out a fire.
Malcolm
Definitely out. Pissed out. Steam and cinders, pal. Does Tom know you're here?
Malcolm
So how's the rebrand going?
Okay, we've, um, booked him for a photo op on Tuesday. He's taking the family to a Harvester.
Malcolm
(chuckling) Oh, Jesus Christ, really?
Malcolm
(jokingly as a reporter) "Have you been to a Harvester before, Prime Minister?" (and now as Tom) "No, in fact, I've never actually been outside the fucking house with my family before."
Anyway, um, look...do you know the name of the bod who's booked to go on Today in the morning?
Malcolm
Sure, yeah. Do you know?
Yeah, we just found out. So -- you know who it is?
Malcolm
Well, of course I know. I mean, there's nothing that you know that I don't know. I'm Dr. Fucking Know.
Malcolm
Is this, are you...Are you testing me now? Is it, 'cause I mean, I could test you. I mean, we could have a big match or testostethon. I mean, how do I know that you've got the fucking name, anyway?
Because Hugo at Today told us.
Malcolm
Right.
(A bit of a pause...)
So what name have you got?
(Another hide-and-seek pause...)
Malcolm
Dan Miller.
Oh, okay, so you do know.
Malcolm
Of course I fucking do.
Look, um, Tom's announcing his team in the morning, and I've just got to stop Dan Miller announcing his team two hours before we announce ours, so...if you want to get on the bus, that's...
Malcolm
That is my mission? You, Mr. Nutty Bar, have given me a task? Jesus Christ, who the fuck does Tom think he is?
The next Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Malcolm.
(And with that cool, steely-eyed shot, Nick gets ready to leave Malcolm's office...but Malcolm isn't done with Nick yet.)
Malcolm
Nick. (beat) Tell the mighty fucking Tom that his transition will be as smooth as a Brazilian's fuckh--
(But just before Malcolm can finish his comeback retort to Nick, Jamie enters the office from out of nowhere and interrupts the party.)
(to Malcolm and Nick) Oh! Trinny and Susannah! Well I'm sorry to burst into your little fucking boutique, but you've got a fight on your hands. That's all I'm saying. I'm backing a rival candidate, (to Malcolm) so fuck you, (to Nick) and fuck you and your Nutter coronation 'cause it ain't happening.
So you're backing Dan Miller, are you?
No, I'm not backing Dan Miller! Don't you fucking ever ask me a question again!
Malcolm
Fatty?
Oh aye, Fatty, yeah, wee Spider-Man pyjamas, fucking idiot. From now on, it's a proper fight: it's a pub fight, Motherwell rules, and Tom is gonna get a pint glass in his fucking eye, and a pool cue up his arse, and another pool cue in his other fucking eye!
Malcolm
Geoff Holhurst.
Oh, what, Mr Baby New Potato Head? Fuck off.
Malcolm (to Robyn): You are going to bury this Watford arseache tonight, OK? 'Cause tomorrow morning, from broadsheets to wank rags, I want page one, two and three to be a profile of Tom looking like a fucking political colossus, you know: Tom meeting the Pope, Tom in an NHS hospital chatting to little, baldie kiddies. I want pages four and five to be a timeline of the last few years in British politics with me at the centre, looking fucking indispensable, and fucking benign. And I want page six to be fucking – Israel or some bullshit, not a fucking DOSAC, DIPSHIT, LEGACY-DISTRACTING COCK-UP!
Right, um, Jamie. Look, I just have to say at this point that I do find him just a little bit frightening.
Malcolm
Relax, he has never hit anyone. Or at least, anyone he has hit has never had the balls to take it to a superior. (Robyn still looks terrified) It's a fucking joke. It's a joke, OK? The man is a professional, you will be fine.
Actually, Malcolm? We still have no word on Dan Miller. I mean, he's gone dark, he's not answering his phone –
Malcolm
Maybe he's in a hotel with his own huddle. Ring around, try and find him.
What, ring every hotel in London and ask if Dan Miller's booked in?
Malcolm
Yeah! Although he could be using an assumed name.
So you want me to ring round every hotel in London, and ask if anyone, of any name, has booked in?
Malcolm
Well it will keep you busy, you know, you need to keep the mind active at your age.
OK, the line is: wildcat walkout, we'll be talking to the unions, it's too early to comment. Off the record: er, union Neanderthals with brains the size of children's bogies couldn't take the heat of Hugh Abbot's ring-stinging, shit-hot, public sector reforms, but he's flying back like Harrison Ford with a big whip in one hand and a skinny latte in the other and he's gonna whip six shades of shit out of them and save the world, OK?
Nobody gives a shit if you got shafted by Malcolm.
I will never, ever forgive him for what he did to me.
Jesus, this isn't EastEnders! This is politics! We're all in the same plague pit, Cliff, there's no clean hands!
(Jamie's cell phone rings)
(answering the phone) Yeah?
Malcolm
Jamie! What's that sort of droning noise in the background, then?
Look, okay, here's a more positive approach, right, I'll try this. (reads from his speech)
Malcolm
It's a kind of boring, kind of low sort of droning, boring, kind of miserable whining, boring kind of, sort of boring noise going on?
Yeah, well, you've got it wrong, yeah?
Malcolm
Cliff fucking Lawton. Hey, nice. Was the Cillit Bang guy not available?
... To put it simply, I'm back!
Fuck off! You're a busted flush! You're not gonna be Prime Minister, you're not gonna be anything, so fuck off.
This is your thing, isn't it? Everything has to be an absolute, everything has to be black and white! You know: 'I love you, fuck off!' There are lots of shades of grey, you know!
Oh, I know that, I'm looking at fifteen of them right now. See you later, no-mark.
Malcolm
You've got this bullshit Watford story covered, yeah?
Malcolm
You and I will have a little discussion later.
Yeah. I think Watford will get bumped by the fact that we're about to hand the nuclear codes to a guy who, every now and then, loses it so bad he needs satnav to find his own nipples.
Malcolm
What are you talking about?
Well, I just thought it was fair to let everyone know about the Tom rumours, you know. How the guy that's about to become Prime Minister chugs antidepressants like they're fucking Smints. How the Black Dog humps his leg and shits in his duvet every four months; I think that will bump the Watford walkout.
Malcolm
You've gone fucking psycho son, fucking psycho! (leaves) TWAT!
(answering his mobile) Hello.
Malcolm
Right, what's the plan?
Well, they don't have a plan.
Malcolm
Okay, well perhaps you should give them one.
Well, yes, fantastic, actually, Malc, because obviously I have a very suitable one tattooed on the underside of my scrotum, so why don't we use that –
Malcolm
Shut it, you're using up all the minutes on my 'talk till you get head cancer' tariff!
Malcolm
Are you in on this?
I'm not leaving it to you, eh? You couldn't organise a bum-rape in a barracks.
Malcolm
Au contraire.
What we're having here is a secret conversation, and I'm hoping that this time you can keep the fucking secret, because normally you're about as secure as a hymen in a South London comprehensive.
Yep, well done: that's offensive on a number of levels in a very concise way.
They've ditched Ballentine.
What the fuck is wrong with these people? I mean, what is this, potential leader speed dating? Right, who is standing?
Adam Kenyon (to another journalist working on a Ballentine story): Well, ditch that for a starter, get rid of her, I can't stand her fucking face.
You know, I think you should eat something.
Oh right, yeah! Eat something, that'd be right, wouldn't it? You know what, our coverage so far has either been wrong or guesswork, which was wrong. So all we have now is a story-shaped hole!
Seriously, your blood sugar's low.
Makes you very irritable.
No, what makes me very irritable, Angela, is having no fucking stories and having to fill an entire newspaper with just fucking prepositions!
Malcolm
And obviously if you do think about running with this pills story –
Malcolm
I will personally fucking eviscerate you, right?
Malcolm
And I mean, I don't have your education, I don't know what that means, but I will start by ripping your cock off and I'll busk it from there, okay?
Malcolm
Talk to you later.
Cheers. Bye bye now. (Hangs up. To Angela) He's a nice guy.
(to Terri and Robyn) Oh hey, Desperate Housewives, have you found out who's leaking yet?
I have. It's Julius! He's just told me –
Wait, no, what – That – Julius?
Nicholson? That baldy PUSSY? Well, I tell you, if he thinks he's leaking now, wait to see him when I'm finished with him: he'll look like fucking Mel Gibson's Jesus! FUCK! FUCK, FUCK! FUCK!
Why don't I get something in? A man cannot live on Jaffa Cakes alone, obviously. I've tried.
Malcolm (to Ben): I'm just gonna go make some nuisance calls, I'll see you in about half a – Stop fucking blinking! Or I will take your optic nerve and strangle you with it. OK. You look after him, Ollie, OK? He's a very important man. Cock like a caber.
Just tell me what the fucking news is and I'll put it on the front page. It's not like we're The Independent, we can't just stick a headline saying 'Cruelty' and then stick a picture of a dolphin or a whale underneath it. I mean, that's just fucking cheating, that's rubbish.
Well, what I'm hearing is Ben Swain.
Right, I literally don't know who he is. I'm not being stupid or anything, but I physically don't know who Ben Swain is. He could be the leader of the Special Boat Squadron –
The Special Boat Service or whatever it's fucking called, and this could be a massive coup.
Ben Swain is what I'm hearing.
Malcolm
The good news, however, is that the – well, the Tom wobble, it's over.
Malcolm
That's great, isn't it?
Yeah! Why is – So what, he's not wobbling, he's – What does that mean?
Malcolm
Well, it means that all the rats are now returning to a very buoyant ship and they're playing deck tennis, so that's lovely, isn't it?
What does that mean for me, then?
Malcolm
I guess that means that you're standing in the chamber of the House of Commons with your big flaccid dick hanging out with a 'vote for me' sticker on the end.
But you said I had a chance! About half an hour ago you said I was in with a shot!
Malcolm
Don't fucking gi– Look, half an hour ago you were in with a shot! This is half an hour hence! We've fucking time-travelled, yes? We're in a weird and wonderful world, where everything is different. Maybe outside, the polar ice caps have melted. Maybe there's fucking robots knocking about and Davina McCall's the new Pope. Maybe, you can download rice! I want you right now to think about your future, okay? Think about what you are doing, get yourself back on the train to fucking Tomsville pronto, yeah? (walking out) Half an hour ago.
The Thick Of It · 395 quotes
