Original subtitles

No, Derek, I'm not presuming anything.

It's entirely up to the PM. I'll go wherever he wants.

I'm going to have to go. Bye-bye.

- Good morning. - Morning, Minister.

Are you just off to your 8:30 with Malcolm?

Yep, yep.

- First one? - Into the lion's den, viper's pit.

The belly of the beast, the lair of the white worm.

- The eye of the snake. - Hmm.

Not all departments get asked to the 8:30.

That's true.

It's an honour to be are in with the big hitters.

Always best to be inside the tent, pissing out.

If you were doing this over at Environment and Rural Affairs

at 8:30 you'd be very much outside the tent.

- Probably at Coffee Republic. - Covered in piss.

Good luck. You'll be fine. You don't need good luck.

- Yeah. - What about the...piss?

- It's a figure of speech. - I'd better go.

- See you later. - OK.

- I'm sure there's a way of... - Robyn!

Robyn, sorry.

Could you try and pick up any signals you can from Malcolm about the erm...

about the reshuffle?

I've really got to go. I don't want to be late.

God, don't be late.

Apparently, they shout at the last one in.

If anyone shouts at you, they'll have to answer to me.

I'll box his ears.

Box his ears? If that was flirting, that was absolutely crap.

Box his ears?

How long is it since you've had sex?

That is between me and my internet service provider.

- Anyway, about this... - You've gone red, Glenn.

You have. Look, you've gone red.

- I have not gone red. That's red. - Yeah!

Look, he can hardly walk properly.

- Morning, morning, morning! - (All) Morning.

I want to have a bit of a think

about some of our presentational issues with regard to yesterday.

There seems to have been a problem last night with Liam on Newsnight.

I would like to know why did we have a minister on

who did not appear to know their lines.

It's not his fault. We grilled him beforehand.

Grilled?

- He's got a new baby. - I don't care.

I don't care if he's tired.

He looked like he didn't know what he was talking about.

Now, I know he doesn't, but he's got to appear as if he does, right?

And that is your job, and your job.

And yours and yours and yours and yours and yours and yours and yours.

With all due respect to ministers, give them the lines. Right?

Give them all the lines to say?

This is the delightful Robyn. She's just with us today.

She's standing in for Terri at the Department of Social Affairs.

So be gentle with her.

No remarks about the Department of Stuffed Anuses,

or the Department of Stupid Announcements

or the Department of Sod All.

- Right, next. - Reshuffle?

Yes, there is a pending reshuffle.

I can see we're not going to get anything past you.

There was a young girl from DOSA who helped herself to a samosa.

Argh! Next time I'll come up with something.

Just a bit of fun.

Yes, the reshuffle. No, yes, definitely, we don't know anything.

I don't know anything, so we can't say anything.

But even if we did, we wouldn't.

But we don't, so we both can't and won't.

Last Cabinet before reshuffle. How do you think I should...

Should I go in there with all guns blazing, new policy ideas, and do a big

ha cha cha cha cha?

- Or should I be more hmmm, like Buddha? - You don't have to do either.

You could just sort of nod quietly, nod wisely every so often,

and then just have a policy in your back pocket, just in case...

What's the policy I've got in my back pocket?

Tripling the number of quiet carriages on Intercity trains.

Oh, wow! What a big, exciting hard-on moment that's going to be!

That's not bad. Did you just think of that?

Like that.

Hugh.

- After Cabinet, you are going to...? - Talk to Tucker?

- About the reshuffle? - Yeah.

I'll slip it in during the conversation.

Much as you're intending to do with Robyn, I suspect.

- Right, next? - Julius Nicholson? I got it yesterday.

He was looking at the MOD taking over UK security from the Home Office.

That was flown by one of Nicholson's mob.

I'm spending half of my time now

dealing with this rubbish that Nicholson's putting out.

There's a Sunday piece about you and him not getting along. Have you got a line?

Julius Nicholson is a hugely respected adviser.

He now has a wide-ranging brief and his blue-sky vision and helicopter thinking

will enable this Government to go,

in his own phrase, "beyond delivery, and beyond that".

That's the line, OK?

If he does stick his baldy head round your door with some stupid idea,

about policemen's helmets should be yellow,

or let's set up a department to count the moon,

just treat him like someone with Alzheimer's disease, you know?

Just say, "Oh, yeah, that's lovely. We must talk about that later," OK?

In no way, shape or form...

(Knock at door)

Come the fuck in, or fuck the fuck off.

I'll come the fuck in.

It's just something that Nicholson's flown.

A kind of brain exercise, like "What would it be like if men had tits?"

Mark Mardell? That's pretty good, actually.

All right, then. See you, then.

- Hugh? - I thought you would want to know.

- What? - Terri's dad.

- Yeah? - No news at the moment.

You've come to talk about the reshuffle.

- Yeah, I have. - Yeah?

In terms of shuffley stuff, how is Neil?

- I mean, is his heart... - Have you not heard?

No.

(Heavy sigh) He's paralysed.

Oh, no.

- Neil's on wheels. - You're kidding.

- He's a vegetable. - Oh, my God.

Yeah.

That means you could have his department.

Oh, you are kidding. Fuck you very much.

You're looking for mouth-to-mouth in the reshuffle.

I don't know anything about it.

The PM is still working it out on the back of a Coldplay CD as we speak.

- Are you in, sir? - Ah! Mr Julius Nicholson.

Nice to see you again.

What proposals have you got for us today?

- How about a ban on sand castles? - I wanted to find out

if you're coming to my FSG briefing this afternoon.

- FSG briefing? - Forward Strategy Group.

Well, you know, Julius, I'm just going to have to send one of the boys.

I have got so much work to do here, what with this MOD...

Well, as the minister said to the prince,

don't be surprised if we abolish you.

I'll leave it with you.

That was a bit erm...

- Are you all right? - I'm fucking all right.

- I can fucking look after myself. - Under the spotlight now.

Just watch your own back,

what with the missus dripping poison into the big guy's ear.

- What missus? - The prime minister's missus.

Oh, what? You don't know? She doesn't like the cut of your jib, son.

She...? She's hardly seen my jib.

I just had a conversation with her at the New Year's party, that's all.

Why doesn't she like me? What's not to like?

You just didn't click.

We were talking about the fucking Euro.

How are you supposed to click over the Euro? Fucking impossible.

- Don't take it so personally. - She doesn't like me as a person.

How else am I supposed to take it?

Hugh?

Robyn, can you send these back to archives? They're not even highlighted.

I'm not going to plough through all that.

I need the last four months of the European Digest.

Is it cos you fancy me? Is that what this is all about?

Sorry?

You're so rude. That's got to be the reason.

Other people knock and say "hello", "good morning", "thanks"

and "nice top" sometimes.

Well, no. For a start, I don't fancy you.

I don't know where you got that in your head, but get it out.

If I'm slightly polite to you on a semi-regular basis,

will that in any way bypass it?

That would definitely do it.

Well, thank you very much for the work you do. Hi, by the way. How are you?

I'm really well.

You look lovely. Can I have the fucking Digest,please? That would be terrific.

All you had to do was ask me.

Yeah, well, all I did do is ask.

Phwor!

A joke.

- Hello. - Morning, Minister.

I need to have a word, Olly, and then

can you get me Terri on the phone, please?

- Where is Glenn? - Please?

Nicholson hauled him in for a chat. One of his bright ideas.

Inflatable churches for rural communities or tattooing immigrants.

Apparently, the PM's wife doesn't like me. Did you know this?

No. Erm... Why?

Two reasons. Cut of my jib and insufficient clicking.

I'll be a footnote in political history

because I didn't have an anecdote about puppies.

We can brainstorm small talk if you want to.

Realistically, I'm not going to get promotion,

not while this prime minister's still in power.

Well, not while he's married to the same wife.

Knowing your lot, he'll leave her, she'll marry his replacement.

I did mention your great quiet carriages thing and he just...

- What does that mean? - Fuck knows!

But I don't think it means, "Oh, Hugh, you're fantastic.

"Here, become Home Secretary."

And even if it did mean that, when he's in bed tonight with Mrs PM, flossing,

then she'll say, "Abbot as Home Secretary?"

"The man is a social spastic and very probably a registered nonce, darling."

Terri on line one, and there's her dad's name.

Dad's name?

Hello.

Hello, how are you?

- I'm not great, actually. - Yes, goodness me.

Please be sure to send my best to...to...to your dad.

Thanks.

Look, I heard today that the PM's wife doesn't like me.

- Did you know about this? - Yes, I did.

I know about the lack of click. Anything else?

Hugh, my dad's dying.

Of course. Thanks so much for taking the time to talk to me, Terri.

It must be a... Well, obviously, it's a very, very hard time for you.

It's just ironic that it happens to have coincided with a hard time for me.

Because, you know, I thought I was solid with the reshuffle.

But now, with the not clicking bombshell,

I need to give the impression that I'm not budging,

I'm staying exactly where I am,

I'm here for ever, you know, like Ken erm...

Ken Livingstone? Russell?

Hom?

- Barlow? - Barlow!

Like Ken Barlow. I'm solid.

(Glenn) That fucking arse clamp, Nicholson!

Look, I don't want to say this too many times,

but the fact is Nicholson's shafted us. He's cut us out of the 8:30 briefings.

- That's awful. - I know.

But for now, this department is no longer going to

any of Malcolm's 8:30 briefings, OK?

- Tomorrow morning, I just stay here? - Yes, that's right.

- I don't want to alarm Hugh about this. - Oh, God!

Listen to me, Robyn. He's got quite enough on his mind at the moment.

So tomorrow morning, what you do is

you leave here at the same time, about 8:20,

and you fuck off and go and sit in a park.

- And not tell Hugh? - Yes. It's only temporary.

- Oh, God! - I'm going to sort it out, OK?

Won't it just be a bit demeaning?

Terri says there's a list of Question Timeproducers in her top drawer.

- Are you OK, Robyn? - Erm... Yeah.

- Have you been touching her? - Fuck off.

Yes, I've got the producers' names, so thanks for that.

And is there anything else that I could do?

You know, photo opps or a little party?

Schmooze the broadsheets? Tell them how I love running Social Affairs?

Yeah, that would work, wouldn't it?

Everyone loves a party. Well, I don't, personally, but people do.

Get your head round this. You go to a park.

Which park?

- Just choose... Green Park. - I don't like Green Park.

- Which park do you like? - St James's Park.

Go to St James's Park, then. OK?

I think we should tell the minister.

Listen, Robyn, I really like you, but fuck off!

- Has he been touching you? - Don't start.

Oh, God! I'm rubbish, apparently.

That's why Nicholson has banned us from the 8:30 meetings,

and I've got to go and sit in St James's Park

and pretend I'm in a meeting all morning.

I wouldn't worry. There should be four or five of you out there.

This is another example of thinking out of the box

by someone who's out of his fucking tree.

I've got to go. I'll talk to you later.

Ah, Malcolm Tucker!

Julius Nicholson! What can I do you for?

I am keen to have a chat with Keith Percival.

- Yeah. That won't be possible. - I need the O'Rourke papers.

I'm afraid not. Anything else?

Look, Malcolm, you and I both know

my power flows directly from the PM. If you've got a problem...

Keith is so busy with real governmental work

that he doesn't have time to discuss with you your ideas and theories.

The O'Rourke papers are not relevant to anything

we can actually action at this moment.

That's slightly funny, because when I played tennis with the PM,

which I do every Sunday,

he was saying he was looking forward to seeing that paper.

He thinks your theories are interesting.

He tells me that, because I see him every day.

I also see him on a Sunday when I get together with his family

and I make fucking waffles.

But I cannot allow you to come in here

and interfere with the actual process of government.

Malcolm, that is my job! That's my job.

That is what is happening.

Well, you're doing it very fucking well.

There are going to be big changes.

Get used to it. We'll announce all this at the reshuffle.

With all due respect, Julius,

the reshuffle is the business of the PM alone,

which means that that is my business.

- It is my remit. - No, Malcolm. Historically, yes.

But now it's part of my remit.

I'll tell you what we should do.

Why don't we just get our remits out, slap them on the table

and see who's got the biggest fucking remit?

Malcolm, we need to talk about accommodation.

We need to talk about access...

Why am I talking about accommodation?

It's a 21-man department, we can't fit upstairs, this is ideal.

- 21 men in here? - Not just in here, no.

This office will be perfectly useable, for not only myself...

- That's not an office. - Yes, it is.

It's a pantry.

We will refit this out as a working office.

- Julius, it's a fucking pantry. Look. - So what?

What we'll do is we kick through this, bang,

straight into the PM's private study.

What are people going to say

when they come in and they say, "Where is Julius Nicholson?"

- I'm here. - He's in the pantry.

- Here I am. - They're going to ridicule you.

They're not going to ridicule me.

"Where's the bankrupt in the cupboard?"

Why are you behaving like a complete prick?

I'm supposed to polish you up, burnish you up.

Then when you get your big break and you're on fucking Call My Bluff...

Come back in here! Oi! Come back in here.

Julius! Get the fuck back in here!

Please!

Please, come back. Let's be civilised. Let's be civilised about it.

Let's be civilised, come on. Let's be civilised about it.

Go over to your fucking pantry, right?

This is a perfectly useable office space.

Let's just cool it for one minute, OK?

Just fucking cool it, shut up and fucking listen to me.

This is a Georgian door. Do you know how long this has been here?

No, I don't.

Since the time of Elizabeth I, at least.

That does not open. Look at it. Try opening it.

This is the kind of stuff you like. Character building, team building.

Try to open the door.

Come on, Julius. It's my fucking pantry.

It's not your pantry. It's my fucking pantry.

I was with Emma. We went for a drink.

That's still your opposition bit of skirt, is it?

Yeah. Don't say "bit of skirt". It makes you sound like Sid James.

- Morning, Minister. - Off to the 8:30?

Yep, into the house of the grass snakes.

Grass snakes are actually quite benign.

The cobras.

Can you try, really try, to get the goss on the reshuffle?

I don't really care how desperate you look at this point,

so don't pussyfoot around.

OK, I'll really give it a go this time.

Thank you.

Up all night doing invitations for my party?

They're out. Don't worry.

I am desperate, but I don't want to look desperate, like Glenn.

Oh, God, here we go again. Like Glenn, what?

I was just saying, the last time you saw a snatch was...

- Basic Instinct. - That's good.

That's the repartee I need with the PM's wife.

It's that final tsssss! That's the bit I'm missing.

Yeah, well, I think you could drop the snatch material with the PM's wife.

OK, between the snatch and the Euro there's some sort of happy medium.

Morning, morning, morning. What's the story in Bala-fucking-mory?

Who can tell me the issues of the moment?

First to answer wins a big, massive boat.

Lisa says Nicholson is squelching his way

through the building, so we're on stand-by.

Can't we just kill him, shoot him?

Fire him at a wall from a cannon?

Just a wall two feet away.

I know. We force-feed him with a mixture of

garlic and Dettol in cuppa soup.

The old red-hot poker up the arse?

I'd like to nail him to a tree through the head,

and watch lice slowly crawl over his body,

eating off the flesh in a slow and painful death.

But that rather bitter anomaly aside, most of the responses to

the Warwick report press cuttings were pretty positive.

- Hello, Julius. - Morning, Julius.

- I'll just do that. Right. - Would you like a cup of tea?

Oh, no, no. I'm bouncing, so what I'm going to suggest, if I may...

- Cuppa soup? - Not for me, no.

I'm hoping to go over the ASBOs.

Are there any ASBOs processed on this site?

Actioned or processed on this site?

No, this is the ministry. Everything is done over at Richmond Terrace.

(Julius) Right. I'll just get my pen out.

- Richmond...House, is it? - Terrace.

OK, so that... Well...

- We've been bouncing around about this. - I'd like to have seen that.

We've got five Whitehall departments

having some sort of impact upon the ASBO process.

We've got Lord Chancellor's, DWP, Department of Health.

We take those away. So...

out of the five, let's put three with you,

so out of the five, three are over there.

Glenn's got custody of three for the time being.

Two, four, six billion pounds there.

I take two away, so they come back to me.

I put that four billion straight through to the Treasury.

We're left with the one.

That's a two billion pound figure

which we spread across the money-saving departments.

That means it's good news for Number Ten,

for the Treasury and for Hugh Abbot.

So, that's where we are. I will...

- I shall leave that with you. - Interesting thought.

Within a few sort of...

I guess...months,

we'll have something concrete to put to you.

- See you later. - Bye.

- Erm...yes. - Where were we?

He really is... This is dangerous. He is actually unhinged.

He's just relatively harmless.

No, he's not harmless, because this job's my livelihood.

My children's shoes depend now on having a madman suggest, you know...

Do your children need two shoes each?

He is not getting anywhere near my fucking pantry, I'll tell you that.

That door is staying as open as a fat whore's bonehole.

Sorry I'm late. Traffic was a bitch. No offence, Robyn.

How about the 8:30? How did that go?

Very quick. It was in and out.

Did you quiz him about the reshuffle?

I didn't get a chance.

- I did ask you specifically to do that. - Hugh, entirely my fault.

Robyn, give me a print-out and let me have a look at it.

Question Time'sup the Swanee. What the fuck do you have to do to get on TV?

Have sex with a pig? Soil yourself? I don't know the minimum requirements.

- Terri, Terri, hi, how's it going? - He's gone, Hugh.

Oh, dear.

Oh, I am so sorry, Terri. I really am.

That's... That's really... That's just... Blimey.

OK? Are you OK now?

(Shuffling papers)

(Sobbing)

Yeah. Yep.

Listen. What I was calling about, we'll forget about that.

There's no need to talk about that now.

OK.

Right. Question Time'sbitten the dust,

and I was going to ask you if you could ring some of your broadsheet contacts

and make absolutely sure that they're all coming to my party tonight.

I just wanted to take the opportunity of saying I really am sorry

that it got awkward with Hugh.

I don't like lying to the minister. I don't.

I do understand, all this sneaking about.

It'll make people think we're having an affair. Or something.

- You're joking? - Well...

They don't think we're having an affair?

No, no, no.

God!

(Heavy sigh)

It's a grave matter, isn't it?

Not a good day to bury bad news.

- (Sniggering) No, minister, it's not. - Oh, fuck!

- Julius, what a surprise! - What a surprise.

Thank goodness you didn't stumble on us burning a load of money on a bonfire.

Well done on the chat we had this morning.

The AIU are going to produce a paper in the next 12 days.

So raise yourselves a glass. Happi-ness.

Brilliant.

Right, well, I'll see you at this Treasury bash, I suppose.

- What? - The Treasury bash. Horseguards Parade.

It's Paul Webster, US Economics Secretary of State.

He's unexpectedly coming over.

The Treasury are hosting a bash for him this evening.

Don't tell me you've not been invited.

Yes, no, I have. It's just that I'm actually bashing myself tonight.

So you...you've got your own bash here?

- Uh...yeah. - Yeah.

Ah! Back up, everybody, put the brakes on.

We've got a bash happening here tonight and at the Treasury?

It sounds complicated but I like to maximise my face.

OK, well, how many have you invited?

Erm... All in, I think we've invited about 150 people.

How many replies have you had?

About, I'd say, maybe half a side of A4.

Figures, figures, figures.

- 12? - 12?

We're expecting to do quite a lot of business on the door.

I bet you're feeling a bit argh!

No, no, I'm pretty relaxed about it. I'm feeling sort of hmm...

- Well, it's quite a healthy turnout. - Healthy turnout?

This is an ill turnout!

I don't recognise any of these people: this kebab shop owner,

some child like a butcher's apprentice,

and who's she, this Myra Hindley woman?

Look, will you stop whingeing?

When this Prime Minister and Imelda fucking Marcos have gone,

some of these hacks will cease to be pond life.

Just go in and ingratiate yourself, all right?

Anorak. The PM told Geoff to get a life,

but he's waiting for the Treasury to clear it.

Ka-tsss!

And Julius Nicholson says, "I'm sorry,

"but I think you'll find you're sitting in my seat."

And this was to God, as I mentioned in the setup.

Anyway, have a lovely time.

A fiver if you set off the sprinklers.

Put Hugh in a room of people, he just clicks.

Sounds like West Side Story.

(Clicking fingers)

- So who do you work for? - Online Telegraph.

I update the subscription-only pages on the website.

- It's a bit dull, really. - I'm sorry, who are you?

I'm not a journalist. I'm just one of Olly's mates.

- Right. - Erm...

Angela, hello.

Very nice to see you. Thanks for coming.

- So, what about the demotion? - Sorry, what demotion is that?

Everyone knows that you're not sending anyone to Tucker's 8:30s anymore.

Sorry, you're saying that we're not sending anyone to the 8:30s anymore?

Yes. That's what I'm saying.

Yes, yes, we...

Glenn, the 8:30s?

Well, just because erm...

we're not going...to the 8:30s any more,

doesn't mean to say it isn't normal interdepartmental practice.

There just isn't enough room to get everybody there,

and it has to occur on a rotational basis.

- Are you getting all this? - Yes, thanks. It'll be on the website.

Why didn't you tell me, Glenn?

What possible reason did you have? You saw me.

- I was swinging like a colostomy bag. - Oh, Hugh, grow up.

Stuff happens in this department every day. I can't tell you everything.

Since when does the Secretary of State for Social Affairs

have to find out from the fucking press that every morning at 8:30

I'm being fisted up to the gallbladder by a bald man?

- Oh, yes... - Good night. Thanks for coming.

Right, guys. Thanks very much for staying on.

- Julius Nicholson, right? - Yep.

Blue sky thinker? Ex-business guru?

- Dog rapist? - Quite possibly.

He's being a nuisance to me.

He also has got plans to squeeze your department so hard

you'll be lucky if you're left with one bollock between the three of you.

So all I am doing here

is asking you formally

if you will join me in a little bit of a circle jerk.

Circle jerk? What...?

A lot of guys in a circle all...you know.

Well, I assume you don't mean literally. Do you? Presumably?

Tony Mack in the lobby, you know him, right? Call him. Now.

Tell him that you're getting it that Nicholson

is going to get Foreign Sec in the reshuffle.

Tony, hi. How's it dangling? Yeah?

I want to run something past you.

I wonder if you're hearing what I've been hearing,

that Nicholson's going to be getting Foreign Sec?

Hugh, who is your top mate in the comment area?

- Colin Sykes. - Colin Sykes?

- That's your top mate? - Yeah.

Call him up.

Hi, Colin, yes, it's Hugh Abbot. How are you?

Got a decent backhand yet, have you?

Hugh. Hugh Abbot. We played tennis together. Yeah. Yeah!

Probably bollocks, but that's what we thought

when Jim was up for Home Secretary.

Next thing, he's given up the Colombian marching powder

and taken the sacraments.

Foreign Secretary is exactly where he should be.

- He's a smart guy. - (Mobile ringing)

Cath. Yeah, Cath, I don't know where that's come from.

At one point, I called him a dog rapist.

Stonewall them! I'll talk to the boss, right?

And now I'm going to phone the prime minister of Great Britain.

All right, boss?

I'm sorry to interrupt you, but we're getting hit on the blind side down here.

Julius Nicholson.

Our phones are white hot. Stuff about him becoming Foreign Sec.

Is that...? Am I out of the loop here?

The person that's most likely to be getting his mates

to put this around is Julius Nicholson.

You put so much hope in them. They always let you down.

I think maybe Julius needs to have his wings clipped a bit, you know.

Do you want to do it?

I think you're right. I think it's better that I just have a little chat.

I'll see you in the morning. Night.

Fucking brilliant.

Eight missed messages.

Sleep lightly.

- He's incredible. - Colin Sykes didn't know who I was.

- I don't know who Colin Sykes is. - Swings and roundabouts.

- Who am I? - We'll find out tomorrow, won't we?

Morning, morning, morning. What's the story in Bala-fucking-mory?

Reshuffle.

You win a year's supply of condoms. Which in your case is four.

Anything?

Fatty's just been in. He just managed to squeeze past the policeman.

If you were promoted, good for you.

If it was a relegation, hard cheese.

If he dumps me, I'm going to find that wife of his.

I'm going to click her right through the fucking hedge. Boom!

(Phone ringing)

How do you like this jib, darling? Bang!

- That noise is the phone. - I know. I'm in denial.

But if you don't know whether or not you were promoted,

you were fucking relegated.

Great. OK, bye-bye.

He wants me to go in. I just hope it isn't farmers.

I don't want to have to pretend to be nice to farmers.

- Knock it out the park. - Yeah. Good luck.

Welcome back to Robyn from the all-new, totally revamped

Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship.

I've got no fucking idea what that means, but it spells SAC!

Thank you. Thank you very much. No autographs, please.

(Malcolm) SAC are being turfed out of their tatty old building,

to be replaced by Julius Nicholson and his Advanced Implementation Unit.

On to the broadcast schedule for today. Colin did today, which was lovely.

Sweet FA for The World At One, please, as usual.

You know the lines. Most women ever.

Younger average age than the AC Milan defence.