(Peter and Stewart are forced to run over to the playground to get a reception!)
God, I hate the country. (to Peter) Get higher, you idiot.
That's it, that's it, I've got something.
Download the intel, Peter. Come on, put it on speaker.
No, I've got loads of messages from my wife and from Phil.
(Peter's listening to the messages on his cell phone.)
She's taking the dog to the hospital...
Oh, come on.
She's had a long wait...the wound in his paw's gone septic.
Oh please, Peter, move on.
Tickle's dead.
What?
(stunned) Tickle's dead.
Okay, it's my turn on that signal, Peter, get down.
Wait, I'm listening to the message! I'm listening to the fucking message! Don't --
I need to get this signal!
(Peter still doesn't want to slide down the slide.)
Stop being so childish!
Jesus Christ!
Just get down, Peter.
(Peter slides down the slide.)
I've got it! I've got it!
(Emma's come over to the playground.)
Playtime's over. Tickle's dead, okay? Number 10's gone off the hook mental. Stewart, take my phone to call the PM. (Emma gives Stewart her cell phone.)
(to Peter) Right, Phil's meeting us, he's going to bring a shirt, suit and tie. You are not going to arrive looking like the manager of an organic wine bar. (to both Peter and Stewart) Right. Come on, come on, come on! Movement!
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