Now that you've lost Geordie Julie, the merry fucking widow, you've got a hole in your speech. Right, so have we got a contingency for that?
Yeah, we'll figure it out, thank you.
Well look, why don't I help you? Let's roll some tits up the flagpole, and see if anyone gets wood!
Oh Christ, it's like being trapped in a fucking boys' toilet. (beat) Right, all we've got is Mannion's second holiday, we need to take the piss out of that.
OK, how about, er, "He's called Peter 'Two Holidays' Mannion"?
Glenn.
Um, 'He's, um – works really hard – at planning his holidays'?
(unimpressed) That's really fucking quality fucking explosive sarcasm you're lobbing at them, mate. Boom.
(to Nicola) I feel I'm in a therapy group being run by my own rapist.
Right, okay, well, how about...
(Suddenly, everybody's cell phones are ringing...)
Oh my God...it's got out.
No, really? I thought it was room service cold-calling.
Who the fuck is leaking this out there? (to Ollie) Find out who's pissing this over the wall.
Yeah, w-well, the thing about the Internet, Malcolm, is it's quite big...
IT'S ON ROB HOLT'S BLOG!
I don't know what he looks like. I don't...
(to Nicola) You need to get your people's champion out of this hotel before some tabloid minge-flannel starts soft-soaping her.
So we've got her back again now. Is that right?
Don't be so fucking touchy about this! I've a lot to fucking deal with here!
(sarcastically) MY responsibility again NOW! Doesn't matter about the speech. That's fine, Malcolm.
Yeah, it does fucking matter!
(Nicola then slams the bathroom door.)
Women, huh? Women slam the door, where did this idea come from, huh? (bangs on the bathroom door) WILMAAA! Fuck off!
(from inside the bathroom) I'm making a phone call.
Make a phone call! Phone a fucking friend!
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