(Malcolm and Nicola are talking about a newspaper story calling for Nicola to be "sacked.")
You've seen the sack race thing, I suppose. Yeah, there it is.
(Malcolm, of course, thinks the story is funny.)
It's not funny! It's not even accurate, because technically I was fourth. So, really, they should have said, "Fourth in the Sack race." I think we should complain to the PCC.
Look, stop worrying: the PM is not going to sack you after a week. Sacked after twelve months, looks like you've fucked up; sacked after a week, looks like he's fucked up.
I'm not doing terribly, am I?
(beat)
(looking out of the car window) I love the way that they've sandblasted everything around here. It's so clean!
I'd just like people to get to know the real me. You know, I feel like I'm coming across as a bit...Oh, I don't know. Glum.
Yeah, you're coming across as more smug than glum.
'Cause I am actually quite a fun person, underneath all of this. I've got loads of friends.
Well, I'm sure you have, but the trouble is when you say something like that, it sounds a wee bit smug. (to Nicola's driver) Can you just pull in over here? And you can take out that cyclist as you go in, I think he's Shadow Cabinet.
(Nicola is trying to talk to Malcolm...)
Oh, oh, oh. Incoming body parts. Excuse me. (Malcolm answers his cell phone) Look, if this has got any bigger, you're gonna feel the thump of a fucking harpoon in your thorax.
(to Robyn) Does he know? Well, follow him.
(still on his phone) I hope you like shitting toenails, because that's what you're gonna be doing all of next week. And don't worry, I've painted them yellow so they'll look like fucking sweet corn.
(Robyn is trying to secretly follow Malcolm, but backs away when she sees him coming her way)
(on his phone) The guy's a fucking liability! (softly) Jesus Christ. Listen, I want...
(Robin makes her way back towards the others, and they have to whisper so Malcolm doesn't hear them talking.)
Look, I couldn't hear everything, he takes very long strides...
What, are you a fucking penguin? Just run.
Look, I'm a civil servant, not a fucking Olympic athlete!
(Malcolm seems to be off his cell phone...)
Right. What's occurring, Hermann Goring?
(But then his cell phone rings. Again.)
(annoyed) WHAT? (And then...Malcolm doesn't like what he hears...) You're fucking kidding me. Excuse me. (to Nicola and the team) Two minutes and I will be back.
(On Nicola's orders, Robyn starts following Malcolm again. She's soon approached by Glenn.)
Hi, Robyn! Hey, look. Um...You know Phil Davis? Is he a Davies or a Davis?
I know you don't like me, Glenn, but you're not sacking me.
(Both Glenn and Robyn are smiling and laughing at each other falsely throughout their conversation...)
(still laughing) I'm protecting you.
Okay, well, you know, I've got your back as well. Even though I know you are the guy who authorized the wiping of the back-up.
Well, that may or may not be true.
Well, it may or it may not be true.
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)
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!
