(Nicola's Fourth Sector Initiative launch speech has bombed...and that's not the only thing that's bombed)
Uh, sorry I missed it. Did it go well?
Well, uh, more good news. Um...I'm afraid my chances of becoming an MP have been torpedoed...by the U-boat that was you. The selection committee decided that my association with you was too divisive.
I'm devastated. I had 500 quid on you being the new Foreign Secretary.
Uh, it's a great loss to regional politics, for sure.
(to Nicola) By flying so close to your bright Sun like Icarus, I have crashed to the Earth and died.
Make sure fucking Nicola doesn't top herself, eh?
(deleted scene)
What are you gonna do when the shit goes down, then?
Oh, plenty of options, Ollie.
Really, have you really, you've got plenty of options, have you? (Glenn nods.) What are those options, let's see, you can't – you can't hold a golf sale sign because of your back, you can't be a prostitute 'cause your waterworks aren't up to it, you can't be a drugs mule, 'cause of your arse, that's too slack, isn't it, so what does that leave you with, you could be – Local weatherman would be perfect; or, er, you could run a whelk stall, how about that? You could be a dinner lady or a sleeping policeman, actually on the road: just lie down, let the cars – You could become one of those people who manipulates their cock and balls into funny shapes for the paying public, it would be nice for them to have a little run out. Or, you could just basically walk into a hospice, and wait to kark it.
(deleted scene)
That's from me, Cack Efron. It's a coded message basically telling you that, if you ignore me or my fucking calls again, I'll fucking rip your head off, right? I'll fucking plant a palm tree in your neck, and I'll fuck you fucking tenderly in its shade!
I can tell you've been away, your threats are including palm trees now.
(deleted scene)
Jesus Christ, Crosby, Still, Nash and fucking Young – Look at the lot of you, it's like walking into an installation at the Tate Gallery that everybody's forgotten about.
