(Malcolm is in his office talking to someone on his cell phone.)
No, I don't give a fuck whose birthday it is, I'm going to enjoy myself here listening to this Murray-Mannion ding-dong on the radio. The fat cat story's breaking, so the opposition are gonna be sweating like Vegas Elvis on a squash court.
(Malcolm's personal assistant, Sam, comes into the office with a box.)
Happy Birthday, Malcolm.
Stop saying that, right? Just you go home. What is this? Don't...Is this my new anal beads?
(Malcolm looks at the box.)
Okay, this has been X-rayed, yeah? I'm not gonna get fucking, a present bomb in the face?
(Malcolm opens the box. It contains a cake which reads 'Happy Birthday C*nt.')
This could be from anybody. (He opens the accompanying card.) Ah, it's from the Prime Minister. This is fucking Tom's idea of a joke, yeah? And he wonders why we don't let him out in public.
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