[Malcolm Tucker has just told Cliff Lawton, the head of the Department of Social Affairs, that he has to resign as Minister.]
Malcolm, look, um – if you do this, it's the bollocks of the jungle out there, you know? They're like wolves. Pissed wolves.
I've made the announcement: I've told the Lobby you're going, Cliff.
You've told the Lobby I'm going?
Yeah. Sorry Cliff.
Minister.
Yeah, get used to Cliff. I've booked you in for the usual soapy tit-wank farewell at Number 10, in 20 minutes. Also drafted you a letter of resignation: gives you the chance to say that you're jumping before you're pushed, although obviously we're gonna be briefing that you were pushed, sorry.
Um...Look, tell you what. You don't need to do all of this. What about Tom? Everybody knows he's fucking up Transport.
We can't sack Tom at Transport. We can't lose anyone at Transport, they're important.
What? And Social Affairs isn't?
OK, the Department of Social for Commercial Affairs is very important, but it's not Transport. Transport's cars, buses, trucks.
I KNOW WHAT TRANSPORT FUCKING ENTAILS!
[Malcolm gives Cliff his infamous "bollocking stare."]
Look, look...Look. I'll look at it.
[Cliff looks at the resignation note.]
Personal reasons.
Yeah. I thought that would give you adequate scope.
Scope. What, like, um...shooting up in the Cabinet Office or something? Stuffing a cat up my arse and having a wank? What do you mean, scope?
You know, this could be a great deal worse. You have had a good innings. You have been here for 18 months. And you know, I have written some very nice things about you in the PM's reply to your resignation. Some very nice fucking things indeed. I had a lump in my throat. And you know why? Because no one who matters thinks any less of you over this -- so far. OK? [beat] Right. One more thing: the Daily Mail. David Topham has got it into his head that we are gonna sack you because of press pressure.
I wonder why.
Look. You're in no position to dish out fucking sarcasm. That's over. You no longer have purchase in the sarcasm world. Get on the phone. Tell him you're jumping before you're pushed -- although we were gonna push you, but not because of press pressure, but because of your deeply held fucking personal issues, whatever they were.
You want me to write my own obituary.
Get on the fucking phone. Do it now.
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