Right, sorry to interrupt you at this very sad time, but we do have Prime Minister's Questions in one hour.
No it's fine, I've got the lead question, I've got the follow-up sarcastic question and I've got the withering put-down, so I'm prepped, I'm fucking prepped.
Yep. You'll walk rings round him.Ben: The Leader of the Opposition is in that room, Malcolm, practising walking. I mean, baby horses can walk from the womb, she's one-nil down to a pony.
A pony isn't a baby horse, it's a foal, a fucking foal is a baby horse.
Right, our guest tonight on 'I Don't Give a Fuck about Baby Horses' is me. But we need to do something about Nicola, Malcolm, I mean, you know about her plan – I mean, Nicola with a plan, that's like a toddler with a harpoon, there's a toddler wandering around in that office with a harpoon.
Yes, well, don't you worry about Nicola's plan. I'll deal with that, Sweaty Betty – Listen, when you wake up in the morning you've got a routine, haven't you?
Big shit, granola, check the email, shower and a shave, Nespresso, sometimes a second shit.
Exactly. You have a plan: that's good. Nicola has a plan: that's not good. But I have a plan: that's fucking great.Malcolm (seeing Nicola bend down in front of the photocopier): Oh, that's very moving: 'They shall not grow old, who photocopy their arses at the Christmas do'.
(Nicola and her advisers, Ollie Reeder & Helen Hatley, are brainstorming ideas for a buzzword for do-gooder members of the public.)
They're commuters, they are the street-pounders, street – walkers, um –
You can't call them streetwalkers.
They're the people who deal with the little stuff, erm – Wombles, Honest Wombles, Everyday Wombles?
Sorry, I've just got to take a call.
No. No, of course, sorry.
Helen HatleyCommuting champions.
Interrai– human interrailers –
Human interrailers? That's interrailers. Er, everyday superstars, all British supremes –
That sounds like a racist tribute band.
Ordinary people, with something special about them, with a special power.
Please don't say special. Don't say special.
No but – you know, but like sup– people as superheroes.
Ironpeople, Spiderpeople. Wolfpeople.
They're just regular citizens, but they have this – that one special quality that makes them like Batman, or Batpeople. Erm, Quiet Batpeople.
(glaring) Quiet Batpeople?
Before we finish, I just want to throw one more pebble into the thought pool.
Sorry Ben, I missed that?
Just I'm sorry, I just, I said 'ploop', it's just the noise of a pebble.
(A photographer has managed to take a picture of Helen's 'Quiet Batpeople' notes)
"Quiet Batpeople" on every fucking paper!
Right, this is a wake-up call. And by the way, Helen, the next time you want to make Nicola look like a clown with her fucking hair on fire in a Zumba class, why don't you just take your notes down to Snappy Snaps and get them blown up to gigantic charity cheque size, so the partially sighted can be in on the fucking gag?
Helen
I didn't know they'd be able to see it!
So we have to seize the agenda. We have to deflect attention away from all this. It's now time to embrace our friend Mr. Tickle.
I can't even say his name without smiling.
Yeah, well, he's not smiling, is he? He's living in a tent, 'cause his key-worker housing's been sold off.
Yes, and he's a 24-carat fucking nutcase. Which means that Peter Mannion has been picking on a man with a history of depression. That's a way right into the Principality of Pricks right there.
(Malcolm and Ben, and separately Ollie and Helen, are watching Nicola at the Remembrance Sunday ceremony on TV)
You're right, she can't fucking walk.
I mean, should we get a pony to challenge her?
It's not a fucking pony, it's a fucking foal.
Helen
I don't understand how you can get that wrong.
It's this: (demonstrates) de-de-clunk!
Helen
She is officially a Ceno-twat.
Fabulous work, sister. Bury her in a grave. The Unknown Leader.
Helen
I can't watch: I feel a bit sick.
I just hope there is no afterlife, because if people fought and died for this, it is going to seem even more ridiculously futile.
Ben (to Malcolm): Why d'you know so much about horses, anyway? I thought you were raised by wolves.
(deleted scene)
(during the Quiet Batpeople brainstorming)
Wombles, Honest Wombles, Everyday Wombles?
Helen
Right, OK, obviously, you know, we're not gonna block anything 'cause this is a think-thoughting session, erm –
Sorry, I've just got to take a call.
Think-thoughting, Helen, is what we call, in the real world, thinking. It's the same. Am I say-speaking out of turn? Have I not understood-comprehended you?
Helen
I don't know, I tuned you out a bit.(deleted scene)
Hiya, I thought you were bollocking Dan Miller.
Oh, I am. (to the empty chair next to him) Look at you! You bourgeois, fucking side-parted twat, you flap that bammed-up nutcrease of yours again, and I will fuck you so deep, that if you're not drowned in the blizzard of jizz, your rectum will become the biggest fucking indoor venue in fucking Europe.
Malcolm (to Ollie): This is monkey typewriter stuff. There's not even a fucking infinite amount of monkeys with an infinite amount of time with an infinite amount of typewriters that'll produce the words, 'Nicola Murray, PM'.(deleted scene)
How do you know so much about horses, anyway? I thought you were raised by wolves.
I don't know anything about horses, apart from that a grown-up one's a fucking horse and a baby one's a foal. And why are you eating my biscuits?
I don't know, I found them on here. There's one left.
It's like a toilet seat, isn't it? I mean, it's not, it's lovely.
What size of a wreath would you need for a nuclear war?
There wouldn't be anyone left to put it on the Cenotaph, would there? It'd be carried along by cockroaches or whatever it is they say'll survive.
(Meanwhile, Nicola and Helen are on a train back to London, when Nicola realizes...)
I never act on impulse. I'm so not impulsive. And Malcolm made me do it now, fuck!
Helen
What?
Launching this inquiry may prove to be misguided in that I now recall I may have fleetingly supported the policy myself.
Helen
(in disbelief) So you've essentially launched an investigation into yourself.
Helen
Oh, well, Malcolm, yeah.
You've met Malcolm. I would've said that it was ethically bad.
Helen
I'll tell you what you said, just give me a minute. (Helen scoffs) Brilliant. Courtesy of the Telegraph website. You said, "Great revenue raiser, but I'm afraid it's a no-no because of my bloody husband." I'm sorry. Why would you do that?
You remember all your e-mails, do you, that you sent three years ago? Because from what I understand from Ollie, a large number of them were sent to that married producer on the Daily Politics.
Helen
Ollie is a fucking...because...He was supposed to leave her and...
(Helen wants to come up with a better rescue plan.)
Helen
Okay, while we're on our way back to London, maybe we should make a list of the things, you know, you're for and against. Let's start with something simple. Animals in circuses?
Tell you what. Why don't you make the little list and shove it up your tight, cold arse? I just need to stare.
Helen
Have a good stare.
(Nicola has discovered that Declan, the journalist due to interview her, is the man behind 'Mr Chop'!)
I am, uh...ever so close to being on the verge of bawling my fucking eyes out' disappointed about this. I mean, this was it, was it? What was the alternative, going on Strictly Come Dancing and doing a fucking hooky waltz with Abu Hamza? This is pretty low. This is lower than my mother's pelvic floor, Helen.
Helen
I had to virtually go on the game to get you this. So, frankly, I don't care whether he wants to roll around in applesauce with you. Get in there and do as you're told.
(taking a breath) Right. I will go, because I'm choosing to go in. But I just need you to know for the record...
Helen
Just get in there before I push you in.
The Thick Of It · 395 quotes
