(Ben Swain, the Junior Minister that Ollie is "babysitting," arrives at the office.)
Benjamin! Happy New Year!
Ben! Big Ben, Ben-Benji, Beno, Benj.
Happy New Year to you as well.
(to Ben) These are the briefing notes.
Ah, splendid. I'll file these directly in the shredder. Thank you, Glenn.
(Ben, Glenn and Ollie enter an office.)
(to Ben) If you just, uh, stick to what's in there, you'll be all right. Just remember, you're the night watchman, all right?
Yes, well, I like to think of myself as more, perhaps, I don't know, an elected MP than a night watchman, Glenn. But thank you very much for everything, I'll be fine without you holding my hand. You enjoy your weekend cottaging in Wales or whatever it is you're up to.
(Ollie picks up a copy of Ben's upcoming book, which is called, "It's the Everything, Stupid: How to Get Ahead in Modern Politics.")
(impressed) This is looking good. When is it coming out?
End of the, end of the week. You'll be able to make the launch party?
And have you written it yourself or was it ghosted by, uh...
By Victoria Beckham? No, everything in there is entirely-entirely written by me, I think you'll find. Yes.
There you go, you have hidden talents.
Anyone heard from "The Hughster?"
Yes, he's suffering from jet lag.
(to Ben) Have you ever been to Australia?
No. Why would I want to go there? Full of people in khaki, squinting. Just the world's largest collection of poisonous things.
Oh, yeah. God, yeah. If you want to stick around with poisonous snakes, you might as well stay here.
(Awkward silence occurs after Ollie's stupid attempt at a joke.)
(jokingly) Throw a blanket on me, I'm on fire.
(Before Glenn heads off to Wales, he gives Ollie some last-minute instructions for babysitting Ben.)
Listen, Ollie. We may be babysitting a Nutter. He may look like a Womble, but he's got Nutter eyes and Nutter ears. So, keep an eye on him.
All right, the minute any chicken blood turns up on the paperwork, I'll be straight on to you, don't worry.
Right, I'm off to Wales and the late 1950s.
(Terri blows Glenn a friendly kiss goodbye.)
(As Peter is waiting to meet with Stewart -- still -- he has a conversation with Phil about his upcoming holiday.)
(coughing) Oh, I can't get rid of this.
I bet you're looking forward to your holiday.
Well, yeah. I mean, obviously, I'm not flying abroad anywhere, because...
No, bathroom. I'm supervising the doing up of my bathroom.
(looking at two lamps) What is that?
He's discovered IKEA, hasn't he?
It's all for show. They want to look modern, like they appeal to the kind of people who go to IKEA.
I'm modern! I say 'black' instead of 'coloured', I think women are a good thing, I have no problem with gays. Most of them are very well turned out, especially the men.
Why is it, this last year, I'm being made to feel as if I'm always two steps behind, like I can't program the video or convert everything back to old money? Because that's not me!
(confused) You've still got a video?
(And now, it's time to meet Stewart Pearson, the Director of Communications for the Opposition. Stewart and Emma are sharing a laugh as she's leaving his office. Now, Stewart is ready to see Peter.)
(smiling) Ah, Peter. Dr. Stewart will see you now, hey? I could hear you coughing in there. Is that your contribution to the meeting?
(to Peter) You all right?
Yes, okay. You know, it's just hanging around.
Yeah, I'm sorry to keep you hanging about, but you know, right now all the...all the big priority stuff is the big party stuff.
I was talking about the cold hanging around.
Oh, right. (Stewart heads back into his office.) Thanks very much, Em.
(As Peter goes into Stewart's office for a chat, Phil asks Emma about her meeting.)
Playing with the big boys?
Yeah. Now I'm back with the little boys, huh?
(Stewart and Peter start their chat.)
(nodding) Fine, I'm-I'm fine.
Good, superb, because the reason I've asked you in -- I mean, firstly, just to say, "Hi, how are you?"...
Then, this photo call this afternoon, "100 Days of the New Leader." We've got you a Paul Smith suit. I did think about Vivienne Westwood or...Well, it was just too expensive. And, oh, and a Ted Baker... (Stewart pulls out a pinkish-looking shirt with stripes on it.) Ted Baker shirt, right? No tie, we're thinking open-necked look might be good.
But I'm already wearing a suit and, controversially, a tie.
Yeah, absolutely, sure. But frankly, you know, it all looks a bit '80s, you know? Robert Palmer, Sink the Belgrano, that kind of vibe. We think this is better, it's modern, it's sharp, it's slimming. Try it on.
(in amused disbelief) Is this a joke?
(Moments later, Stewart makes Peter change into a different suit and shirt.)
Just wondering whether you're fully conversant with the new line, whether you're really up to speed?
Well, I don't know. Am I? Because, uh, I get people stopping me in the streets and saying, 'Are you still for locking up yobbos?', and I say, 'Yeah, of course we are.' And then I think, 'Well, are we?' Because maybe I missed a memo from you. Maybe I should understand yobbos now, or not even call them yobbos, call them 'young men with issues around stabbing.' (awkward silence) No tie, you say?
Quite a nice suit, actually.
So, we were thinking...Shirt outside the trousers.
Outside? Not tuck my shirt in?
I always tuck my shirt in, it's part of getting dressed. What, should I not do my flies up either? Let the old chap flop out. Is that modern enough for you?
Just try it, Peter. Not the cock out, but just the shirt thing.
(untucking his shirt) I'm from a generation of men, Stewart, who tuck their shirts in. I've done it since I was a boy, I was told off for not doing it.
Oh God, no, you were right. Sorry, no, tuck it in. You look like you've been startled by a fire alarm.
(Malcolm and Jamie enter Ben's office. Time to discuss Ben's upcoming appearance as Jeremy Paxman's guest on Newsnight.)
(to 2 office workers) Off you two fuck.
(The 2 workers leave Ben's office.)
Right, Ben, heard the big news about Paxo.
What was it you did in your gap year again?
Um, Interrailing, month on a kibbutz –
Did you ever travel, like, 100 miles per hour, head-first through a tunnel full of pig shit? Because that's what's gonna happen to you tonight with Paxman, unless, unless...you listen to us.
He will eat you up, sick you out and grout his fucking wet room with you.
Yeah, I have been interviewed on television before, thank you very much.
Yeah? Do you know what they call him? Easy George.
This is Paxo. What are you gonna do when he pulls that big rubbery horse-face of mock-incredulity at you?
Yes, look, we know the cheat codes for Paxman now, don't we? That old aggressive style of his is just old school. All you need to do, you play the honest, the Honest Joe just trying to humbly get your point across and...
(pulling up a chair) Let's see you do your stuff, Mr. Television, huh?
(Jamie is pretending to be Jeremy Paxman on Newsnight, asking Ben questions.)
(As Paxo) Immigration is in disarray. What are you going to do about it?
Well, first of all, I would have to take issue with your contention that immigration is in...
Oh, answer the question, you fat fuck!
(Phil and Emma are home in their flat -- discussing Ollie.)
Why the fuck do you have to keep inviting him round here?
Oh, are you a bit jealous?
Of the man from the Mr Muscle adverts? No, I just think it's just unreasonable that I have to watch what I'm gonna say in my own flat; I mean, you could at least give me warning if he's coming round or something.
I tell you what, I'll put a sex grid on the fridge.
So that you can have dates and stuff: I'll put an A4 piece of paper for me up, and maybe you could have half a post-it note? You could share it with Affers, maybe.
Yeah. Have to write really small, though, I've slept with three women in –
(returning from the toilet) Your life?
(Ollie laughs)
(Ollie, Emma, and Phil are watching Ben Swain's Newsnight interview together. Malcolm, who is also watching from his office, is on the phone to Jamie, who is watching Ben from inside the studio.)
What's he doing with his eyes?
Oh my God. He's got a nervous blink.
That's a mega blink! It's not just a blink.
He looks like what happens when you punch a cow. (impersonates a cow mooing in pain)
Oh my God, this is like watching a lion rape a sheep, but in a bad way.
The cameramen are laughing.
He spelled "just" with four Js!
He's like a chicken, he's like an enormous chicken!
It's just one word he's been saying, which is basically (gibberish).
Well, what about the coalface?
Pull it, puncture his lifebelt. Pull it, give him the signal. If he shits, I'll give you 500 quid.
(After Ben Swain's interview)
Well he certainly looked like a Nutter.
He looked like that little guy on the green that shouts 'You're an Arab' at everyone.
It's a tough day tomorrow, picking bits of Ben out of Malcolm's car.
He didn't mention the coalface idea.
How is my blog? My own personal blog, personally written by me?
(they all go to the computer)
Yesterday you liked the leader's speech, it was bold and courageous and sent out the right signals, and you had a fruit lunch.
Oh, I write very well. What's the feedback like?
Pretty good. Let's see on this page here. Here we go.
"I don't trust you, you Cypriot crook."
Cypriot? This is the shit room. You've opened the shit room door.
Oh come on, that's not too bad.
"How are the maintenance payments going on your bastard?" Christ, that was twelve years ago!
That's actually I think the same one.
This is the trouble with the public, they're fucking horrible.
Peter, you really – you can't say the public are fucking horrible.
Yes I can, I've met them. "You've always got such a pained expression. Do you take it up the chutney?" Really? I mean, for God's sake.
See this: I still don't understand why people do this 'h8' thing. If you're going to leave a message, I mean, at least spell it correctly.
What the fuck was that all about? You know, nicking the other lot's ideas?
You jumped straight on the bandwagon, you hypocrite.
You started it. You know, at least I'm not nicking my boyfriend's ideas.
You sanctimonious twat! Jesus, you're not my dad, Phil, even if you do dress like him.
(knocking from behind glass) What's going on?
Swain was supposed to flag up the coalface idea last night but he didn't. So Emma nicked it.
(to Emma) Oh, fuck-tastic. Not only was it a shit idea to ruin my holiday, it was a shit idea you stole from the government to ruin my holiday. Good work.
(to Phil) Thanks a lot, Supergrass.
Malcolm (seeing Ben Swain arrive): Oh, here he is. Dead man walking.
(impersonating Ben) 'I, I, I wish you wouldn't keep saying that, I, I, I –' (normal voice) What's your favourite band, blink-182?
That's not a proper cigar: a proper cigar is those big Cuban whoppers, that's just a jumped-up fag.
Ollie (entering): Hi.
Do you fancy a cigar? I promise I won't tell any of the other prefects.
Hand rolled on the thigh of a Cuban virgin with big tits and four kids.
Yeah, thanks. Um, Malcolm, I just wondered if I could have a quick word, actually. The opposition have got the Week at the Coalface idea. They're gonna do it.
Peter Mannion, I don't know when.
How the fuck did they get that? Your fucking girlfriend, Jesus Christ!
You should have dumped that mad bitch ages ago.
Well I would've done! She is mad, she's a mental woman! But you two kept telling me to go out with her and stay going out with her, just in case I found anything out!
Oh, and what did you find out? That you've been leaking intelligence to them? You're the fucking shittest James Bond ever. You're... you're David fucking Niven!
Get him properly fucking screen-tested. I'm sorry mate, but you need a lot of powder, I've never seen anybody look so fucking ugly with just one head.
Yeah. No, I lost my islands of safety, didn't I, which is –
And who was it that did your media training? Myra Hindley? I mean, it was terrible, all this – hands were all over the place. You were like a sweaty octopus trying to unhook a bra! It was like watching John Leslie at work!
Yes, I know all of that, and it just kind of fell away. God, it was like one of those dreams when you're wandering around Covent Garden or something in just your vest and everyone's staring at you.
I think it was much worse than that, I mean, how many people see you in Covent Garden, a few thousand? Your meltdown was witnessed by 1.2 million people. That's more people than saw Al Jolson in his entire career. And that's Al fucking Jolson!
You take the piss out of Jolson again, and I will remove your iPod from its tiny nano-sheath, and push it up your cock! And then I'll plug some speakers up your arse, and put it onto shuffle with my fucking fist! And every time I hear something that I don't like, which will be every time that something comes on, I will skip to the next track (to Ben) by crushing your balls!
(to Phil) Oh, sorry! Do you know what, maybe you should dump Peter and go out with Ollie.
Well, it wouldn't be any more disastrous than our relationship, would it, hey?
Christ, Ollie, well if it's been such a fucking disaster, why didn't you break up with me sooner?
Well, if it had been up to me I would have broken up with you sooner!
If it had been up t– Oh, OK – This is Malcolm, isn't it? Malcolm has been pimping you out! You fucking sad little –
OEOllie and Emma
Fuck you, Phil!
Oh, suddenly I'm the bad guy again.
Go and read your blog, nerd boy! I'm going. This is the point where I go.
Wow. That point actually exists. Incredible.
I will be so not sorry not ever to have to talk to you again, you massive floppy blonde tit! I hope your blog gets done for libel and you get knobbed in prison by men. And – (to Emma) it is over, you self-serving, crypto-fascist, horse-loving, posh, weekend-at-Daddy's, vacuous nothing! (leaves)
Fuck you, Ollie, and put your keys on the side!
(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.
