Oh, there he is, Bob Carolgees; how's the wee comedy dog?
Welcome back. Good holiday? I hear your kitchen's lovely at this time of year.
Yeah, well actually, I went to Spain.
Yeah yeah, I went to Malaga, it was lovely. I was golfing with Stephen Hawking, he's fucking shit. He lied about his handicap. Mind you, I never had to hire a golf buggy, I just sat in his lap.
Please. Why do we have to be like this? All this negative energy. Come on!
Well, we've got to work together. So, you know...
So what? I mean, that doesn't mean we have to like each other, does it?
(Someone's trying to get past Malcolm and Steve.)
(to the passer-by) Sorry. (He politely lets him pass through.)
We both know we don't like each other, everyone knows that, we are the Gallagher brothers of politics.
How does that work? Does that mean that I'm the semi-talented songwriter and you're the fucking loutish prick? That's a lovely analogy.
You were the one who forced me out of the sodding band. (chuckles) Come on, let's have a chat.
(Malcolm and Steve continue their unfriendly chat in an office.)
You were asked to leave the fucking band. And you wouldn't fucking go, would you? You had to hang on in there, like a limpet up a whale's arse.
Why do you thrive so much on being disliked?
People hate me? Good! Bring it on. Do you know what they say about you?
I'm sure you're going to tell me, Malcolm.
I'll tell you exactly what people think about you!
People have no fucking opinion about you! You're like fucking Special K or fucking the Moody Blues. That's you, fucking white noise in the background—Funny? Is that funny? Do you find that funny?
No, I don't find anything you're saying funny whatsoever. And I'll tell you a home truth, Malcolm Tucker: The people who are really hated in this country, the people who are really hated, are us. This government. How about we stand together? Let's both be team players, shall we?
(But then, Malcolm's cell phone beeps.)
Were you the Einstein that OK'd this fucking Andy Murray thing at DoSAC? Because I've got The Telegraph on here. (Steve's cell phone then beeps.) And you've probably got The Times asking why the budget's been pre-announced on Twitter by fucking Ryan Giggs.
(looking at his cell phone) Shit! "The last quarter's crime stats, which DoSAC have published, are unconfirmed projections." Shit!
Come on, Malcolm. Team players!
(Both men leave the office.)
(Meanwhile, at DoSAC, Glenn, Ollie & Terri are on their desk phones, trying to get a better handle on the news of the moment.)
(on his phone) No, we're not manipulating the figures. Somebody quite simply made a mistake. No. No, I couldn't possibly say who.
(on his phone) Glenn Cullen. Glenn with one, one N.
(on her phone) We have actually decided to go in a different direction from Andy.
(Steve and Malcolm have entered the room, both making a beeline for Nicola's office.)
(to Malcolm) Good holiday?
Shut it, you fucking hairdresser.
(to Malcolm) Got any photos?
I've got a photo of you in a minute with your cock nailed to the desk. Hey, you want to see something that's truly worth photographing? Look at Steve Fleming at work, eh? That's the real master of spin. He's Spinny fucking Hendrix.
(And now, Steve & Malcolm are confronting Nicola in her office...much to Nicola's dismay...)
Nicola, you and your department have screwed up!
(entering) I'd like to agree with the previous speaker, only adding the words 'fucking royally'.
Oh Jesus, am I being gang-bollocked?
Andy Murray's Henman-fisting us in the press. We can't have that –
Well, with undue respect, Malcolm, the crime stats cock-up is a much bigger deal.
This is such a great double act, isn't it? Good Cock, Bad Cock!
I'll tell you what, why don't you go first, mate? I need a wazz.
(While Malcolm leaves to go to the bathroom, Steve continues scolding Nicola.)
I like you, Nicola, I quite like you. But darling, I've gotta ask you, what the bloody hell happened?
Like you asked, we published the crime figures from 2004 up to the last quarter.
Yes, up to the last quarter but not up to and INCLUDING the last quarter, you dozy mare!
'Up to' includes the thing you're going up to. Right? If you say count up to 20, it means count up to and include the number 20!
The events leading up to the Second World War do not include the Second World War!
We haven't got time for a semantic argument about this.
(Malcolm returns from the bathroom.)
Do not fucking call me sweetheart!
I think you'll find that Steve was addressing me: the 'tache is a bit of a giveaway.
I will draft a statement.
You fucking will not draft any fucking statement!
I've been minding the shop!
You were fucking minding the shop, and what happened? A bunch of fucking schoolkids came in and fucking dropped their trousers and fucking had a shit in aisle 5!
Well thank you for giving us a guided tour around the Freudian nightmare of your head!
Could you two decide between you in which order, and from which direction, I'm gonna be shafted?
(Malcolm and Steve are playing a "Tug of War" of sorts for Nicola's attention.)
(to Nicola) Ignore him. Just come with me. Come into my office.
(to Malcolm) Let's deal with the crime stats...
(But Malcolm successfully brings Nicola into his "office..." and shuts Steve out.)
(knocking on the door) Come on. Malcolm. Malcolm. MALCOLM! (Steve starts laughing uncomfortably) Sorry about this, everybody.
(Malcolm is happy to shut out Steve, but he's still visibly annoyed.)
Goodbye. Give my regards to the rest of the fucking Village People.
(But then, Terri knocks on the office door.)
(outside the door) Sorry, Nicola, Mal--um, excuse me. It's Andy Murray. He's-he's insisting on talking to you.
Get him back on board. Fucking talk to him.
Was that an attempt at a joke?
You told me to kill it! I've killed it!
Right now, some photos in the papers of a very boring man with tight white shorts on is gonna be a very pleasant distraction from Steve's fucking crime stats abortion.
If we need a fucking celebrity, can we try somebody else? Steve Redgrave.
Fucking boring, boring fuck. And fucking drives a car.
Fucking cyclist! Are you fucking mental? Everybody hates cyclists! Even fucking cyclists hate fucking cyclists! Plus, he's a boring fuck!
(still outside the office) Paula Radcliffe?
No, she shat in the street!
And she's a boring fuck as well.
How about we just launch the policy without a celebrity?
(sarcastically) Oh, great idea. "Hello, there. Hi, everyone. I, Nicola Murray, would like to say to you that even though you don't fucking know me from fucking Adam, I think you should cut down on carbs."
(Meanwhile, Steve is trying to turn a negative into a positive. He wants to get Glenn and Ollie to fix the crime stats crisis.)
Lads, let's get this crime stats cock-up sorted. What have you both got so far?
Well, actually, now we've been trying to think of a replacement for Andy Murray. Some of the women footballers...uh, Jessica Clark, or Sue Smith. Or Faye White.
(Steve's starts smiling, but he's getting annoyed.)
I cannot believe the energy going into Andy Murray! (Starts laughing again) I can't!
(Steve starts leaving DoSAC.)
(to Ollie) What's his problem.
(Malcolm is talking on his cell phone while heading to his office.)
Just try and wrap your gin-addled brain about this, right? I did say I was at the heart of government. But when...
(Steve Fleming is already in Malcolm's office.)
(on his phone) Excuse me.
(to Steve) One second, please. (back to his phone) Listen, when that...When that incident occurred, I was on holiday. Are you saying to me that my wee caravan's a great fucking waste of time? And my stupid fucking wing mirror extensions?
(pointing to the TV) The crime stats and Andy Murray, Malc. It's a double fault.
(answering a knock at his door) Listen, if you are not a prostitute or a pizza guy, fuck off! (to Steve) Steve, listen, could you eat or fuck whatever's at the door on your fucking way out, please? (to a colleague) No thanks. (back on his phone) How can I be held responsible? What, for what? I've created a what around the government? I've created a vibe? Listen, son, the only fucking vibe you have to worry about is the one that your wife hides in her knicker drawer. (back to Steve) I am on top of this, okay?
Oh, fine, fine. You know, I'm just saying I'll gladly lend you a hand if you feel the need to keep your head down.
I don't need to keep my head down, because unlike yourself, I don't give blowjobs to truckers.
(Another knock at Malcolm's office door...)
(The door opens, and -- SURPRISE! It's Julius Nicholson!)
Oh, it's Lord Nicholson! What an enormous pleasure this is!
(with a big smile) Well, in fact, it's, um, the Right Honorable the Lord Nicholson of Arnage. And the kissing of feet may commence!
You got all your stuff ready for your official lording ceremony? Have you got your mink thong and your ermine colostomy bag?
No, I don't, no. I have to hire that, unfortunately. I can't wear it on the Tube or the bus, but I would. It would be great larks, but there we go.
How about a coffee? Coffee?
Well, um, if there's coffee going, I'd never say no to a nice cup of coffee.
Do you not drink coffee anymore? Is it all port and swan's blood these days?
Swan's blood. That does sound nice. No, I'm just sort of passing through, because obviously we need to start booting up this crime stats inquiry. But it's in effect an investigation into the facts. But I thought since I was passing through...
Yeah, but you don't have to talk to me about that, do you? 'Cause I was on my holidays then. Did you get my postcard?
Well, I will speak to whomsoever I need to speak to, holiday or no holiday?
Where did you learn to speak like that? Is there a special school that's just you and Brian Sewell went to?
I'm gonna leave you to it, frankly.
And I'm gonna make tracks as well, Malcolm.
Okay, good to see you both.
(But just before Steve leaves...)
(to Malcolm, softly) The problem is that you are shifting from the man people love to hate to the man people just hate. From Simon Cowell to Piers Morgan.
See you later, and remember, my door's always open.
(And when Steve leaves, Malcolm throws part of the bagel sandwich he was eating onto the door in disgust.)
(Malcolm sees Nicola outside his office.)
(sighing) Still here, then, Malcolm?
Time for a milky drink? Come on. Come on in. I wanna have a word with you.
(Nicola reluctantly comes into Malcolm's office...)
There you go. How was Cabinet? Was it good? Is Tom looking after you?
You're all over the newspapers like a pissing puppy, Malcolm.
Well, I think you'll find that's what we masters of the dark arts call a blip. Tomorrow that will all be old news. It'll be like the fucking War of the Roses. Or AIDS. Remember AIDS? Listen, Nicola, see that? Did Julius mention to you about his inquiry?
The inquiry into the whole fucking crime stats cock-up?
You know the phone call that came through to me from your office? You know, about the whole idea?
You want me to cover your back?
I want you to get the old inquiry screen out and slap it on, fucking factor 50, why not? Listen, I'll tell you what. This is what I'll do. I will get for you some really good press attention for your fucking Healthy Choices nonsense. How about that? I'll get you some big fucking healthy headlines.
You're in no position to give me anything. You're not -- you can't even get a fucking bagel cleaned up off your door. Do you mind?
(Nicola gets ready to leave Malcolm's office, but he's still trying to talk to her.)
What? Do you think I can't get it up anymore? Is that it? You're looking at fucking Lazarus, sweetheart. And not just plain Lazarus. I'm fucking self-raising Lazarus, right?
(A short time later, Malcolm spots Julius again.)
Oh, there he is. Screaming Lord Crutch. I like the flunkies, by the way. That's a very nice touch. It's a wee bit Graham Norton.
Don't needle me, Malcolm. Not when people are under scrutiny.
I'm fucking Nosferatu. That's really fucking scary.
(unimpressed) I'm walking on. We're moving on. I'm Ian Botham. I'm walking on for hospice care.
(And then, Malcolm sees Nicola...and he sneaks over to her when nobody's looking.)
How's it going with Lord Bonnie Longford?
I've not been in yet. I've just been standing here for 20 minutes.
So IF this phone call does come up...
Julius (Seeing what Malcolm's up to) No! No, that's not...
You're nothing if not persistent, are you, Malcolm?
(Julius breaks up the conversation.)
Don't do that! I made it quite clear...
(to Julius) I was standing over there and I thought, "Nicola's choking." But she wasn't. She was laughing, retrospectively, at your massive shiny head. (to Steve) Oh, what happened? Did you get heckled off? What was the line? "Taxi for Tom Selleck!"
Yeah. Could I have a quick word? Just...just five minutes.
(Steve takes Malcolm into the office to have a private chat.)
(Malcolm is now chasing himself into Steve's office!)
Get back to fucking Wind in the Willows, 'cause that's where you fucking belong!
I didn't ask you to -- I didn't ask you to come back in. Would you leave my office, please?
I'm not fucking gonna waste my breath on you.
(And now, Malcolm is marching his way towards Julius! Yelling and cursing along the way!)
(to Julius) As for you...
Malcolm, I am sick to death -- You can explain --
(Malcolm puts his hands on Julius and pins him up against a door!)
I'll fucking touch you if I like!
Because I'll tell you this, man!
(Julius fights back and puts his hand on Malcolm!)
I'll fucking strike you, Malcolm!
Don't you fucking touch me!
Don't touch that scarf! That's Paul Smith! Twat! (to somebody else) MOVE!
(Malcolm is finally leaving Good Ol' Number 10.)
YOU WILL SEE ME AGAIN! (Malcolm heads towards the door.) You will fucking see me again! (He leaves Number 10.)
