(Glenn and Ollie are in Nicola's office, trying to give her tips on how to deal with Malcolm. But before they can do so...Malcolm walks in.)
(entering the office) Is this the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency?
Malcolm Tucker! The real deal. Hello.
(Malcolm and Nicola shake hands.)
(to Nicola, smiling) The real deal. Good to see you. You're looking great! (to Glenn and Ollie) All right, Hinge and Bracket, time to go and hang up your lady-cocks.
(Glenn and Ollie leave, and Malcolm continues his conversation with Nicola.)
Nicola Murray! Here you are, Secretary of State for the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship.
Yep, I now have one of the longest job titles in Western politics. Thank God I don't have to wear a lapel badge.
It's a pity that we couldn't just make an abbreviation of it, you know, like PFI. Which I think stands for Pretty Fucking Imbarrassing. If you're a bit sloppy about the details, which clearly your fucking husband is.
Okay, look, James works for Albany, fine. He wasn't even working there when the contract was awarded.
(smiling) Don't worry, don't worry. That was just me, that was...
(getting the joke) Okay, right. Fine.
(serious again) I mean, that's the sort of thing the press will throw at you. I mean, you step out of line, they'll be all over you like a pigeon on a chip, you know? Is that your chair?
Oh God, yeah. It's cool, isn't it? It's got, um, lumbar support.
Bin it. People don't like their politicians to be comfortable. They don't like you having expenses. They don't like you being paid. They'd rather you lived in a fucking cave.
Ok, fine. So, uh, what should I be sitting on? Should I just get an upturned KFC bucket?
A fucking normal chair, right? Not a fucking massive vibrating throne.
(Glenn, Ollie and Terri are watching Malcolm's conversation with Nicola outside the office...wondering if Nicola will keep any of them on.)
Malcolm must be hating this. All these bright, fresh, new ministers to blood in and to plan a by-election.
(to Glenn) If it's any consolation to you, a little bit of you will always be in this department, because she's nabbed your chair. Hasn't she? She's got your chair, and, in fact, your dandruff.
Ha ha ha. If I go, that chair is coming with me.
You know those old men you see who go to the park to read the paper? That'll be you. You could go in your chair. They'd make you King of All the Tramps.
(Meanwhile, in Nicola's office...)
So, uh, you got three kids, yeah?
Yeah. Katie's 16, she's the eldest. She's just left school.
Not going to a college or university?
Um, she's a bit of a rebel.
(concerned) What sort of a rebel? I mean, so, I mean, look, what are we talking here? Are we talking a pierced navel or holidays at Pakistani training camp?
It's-it's chiefly heroin. (beat) Although she has cut down since getting pregnant by that Nigerian people-smuggler, because the track marks would have affected her porn career.
(Terri has awkwardly entered the office. She politely apologizes for the interruption, but feels...a little awkward about the conversation taking place.)
I'm sorry to disturb. Um... (to Malcolm) Morning, Malcolm.
(to Nicola) Just wanted to give you a few things here. That's change from the fruit salad. This is this morning's paper. Do excuse me.
(Terri politely leaves the office...and Nicola resumes her chat with Malcolm.)
Um, I'm surprised that you, uh, haven't vetted me, I thought you'd know about the kids.
It's just that 'cause you were just a sort of, you were a bit of a late-ish kind of appointment.
That didn't quite give me the time to, you know, to "fuck the I'd and fist the T's," as Robert Robertson might say.
(to Ollie) Sounds to me like that she's only bringing in, um, one other person, so...you know, I wonder whether she might keep one of us on permanently.
(annoyed) Je- We know you're safe, Terri! How do we know you're safe? We know your safe, because you keep using the word "safe," like bloody Jim Bowen!
[imitating Jim Bowen presenting Bullseye)] Yeah, you've got DoSAC, that's safe. Do you want to go for the treasury, young lady?
(At Number 10, Malcolm sees Ed walking down the hall, all stressed out.)
Hey, what's wrong with you? You look like you've shat a Lego garage or something.
Jim Lane's daughter is standing as an independent in Leamington Spa.
(Malcolm and Ed start walking...)
(silently, to himself) For fuck's sake...fuck. (to Ed) This is gonna split our vote.
Do you think we're in trouble? Maybe we should have chosen her over Liam Bentley.
No. She thinks just because her dead fat-arse dad was the MP that gives her the right to be our candidate? No no no. This isn't Czarist Russia. It's not the fucking Dimblebys.
We send everyone up there, to support Liam Bentley, including the Prime Minister.
You want to send Tom up there?
Yeah, fuck it, he'll be all right as long as he doesn't do the smile. You hit the phones, right? I'll be with you in two shakes of a crying baby.
You have been asked by the PM, specifically, to pop along to Leamington, and do some photo ops with Liam Bentley, supporting him, yeah?
I don't really have any choice, do I?
Of course you have a choice. You can decide exactly how you say yes. You can do it with a voice. Have fun with it.
(Pause) Yes. (Beat) In my own voice.
(on the phone) Well you know what, Howard, she's not bent, either in the sense of being corrupt or being gay. And by the way, that's an incredibly homophobic headline, you massive poof. (enters Nicola's office) You've got egg on your face, Howard, you over-easy pissbag. (hangs up. To Terri, Ollie and Glenn) Oh hey, Yoko Ono and the two remaining Beatles, piss off.
(Nicola suspects that Malcolm set up the 'I am bent' photos)
Malcolm. Sorry, can we just carry on talking about that thing? Was it you who positioned me there?
(waiting for a lift) Do you know what the first sign of madness is? Paranoia. Have you seen that film, you know, A Beautiful Mind, the one with that, err, Russell Crowe? The one where the maths guy thinks that the CIA are working away in his shed at the bottom of his garden? That's you.
No. I'm not the mad one here. You are the mad one, you're Russell Crowe.
No, no, no, no, you are Russell Crowe. (waves patronisingly at her) And you need to fucking listen to me, Russell, you fucking Antipodean fucking kangaroo-loving fruitcake! See this poster stuff? That's fucking small fry. That's fucking whitebait, Russ me old cobber. (enters the lift) The really horrible stuff, that's all still about to happen to you, right? Right, you're coming in here so we can carry this on?
Err, if you can spare the time!
Err, no. (pause) No, I can't – I don't use lifts, I'm claustrophobic.
(incredulous) You're what?
Not hugely, I can be in rooms, you've seen that, I just... don't do lifts, that's all.
But this lift is – I mean, it's fucking huge! I mean, this is bigger than some rooms, this is bigger than some people's flats!
It's about not being able to get out.
Oh, well that's great. That's fucking great, that's another fucking thing, right there: not only have you got a fucking bent husband and a fucking daughter that gets taken to school in a fucking sedan chair, you're also fucking mental! Jesus Christ, see you, you are a fucking omnishambles, that's what you are. You're like that coffee machine, you know: "from bean to cup, you fuck up".
(to herself, returning to her office) He so is Russell Crowe!
(at her desk, overhearing) Who?
(deleted scene)
Because if you are worried about Malcolm, well, you know, Ollie and I have amassed one or two tips, how to deal with him, over the years. It's pretty much common sense, really: don't drive a gas guzzler, don't sign up for Bupa, don't have an affair. Don't tell racist jokes, however ironic.
Don't send your children to independent schools.
Don't dig up Diana and have Patrick Moore play Nazi drinking songs on her ribs.
(deleted scene)
Yeah I suppose so, he's gonna have to let her go free-range for a week, isn't he? Till after the by-election. Then he can snap her beak off, cram her into the battery cage;
'I'm not really good with cages', (impersonates Malcolm) 'Get in there Nicola, fucking get in till you're perfectly square, and you're shiteing cuboid eggs!'
(sighing) Thank God I'm safe. I'm glued to this department and you'd have to steam me off.
Yeah. Well you don't have to worry about me: You don't hang around in this business as long as I have without picking up contacts.
Yes, but Disraeli's dead, Glenn, he died in the Crimea, did you not hear the town crier announce it?
(deleted scene)
It's never too soon to go to Leamington. It's the Venice of the Midlands, if Venice was fucking horrible.
Have a lovely time in Leamington, yeah? I hear it's got the best Lidl in the West Midlands.
(deleted scene)
(at the poster launch in Leamington) And we need to be investing, er, at least –
Invest? Did I hear her say 'invest'?
(on the phone) Ollie, she's gone off-piste, she's off the mountain now.
Oh, Jesus. She's so far off the mountain, she's being finger-banged in a chalet by Bigfoot.
