Malcolm (arriving at Nicola's Guardian lunch): Afternoon, ladies! I heard there were sandwiches and I'm a fucker for cress – No no no, please don't get up, I'm not Viagra. Geoffrey. (shakes hands)
GeoffreyAlways a pleasure.
Good to see you. John, how are you doing? (John gets up to shake hands) I just want to tell you, I really enjoyed your novel.
Way of writing a fucking awful story. Joking, joking!
(Nicola has accidentally revealed the data loss to an on-the-record journalist.)
FUCK'S SAKE! Jesus – Christ! Well, now we've got another fucking adjective to add to fucking 'smug' and 'glum', haven't we?! Fucking 'RETARDED'! JESUS Ch– Do you not think it would be germane to check who you're talking to?! IT'S A FUCKING NEWSPAPER OFFICE! IT'S NOT A FUCKING SANATORIUM FOR THE FUCKING DEAF, IS IT?! ARE YOU SO DENSE?! Am I gonna have to run around, slapping badges on people, with a big tick on some and a big cross on others, so you know when to shut your gob and when to open it?! Jesus Christ! Oh, but that'll probably confuse you as well, won't it?! That'll be too confusing! You'd see the cross and go "Oh, fuck! X marks the spot! Better tell this little person all about the Prime Minister's fucking CATASTROPHIC ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION!" Oh, but not to worry, not to worry, you've sent fucking Ollie over there to deal with it. (Nicola tries to speak) FUCKING OLLIE! HE'S A FUCKING- HE'S A FUCKING KNITTED SCARF, THAT TWAT, HE'S A FUCKING BALACLAVA!
(Meanwhile, Malcolm is at home serving Indian food to some journalists.)
Here they come, it's the Flying Scots-curry-man. (sings) 'Where's your pappadam?' You have got to try this aubergine, it's cooked in ghee, right? I fucking love ghee, it's like fucking freebasing butter. Have some more wine, come on, get quaffing. (mobile rings) Christ, here we go. (answers) No, we don't do takeaway, right? (all laugh, as Malcolm walks away) Listen, see, if this is recorded spam, I'm gonna hunt you down and burst your fucking lungs.
Ollie (at his desk): Where actually are you, Malcolm?
Where are you on holiday, where?
Right, OK, I'm in Thailand, in a sex spa. About to get a fucking facial.
Right, quick summary: Andy Murray, famous tennis player, also lovely Scotch person, face of Healthy Lifestyle Choices. Nicola Murray, slightly panicky, er, minister-lady: wonder if that's OK 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, OK?
Okey dokey! (hangs up. To Nicola and Glenn) The man from Hell Monte, he say 'Fucking aye'!
(apologizing to his guests) Sorry about that. Everybody's heard about the cooking, so it's...
Geoffrey
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.
MMarianne
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 feces. Come on, get stuck in. I'll dish it up for you.
MMarianne
What about Tom bringing back Steve Fleming? Kind of makes you old news, doesn't it?
Geoffrey
You repositioning yourself, Malcolm?
This is about a guy sharing his ghee. That's it. Okay?
Geoffrey
So you're not currying favor, then?
(Marianna starts laughing at Geoffrey's joke.)
MMarianne
(laughing) Sorry...
(to Geoffrey, jokingly) Fuck you. Get out of my house. Get out of my fucking house. That's it. I know...I mean, no wonder nobody's fucking buying your paper.
(Meanwhile, at Malcolm's house with the journalists...)
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.
MMarianne
This Steve Fleming thing is gonna end in tears, isn't it? I mean, you sacked him last time.
All right. Right. Okay. Off the record. Right? Okay? While Steven is a useful tool, and I do emphasize the word "useful" here, I'm still running the show. Right?
Geoffrey
If you're still running the show, why do you need to tell us?
(Malcolm calmly -- but still menacingly -- walks up to Geoffrey, with the pot of coffee still in his hand.)
(calmly) Geoffrey, all I'm saying is this: It would be very much fucking appreciated if you could emphasize the fact that I'm at the heart of the government. Because it's fucking true. I am the heart. I am the ventricles. And the fucking aorta.
MMarianne
(chuckling) Malcolm, we get it. You're still the star of the show.
It's not for me to say, darling.
Geoffrey
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.
The Thick Of It · 395 quotes
