(looking at a newspaper story with the headline "Silly Tucker: Was web of filth spun by Downing Street 'Spiderman'?")
Malcolm (on the phone): The story isn't me, Glenn, OK? Nobody is interested in me and I'll be pleased if you'd remember that, OK?
Glenn (at his sister's Welsh cottage): You sure you don't want me and Hugh to come back? We could give you some cover.
Hugh is not coming back: it would look like we're panicking, and we're not panicking. But I need you back here fucking ASAP to let them know that we're not panicking.
So you want me to interrupt my holiday in a panic, so that Hugh doesn't have to interrupt his holiday and look like he's panicking?
You get back here! I wanna see you popping a bollock for me! (hangs up)
(walking in, holding up the same 'Silly Tucker' story) You seen this?
No, I haven't seen that. I'm the senior press guy for the Government of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. No, I don't look at the newspapers, that's fucking news to me.
All right, all right. What are we doing?
What are we doing? Fuck all, we're not doing nothing, all right, because I am not the story here.
Well, no, you kind of are the story, Malc: they spelt your name right and everything.
You take this and this, and you put it onto your bird's breasts, and you rub them and squeeze them very very gently, you get her into the sack, you bang her fucking brains out, you make sure that she cums, and you just give her the policy!
Yeah, but I chucked her, and not in a kind of, you know, 'It's not you, it's me' sort of way, more in a 'It is you, you hideous vacuous Sloane bitch from hell' kind of scorched-earth kind of –
I'm really not interested at all in your little tiff. Get round there, take your Barry White album and your lube and your fucking policy folder.
Malcolm, this is really crossing the line here –
Don't start with the moral objections, you fucking Blue Peter badge-wearing ponce! Go and make a contribution to fucking Amnesty International, go and buy a goat the whole village can fuck! But you are doing this for me.
Malcolm, you're bullying me, and, you know, I don't know why you're bullying me, you're –
How dare you? How dare you! Don't you ever, ever, call me a bully. I'm so much worse than that. Do it. OK? Wash your hands.
Do I know you? Oh, don't you work for somebody famous? Er, Malcolm Hamish MacDeath?
It's, er, Peter Onion, isn't it?
I always forget, were you the forced abortion or the love child? Or the guy who asphyxiated himself with a kiwi?
Just the love child: I was the quiet one.
Like John Deacon in Queen.
Terri (on her phone): Well I might as well call myself on unofficial leave now: nothing will happen for the next three weeks, absolutely zero. I'm gonna book that holiday. Yeah, well, I mean, all they'll be doing, they'll be bobbing about like emperor penguins trying to swap over an egg.
(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?
Oh 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.
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)
(while watching Ben Swain on Newsnight)
Still, at least Hugh will be pleased.
Yeah, he'll be thrilled, I'm sure! His department on the rack, he'll be like, 'Hey, Ollie, thanks for running the department, although it seems to have all turned to shit!' You're like the man with the Midas touch, except instead of everything you touch turning to gold, it turns to shit. You're like the man with the shit touch. Shitfinger.
Shouldn't you be online pretending to be a Hobbit, eh? Trying to get a date with a lady Hobbit, but failing?
(deleted scene)
(seeing Ben Swain arrive)
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?
Have I seen you on the telly?
(laughs) Yeah. Blockbuster, 1991, I got a Gold Run.
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?
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?
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)
Really? Yeah, he'd be fantastic, I'd confess everything to him.
(deleted scene)
Where are you tonight? 'Cause you're not here. What, no invitation for number one party animal, Julius Pete Doherty Nicholson?
Stop trying to joke, OK? Don't joke, you are not funny, Julius, you're about as funny as a blind toddler in a fucking minefield.
(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?
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.
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.
He's on some road somewhere where he can't do a U-turn for about five miles or something.
Good! I like to know that I can still make him miserable even though he's 12,000 miles away.
