[Ollie is in an office arguing with his ex-girlfriend, Angela Heaney...who's also a news journalist.]
I'm really glad you came in, Angela.
Angela HeaneyWell, I could lose my job, Ollie.
Angela
Because I went all hot and heavy to the news desk with three directly contradictory stories in one day.
Angela
They gave me flip-flops. You know? Someone actually went out and bought me flip-flops to give me.
Yeah. You've gotta give them credit for that, that is quite funny.
Angela
Yeah. And they pasted onto them...a fucking porn picture of a girl sucking a big cock and they wrote, "Angela Heaney swallows anything."
That is less funny. Obviously, that's actually quite offensive.
Angela
Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't do a big story on the, you know, the day of spin?
Wh-Why? What sort of story? [Ollie starts stammering and struggling to defend himself...]
Angela
Inside story of a government department out of control. With diagrams and maybe a flow chart with your face and name on it. And Glenn's and Hugh's and big arrows showing who spoke to who and how you all fucked it up! Yeah, I think I could write that one up myself, Ollie. I think I could do the punctuation on that one!
Yeah, I-I'm sorry. Okay, I was patronis...
[Suddenly, Malcolm comes into the office.]
Hey. Hi, Angela. Oh, I like the hair, nice little corkscrews. How's it going?
Yeah, er, fine. Um, we were just, er, talking about why Angela shouldn't do a big story on the big insidery piece, kinda day of spin, sort of spread in the paper...
[to Ollie] Oh, I don't know. [to Angela] Maybe you should! Good idea.
[Malcolm leaves -- then comes back.]
Oh, wait a minute, wait a minute. I know why she shouldn't. Because, you know, if she did that, she'd be dead. To me, to this department, to the government. And she'll never get another story, or a fucking whiff of a story as long as she kept her sorry, hack bitch face lingering around Westminster, because I would call every editor I know - which, obviously, that's all of them - and I'd tell them to gouge her name out of their address books so she'd never even get a job on hospital radio where the sad sack belongs. That's what I'd tell her. [to Ollie] But maybe you should do it. See you later.
Yeah. [to Angela] He's actually...He can be really nice. It's been a very long day.
[Hugh is still talking to Angela.]
No, no. Look, I'm very glad you brought that up, because that -- gives me...that gives me the opportunity to...Sorry...I...[Hugh's looking at Malcolm through the 'goldfish bowl'] Just mucking about...Um...
I have always maintained very clearly...
[opening the door] Hi, Angela. Sorry, sorry, sorry, can I just borrow the Minister for a moment?
Sure. Sorry, be right back with you.
[Barely audible, outside the 'goldfish bowl' where Angela was interviewing Hugh...]
[to Hugh] They're running about your fucking flat, I fucking told you about that. How the fuck did you think it was gonna run, you STUPID CUNT?! How am I supposed to control what's going on if I don't know WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?! YOU'RE A FUCKING PRICK! AN ABSOLUTE CUNT! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?!
[While Malcolm is still yelling at Hugh, Terri opens the door to the "Goldfish Bowl." She comes in and offers to get Angela some goodies]
Angela, can I get you a fresh cup of coffee?
Angela
No, I'm fine, thanks.
Um, would you like some tea?
Angela
Nope, nope.
Angela
No.
Do let me know if you need anything else.
Angela
I will. Thanks very much.
[to Hugh] GET BACK IN THERE AND WRAP THIS BULLSHIT UP!
[Hugh re-enters the 'goldfish bowl'...]
Ah. Hah! Bit of a disagreement.
Angela
Blimey.
Yeah. Um, could you...I'm just curious, could you hear? Because we were actually...We can be quite brutal to each other, because we're actually very, very good, good friends.
Angela
Right.
(Amidst all the chaos swirling after the announcement of the PM's surprise resignation, Ollie's cell phone rings. It's Angela Heaney.)
(answering his phone) Angela, hello.
Angela
Ollie. How are you?
I am tickety-fuckety-boo, thank you very much.
Angela
Sorry?
Tickety-fuckety-boo. It's just something that Ben says.
Angela
Are you and Ben Swain big buds, then?
Well, you know...Just, could you...
(Ollie has to get away from Glenn, because Glenn is talking to Hugh on his cell phone.)
(to Angela) Hang on just a second...
(Ollie walks away from the action...and then resumes his conversation with Angela.)
(in a quieter voice) Things are just a little bit fluid here and Glenn's not really a big Ben fan. Ben Swain obviously, not the clock. Well, it's not the clock, is it? It's the bell that's called Big Ben.
Angela
So go on, tell me: Who else is running?
(in the men's toilets) Well, no one. No one's gonna stand against Tom now, surely, it's going to be unopposed. (Starts using the urinal) They'll be rebranding him as we speak, I would imagine: new hair, Ted Baker teeth, all the modern trappings of your political leader –
Angela
Ollie! Are you pissing?
Er no, that's the flush of the automatic urinals, it's a gentlemen's lavatory.
Angela
I don't want to talk to you while you're holding your penis.
Well, that's not what you used to say, Angela.
Angela
Er, yes it is.
No, well – actually it is precisely what you used to say.
(Meanwhile, at the Daily Mail's headquarters, Adam Kenyon, the editor-in-chief at the mail, is discussing the news of who's standing for leadership with Angela.)
Angela
Yeah.
Right, Ollie's our source on this, is he? Ollie Reeder? Shallow Throat? Brilliant.
Angela
Yeah, I know you don't rate him.
You can say that again. Ollie Reeder is, to quote Robert F. Kennedy, a complete fucking spazmaloid. Plus you know how Geoff Holhurst photographs: it looks like his body's in the foreground and his head is really really far away, he looks fucking weird. Just something solid, all right? Otherwise our front page is gonna be an interview with Janet Street-Porter on why she hasn't been asked to be Prime Minister and a giant fucking Sudoku.
I'm not leaving it to you, eh? You couldn't organise a bum-rape in a barracks.
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.
Angela Heaney
They've ditched Ballentine.
Angela Heaney
Yeah.
What the fuck is wrong with these people? I mean, what is this, potential leader speed dating? Right, who is standing?
Angela Heaney
I dunno.
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.
Angela Heaney
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!
Angela Heaney
Seriously, your blood sugar's low.
Angela Heaney
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!
And obviously if you do think about running with this pills story –
I will personally fucking eviscerate you, right?
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?
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.
Angela Heaney
What?
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.
Angela Heaney
Well, what I'm hearing is Ben Swain.
Angela Heaney
Yeah.
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 –
Angela Heaney
Service.
The Special Boat Service or whatever it's fucking called, and this could be a massive coup.
Angela Heaney
Ben Swain is what I'm hearing.
(Meanwhile, Malcolm is joking around with journalists from various newspapers, including Angela Heaney from the Daily Mail.)
(looking at pictures) I mean, these are the worst pictures I've seen, really, they are. I don't know who was taking them. Roy fucking Orbison you've got doing that.
Angela
Oh, Malcolm?
Angela
Have you seen Rob Holt's blog today?
(sarcastically) Oh yeah, of course. Yeah, I read Rob Holt's blog. I read all the blogs. 'Cause basically, I'm an under-employed, fat fucking loser. Got nothing better to do with my time than to sit in my bedroom like a fat space-hopper in a tracksuit, reading inconsequential, un-spellchecked shit fabricated by other fat, farting, fucking losers.
Angela
Well, he's saying that the big health numbers in the PM's speech -- they're from a false sample. Apparently, they're -- they're lifted from Andrew Dover's blog, not from the ONS.
I wouldn't take any notice of it. There's-There's nothing in that at all.
Angela
Nothing in it?
Nothing at all. I'll catch you's later, okay?
(But sure enough, Malcolm gets on his cell phone and calls his personal assistant, Sam.)
(on his phone) Sam, the health stats fuck-up is out there. And I don't know who's doing it, but I want his balls on a fucking plate. (beat) Well, I don't know. Google "goolies."
The Thick Of It · 395 quotes
