(Meanwhile, Malcolm is joking around with journalists from various newspapers, including Angela Heaney from the Daily Mail.)
(looking at pictures) I mean, these are the worst pictures I've seen, really, they are. I don't know who was taking them. Roy fucking Orbison you've got doing that.
Oh, Malcolm?
(to Angela) Yeah?
Have you seen Rob Holt's blog today?
(sarcastically) Oh yeah, of course. Yeah, I read Rob Holt's blog. I read all the blogs. 'Cause basically, I'm an under-employed, fat fucking loser. Got nothing better to do with my time than to sit in my bedroom like a fat space-hopper in a tracksuit, reading inconsequential, un-spellchecked shit fabricated by other fat, farting, fucking losers.
Well, he's saying that the big health numbers in the PM's speech -- they're from a false sample. Apparently, they're -- they're lifted from Andrew Dover's blog, not from the ONS.
I wouldn't take any notice of it. There's-There's nothing in that at all.
Nothing in it?
Nothing at all. I'll catch you's later, okay?
(But sure enough, Malcolm gets on his cell phone and calls his personal assistant, Sam.)
(on his phone) Sam, the health stats fuck-up is out there. And I don't know who's doing it, but I want his balls on a fucking plate. (beat) Well, I don't know. Google "goolies."
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