Are you in on this?
I'm not leaving it to you, eh? You couldn't organise a bum-rape in a barracks.
Au contraire.
What we're having here is a secret conversation, and I'm hoping that this time you can keep the fucking secret, because normally you're about as secure as a hymen in a South London comprehensive.
Yep, well done: that's offensive on a number of levels in a very concise way.
They've ditched Ballentine.
What? Already?
Yeah.
What the fuck is wrong with these people? I mean, what is this, potential leader speed dating? Right, who is standing?
I dunno.
Adam Kenyon (to another journalist working on a Ballentine story): Well, ditch that for a starter, get rid of her, I can't stand her fucking face.
You know, I think you should eat something.
Oh right, yeah! Eat something, that'd be right, wouldn't it? You know what, our coverage so far has either been wrong or guesswork, which was wrong. So all we have now is a story-shaped hole!
Seriously, your blood sugar's low.
Right.
Makes you very irritable.
No, what makes me very irritable, Angela, is having no fucking stories and having to fill an entire newspaper with just fucking prepositions!
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