Original subtitles

The Quiet Batpeople.

What is she doing? Is she fucking sniffing these pens at night?

What's going on inside that abandoned barn of a brain of hers?

Tickle wasn't the queen of people's hearts,

he was a twat in a tent.

(SCREAMING) "Tick-el"!

We drove a man to his death! We are responsible for this!

-Does this look like a bat? -No.

-I should challenge her? -Not necessary.

She's going to kick her own head in,

which will be easy for her, because she does yoga.

Sam, hi. Listen. Can you do me a favour?

Buy some flowers for Nicola fucking Murray.

Yeah. Have them delivered to her home this evening, with a card that says,

"Sorry you had to go,

"but let's face it,

"you are a fucking waste of skin."

"Waste of skin," yeah.

Yeah, Doug, get the cattle gun ready.

I'm afraid it's going to be painful, yeah.

But you know me,

I'm always on the lookout for new sources of powerful opiates.

Morning. I'm looking for a Mr Oliver Reeder.

He looks a bit like a Quentin Blake illustration.

NURSE: Just down the corridor, on the right.

Well, you'll be walking in the rain, eh?

Very good, Bill, very good.

You weren't funny in London, you're not funny in Salford.

-Oh, do I have to do the... -Yes, please.

-Matron knows best, eh? -I do.

I've got a friend who drinks this stuff.

Give him that and a bag of macadamias and he's made for the night.

(NURSE CHUCKLES)

-(MOBILE RINGS) -MALCOLM: Down here?

Hi, Mum. Yeah, a bit sore.

Here she is, Britain's latest post-op transsexual.

How do they do it? Did they actually manage to graft one on?

I'll call you back, Mum.

-It's the scary Morrissey. -I've come to cheer you up.

Did you actually buy me flowers, Malcolm?

No, no, no. It's one of the many advantages

of living close to an accident blackspot.

So how are things, the little boy from The Secret Garden?

Well, you know, there's no Wi-Fi, there's basic Freeview.

It's like living in 2003.

But I am lighter to the tune of one whole appendix,

so I do feel very svelte.

So have you seen this?

-"Nicola Murray is 'unelectable'." -Fleming is foaming.

Is that it, then? Is she fucked?

Like Caligula's favourite watermelon.

Fleming's fired the starting pistol

so we can all start firing our actual pistols

into her fucking fat, unelectable smug head.

-How... Is this it now? -It's on.

It's on like Fat Pat's thong.

We're putting Nicola on a train today to Bradford.

It's the closest as I could get to locking her in a metal box.

Oh, this is the Here 2 Hear thing.

What a great idea, going round the country

listening to people tell you that they hate you,

just in different accents.

(VARIOUS ACCENTS) "I fucking hate you." "I hate you." "I fucking hate you."

-So wait, today's the day? -Today's the day.

Once she's on the train, I'm going to detonate the main bomb.

But I need you to set one off later.

Malcolm, I'm in hospital, I'm not... I'm not wearing any pants.

I don't care if you've been dead for a year

and playing cribbage with Jimmy fucking Savile.

I want you to make a bomb and explode it today.

This is a metaphorical bomb, right?

This is it, Jack fucking Bauer.

Time for you to embrace your inner bastard.

I'll be in touch, right? That wee nurse needs cheering up.

Nice. Really nice, Malcolm. Those are my flowers.

Easy come, easy go.

(PHONE RINGING)

-Is everything okay? -I've had a stroke.

Oh, no, no such luck.

Is that why you're not answering your phone?

No, I'm finding it actually quite comforting.

Maybe I'll bring you a shot glass and some bleach.

Hey, only my kids are allowed to talk to me like that. And my husband.

Don't forget you're on a train to Bradford in a couple of hours.

Can you try to arrange for me to be underneath it?

I look forward to our lovely train journey together.

I look forward to you fucking off, actually.

Thanks very much.

Oh, is the Dowager Countess receiving?

Can you give her a minute? She's just meditating.

Step aside, she's actually asked to see me.

Morning. Oh, God. Oh, dear.

You can get that in large print, you know.

Still not knocking, I see, Malcolm.

Sorry, it's an old habit from my time with the Haitian death squads.

So how are you doing?

The Guardianseem to hate me more than the Prime Minister.

I mean, what do I expect next?

Am I going to get spat at in the street by Michael Palin?

That's highly unlikely. He's really a very, very nice man.

But on to more serious matters, Mr Tickle is dead.

What are you going to do about it?

I'm not going to exploit a suicide.

Come on, you can't look a gift corpse in the mouth.

You should be taking that corpse

and slapping the Government about the face with it.

Bit a slap with Tickle, yeah?

No, I'm not doing it. It's insensitive, as was that.

Sorry, I just... I think this is what we should be doing.

Look, fine, it's there as a policy we can use in extremis.

But I just... I just want us to try and build some momentum through positivity.

Okay, yeah. Well, good luck with that.

That's me being positive, by the way.

So it's just a quick chat with Sky, yeah?

Yeah, just give 'em 10 minutes' bullshit

about how you much prefer them to the BBC

and then get straight into the Here 2 Hear stuff.

It's a very good name, Here 2 Hear. Well done.

Much better than... What was Olly's effort?

We're All Ears.

But the "all" was capitalised, implying that everyone is actually an ear.

Christ in a hot tub, that is truly terrible.

What I mean is Olympic sprinters don't get paid

for the number of hours they run, do they?

Otherwise, if they did,

the faster you ran the less they'd actually get paid.

Oh, God! Duggan, of all people.

John! Nice to see you again.

All aboard the Hogwarts Express

for Nicola Potter and the Prisoner of AzkerBradford.

I come bearing broadcast journalists.

Sounds almost sexual, doesn't it?

This is Cath...y. Cathy. So good they named her twice.

And a cameraman whose name I cannot recall.

-I'm Nicholas. -Hello, hi. Nicola Murray.

This is Helen, my number two.

Ah, unexpected item in bagging area.

I was expecting something more Olly-shaped.

I'm JD. Recently divorced.

-Um, John, maybe... -Please, call me JD. I've rebranded.

Right. So, John, if you could get us some drinks, that would be great.

Absodutely. I could murder a lager.

It's all right drinking on trains, isn't it?

It's one of those places where alcohol is acceptable at any time of day,

like a casino or Cardiff.

That's not racist. I could have said Glasgow or Dublin.

Glenn, mate, guess who? No, it's Olly Reeder.

Who the fuck's Preston?

No. All right, listen. I was wondering if you fancied a spot of lunch?

You know St Thomas's Hospital?

Well, let's say St Thomas's Hospital.

Because I'm in St Thomas's Hospital, Glenn.

Yeah, it's a Nigella recipe.

You sort of do it with gammon and Coca-Cola.

That's fantastic.

Ah, the hairless Hagrid. I need a private word.

Yeah, we're kind of in the middle of something.

I need you lot to make like a tree and go fuck yourselves.

Yeah, we'll pick this up later.

You know, Westminster can often seem to be all about "Hear! Hear!".

But we want to make it clear that with Here 2 Hear

-we are very definitely here to hear. -(MOBILE CHIMING)

So today in Bradford,

we're going to be talking to the good folk of that city.

-That we're there for them... -(MOBILE CHIMING)

...that we are listening to their concerns and that we're there to...

That we're here to hear.

-Great. Well... -That okay?

-I think that's us done. -Good, good, lovely.

(MOUTHING)

-Thanks. -Thank you.

Oh!

Are you... That's where you're, um...

Yes. We'll just be grabbing some GVs and some day-in-the-life shots.

You know, just some shots of you pretending to work,

pretty sure I mentioned it.

You absolutely definitely didn't mention it, John.

But that's... Yeah, great. Nice to spend a bit more time...

Maybe not. In my defence, I am the busiest man in politics.

One of the three main reasons my marriage broke up.

She was a muggle, next wife's got to be a politico.

Oh, I'm sorry. I can come back if you're...

I didn't realise you were so fucking busy.

Well, I could do some work, but you know what?

-We're still going to lose. -Hey, hey, hey.

Don't be so grim, you big quim. You are the future of this party, yeah?

-You are the next generation. -And you're in its past.

I mean, I don't really know why you're still here, Malcolm.

I just want to see this thing turn around, right?

I can't leave while we're getting fucked in the polls.

And we're getting fucked consistently and repeatedly,

like a horse in the fucking Hebrides.

All very original observations, Malcolm MacIntucker,

but what's the solution?

Nicola has to go. Today.

-Oh, right. -You need to resign.

And challenge her for the leadership?

Ah, no. No, that would be petty and self-interested. No.

You are doing this for the greater good of the party.

As Deputy Leader, Dan Miller will take over

and he can be anointed at a later date.

So you want me to stick my cock in a fan

so that Dan Miller can become the next Prime Minister?

Well, fuck you very much, Malcolm. What do I get out of this?

I would not ask you to do this for nothing, would I?

You might.

I'm asking you because you're a big fucking beast.

Which is why, when you come back,

it'll be as Foreign Secretary.

You mean Foreign Secretary,

that isn't code for Northern Ireland, I'm not fucking going there.

This is the proper Foreign Secretary, with all the perks.

Fuck-off breakfasts at Dubai hotels, tours of secret Russian sex yachts.

All right. All right, I'll do it.

And you know what? I'd have done it for a lot less.

I beg your pardon?

I'd have done it just to see the look on Nicola's face.

Oh. I've underestimated you.

You have been out-manoeuvred by a player. It happens.

Yeah, well, didn't used to.

God, this is absolutely ridiculous.

We so should have sat separately in first.

You can't go first class, it's career suicide.

Might as well do a shit in the aisle.

(MOBILE CHIMES)

I want you to stay smiling, looking relaxed.

Ben Swain is resigning.

Shitting quitting?

-Fuck off! -Shut up.

What is it, a sex scandal? I'll bet he pays for it.

-Is he a gaylord or something? -Grauniadthinks it might be a putsch.

That's very good news, actually, isn't it?

Just had some independent polling results in.

That's really encouraging.

If you could try and get a breakdown of that

with a bit more detail, that would be...

-Sure. Um... -Terrific.

I think I might go and get a wrap.

-Does anyone want anything? -No, thanks.

I quite fancy one of those pizzas that's so hot

the cheese actually evaporates.

Right. John, can you...

Sorry, I thought... Are you not going to Fast Track now?

Yeah, I am. All right. I'll get you a fucking pizza.

She is bonkers.

I, um, might also go, for a...

celebratory, er, polling wee. That's what I'm going to do.

So, John, do you want to keep these good people company

without being too Duggan about it? (LAUGHING)

Totes. Consider it done.

Or about to be done, pre-done.

I'm saying yes, is the gist, basically.

Hello, hi.

Do you want me to do a ring-round?

-Call Olly. -Why?

Olly and Ben are mates.

I'm sorry, I have to keep walking,

this train feels like it's getting very small right now.

It's not, it's the same size.

Get Olly to call Ben

and tell him to offer him anything he wants, anything at all.

Bigger portfolio, pig roast, whatever!

I've just got to keep moving. I have to keep moving.

So go on, then. How's life in Nazi HQ? Is it fun collaborating?

Oh, don't start all that again. I got into government by accident.

Speaking of which, how is Terri?

She's entering her dog for Britain's Got Talent.

Look, what's the matter with you, anyway?

Please tell me you're looking for a bone marrow donor

and that I'm you're only hope.

The answer would be no, by the way.

Bad luck. No, it's an appendix out.

Well, I hope it is. Since your lot took over the NHS

everything's a fucking adventure, isn't it?

Look, this is all incredibly entertaining, Olly,

but you called me over in my lunch hour

and as you're fond of saying, I don't have many of them left.

So you know all this stuff with Mr Tickle?

-Sad business. -Very sad business.

Yeah. Mr Sad is actually very, very sad about it.

Yes. Mr Happy, on the other hand, fucking delighted!

Yeah? Mr Stoic's taking it on the chin.

Yes. Mr Milk-it says we should probably stop this now.

Okey doke.

I need you to dig out an old email for me.

One of those confidential delete-after-reading emails

that we never deleted after reading?

Do you remember the email that Nicola sent ages ago,

where she floated the exact same policy

that's just got Mannion Tickled in a bad way?

-No. -No, 'cause you're 90.

But trust me, it does exist.

She was completely up for it

before she realised that her husband's PFI contracts fucked the whole thing.

That, my friend, is the email I'd like you to dig out.

So what's going on here?

Are you start... Is Malcolm starting a coup?

A bit louder, because there's a man in a coma over there, Glenn,

who didn't quite hear that.

Right, wee mission accomplished.

Actually, having an accurate wee into a moving train toilet

would make a great round on The Cubewith Phillip Schofield.

Nicola, is it true there's a rumour that Ben Swain is going to resign?

No, that's not true.

I mean it might be true there's a rumour

but that rumour is not true.

So Ben Swain is completely on side?

JOHN: Oh, look. I think Helen in the vestibule,

er, Nicola, she wants to... wants to talk to you about your wrap.

-In terms of filling, chicken or cheese. -Yeah.

That's what her body language is telling me, anyhow.

-Sorry. Excuse me. -Right.

JOHN: That's probably the first time

I've ever used the words "wrap" and "vestibule" in the same sentence.

Actually, I'm almost certain it is.

(MOBILE RINGING)

-Do you need to get that? -Erm, no. But I do need a wee. So...

All right, take it easy. Just let me give you a hand.

-Not there, don't! -I'm sorry.

-Not there! -All right.

-That's where the appendix usually goes. -Yes.

I am being careful. I know how to do this.

He's not actually the Grim Reaper, he's just a friend of mine.

-(MOBILE RINGING) -Helen, yes.

Some serious shit's going down. Ben's threatening to resign.

Ben? Nah, he's just a fucking air bag.

I know he's a fucking air bag.

But if he goes off now, in Nicola's face, she'll crash.

So you've got to call and stop him, okay?

Well...

And you've hung up.

Oh, I'm fine, thanks for asking, Wednesday fucking Addams.

Olly, come on. This is my shittiest lunch break I've had

since Stewart took us all out for sushi.

Patience, old man, and you can watch the fuckpuppet master at work now.

(PHONE RINGING)

OLLY: Ben Swain!

Benign tumour, Bental illness.

Ol... Oliver Cyst, Olivetti...spaghet...

I don't really have time for chit-chat, Olly.

Are you resigning, mate? Are you dropping the R-bomb?

Benola Gay? And I'm not just, er, talking about the rumours.

Let's just say it is time to prepare the hidey-hole

for Madam Hussein, her reign of error is over.

And out of interest, Ben,

what would it take to stop you from resigning?

-Why, what's Nicola offering? -Name your price.

All right. Shadow Chancellor.

(LAUGHING)

Ah! Ah, you still got it, Benny.

I'm serious, stop fucking laughing.

All right, I'll... I'll call you back.

This is a fucking joke. Ben Swain, Chancellor?

He goes into debt every time he passes a sweet shop.

Well, let's pass it on to the new Glenn.

Well, she's about to lose her job, actually,

so she's more like the old Glenn.

-Yes. -He would like Chancellor.

-He wants Chancellor. -(SIGHS)

-Just give it to the fucker. -It's fine.

What? What? Are you jerking my turkey?

Chancellor?

It's a panicky thumbs-up from the vestibule.

Shit a Fimble! All right, well...

(PHONE RINGS)

-Shadow Chancellor Swain? -(LAUGHING) You are kidding me!

Deal or no deal?

I'll take the red box containing the fucking red box, thank you, Noel.

Oh, that is amazeballs.

Ha! Ben Swain: knocks it out the park.

I'm off.

No, no, no, don't go. Just stay there.

-I'll just use the... -Yeah.

(MOBILE RINGING)

What have you got for me, Professor Brian Cock?

Ben small-balled it. Nicola's offered him Shadow Chancellor.

He's not resigning.

Christ in a diamond heist, the dopey fucking bollard.

Right. How are you getting on with the old man from Up?

Yeah, you know, getting there.

Well, get a move on.

I want him leaking like Cliff Richard out jogging.

Right, okay. I'll be right on it.

Okay, Anne to Justice, Sanjay to Energy and Climate Change

and Cuntface to Culture, Media and Sport.

So, C-face to CMS.

Er, Doug to Scotland and Frank to International.

Frank to International. Yes, it works. We don't need Ben.

-Fuck Ben. -Fuck Ben.

It's brilliant! Give me some skin, palm, I dunno.

Sorry.

I wasn't expecting to have to up my offer.

But that's how a gazumping works, Dan.

What if I were to offer you Deputy Leader of the party?

-I would consider it. -Would you?

I would consider it briefly and then say no.

I see.

Oh, here she is. Pippa Middleton.

Trying to steal the limelight with your peachy little arse.

Right, where are we?

Well, I've just offered Ben here Deputy Leadership of the party.

I don't want it. I want Chancellor.

Chancellor? Of the United Kingdom?

Yeah. It's what Nicola's offering me.

Are you sure about this, Ben? How's your economics?

Good, strong.

-What, you're a PPA guy? -No. History of Art, but...

Oh, right, so you are confident

that one day you will be able to shepherd this country

out of one of the darkest economic periods

in its entire fucking art history?

Look, at the moment, I hold all the cards,

including the card that tells you how to play, so... So it's over.

-The fat lady's singing. -MALCOLM: No, she's not.

The fat man from the Go Compare adverts is talking.

This is tiger-by-the-tail time and I am loving it, loving it, loving it.

Oh, in that case you leave me no option, Ben.

I'm going to have to say yes.

Oh! Chumba-fucking-wumba.

Then I resign on the dotted line.

Can you give us a minute, Ben, please? Dan and I need to talk some strategy.

Might head in the direction of confection.

Any snackage, anyone?

No. No.

Is this for real?

No, of course it's not for real, Malcolm.

I'm offering him Chancellor,

but I might as well be offering him bass player in The Wurzels,

because that burly haemorrhoid's

getting nowhere near any fucking cabinet of mine.

Good. So how are you going to shaft him?

That's not my problem.

That's your problem, Malcolm.

Right. So this is a little test, is it? You're weighing my balls?

Should we get Ben?

Oh, he'll be back. Like the shit Terminator.

There he is.

Ben Swain!

I know. She's a crazy woman. Nicola's got to go.

Any time a decision has to be made on anything,

she just starts flapping about like Christ in a crucifix shop.

She's a nightmare! She backed the hospital flats sell-off.

A man is dead because of that policy.

Oh, wind it up, Polly fucking Toynbee.

Fine. Think of it this way.

Do it for yourself, then, Glenn. Do it for the sheer revenge.

Because what has it actually been like, hey?

The last two years, stuck in that fucking office,

being pulled out once a week for a poke and a mop

like some kind of fucking dancing bear.

What's that actually been like?

Absolutely relentless.

The worst thing is there's no humour in the cruelty.

Yeah, and you could never have said that about me.

So do it for yourself and for the party.

But I need to have that email.

If you just shut up, I'll do it.

You are a diamond, Glenn.

Not just any form of ancient carbon, the best. A diamond.

Do I send it to Malcolm or you? Organ grinder or monkey?

I'm... I'm no monkey, not any more.

Things have changed there, right? But yeah, send it to Malcolm.

And CC me. No, BCC me.

-BCC you? -Yeah.

MALCOLM: Nicola, I can't find Benjamin Glutton anywhere.

The massive fuck's gone to ground somehow

and nobody's felt the aftershocks.

Listen, Malcolm, it's fine.

We've sorted it, we've averted Benaggedon.

No, no, no, no, I know all about the deal, but he's still resigning.

Are you sure?

-Commander Duggan reporting for duty. -Shit!

What can I sort? Everything all right?

Just go away, stop molesting us!

Oh, Glenn, you wrinkled beauty.

This is an emergency situation, Nicola.

You have to break the glass and hit the dead Tickle button.

-No, I don't want to do that. -What don't you want to do?

Bash the Tickle button.

You need to talk to Sky and you need to call for an inquiry, now.

I really think this could massively backfire.

Is this Tickle? That could be good.

Shh! I cannot talk when I'm talking.

You're on the ropes, Nicola. You have to do something fucking drastic.

I don't even know how to refer to him! Do I... Do I call him Mr "Tickle"?

-I can't call him Mr "Tickle". -You're stuck on a train.

I fucking know I'm stuck on a train!

Just attack, attack, attack and do it before Ben's resignation gets out.

Fine, yes. Fine, fine, good. Thank you, Malcolm.

Fuck off!

Sky lady, you need to go now. Get her immediately.

I'll just... I need a...

-Just take a moment. -Yes, just go.

Ah, Suzy. Might shake it up, spray it round the room like a...

Obviously I won't.

What the fuck is this? You can't have champagne in here.

-You're not fucking pregnant. -It's just Prosecco.

Just get on with it.

I hereby tweet, "I have resigned. More to follow."

-Didn't seem that momentous. -How many followers have you got?

Six-hundred and twelve. Or thereabouts.

Christ! Well, let's hope it gets re-tweeted,

otherwise you might as well just whistle it to a fucking dead tramp.

The word I would use, Cathy, is "disgraceful".

You know, I think this government has behaved appallingly

in the tragic case of this nurse that has died.

And the tragic events that led to the death of Mr...

(MOBILE CHIMES)

...of a missed and valued member of society

are now going to have to come under scrutiny.

Great. Thank you, Nicola.

We've just had word in that Ben Swain is thinking of...

Thank you. Nicola has to take a very urgent call.

-Thank you so much. Thank you. -So sorry. Sorry.

I have to get off this train. I'm hyper-fucking-ventilating!

HELEN: Right, I'll get the door.

And leave Duggan where he is 'cause he's just flotsam now.

Not flotsam, jetsam. The other one, jetsam.

I'm pretty certain that was a genuinely urgent call.

I'm sure she'll be back to say a few words about Ben Swain.

-Four-letter ones? -(LAUGHS) Funny.

No, she hardly swears at all, actually. Um, the occasional "shit".

(SIGHING) I'm going to kill Ben Swain!

I'm going to fucking, fucking kill Ben Swain!

I'm going to get some fucking giant Yorkie and ram it down his gizzard.

-Okay? Better? -Are we there?

It's good to let it out, I think.

Once I get out in the air I'll be fine.

We're going to do a ring-round.

I'm going to leave Mary to you because she's a bit HRT-ish.

BOTH: Go, go, go!

NICOLA: Kate, hi. Can I count on your support?

(HELEN TALKING INDISTINCTLY)

NICOLA: Sorry, I am a bit out of breath.

It's just because I'm running up a ramp, that's all.

No, no. Not with a view to jumping off.

(NICOLA LAUGHING)

That's brilliant! That's great news. Thank you.

Hello, Bill.

Is it safe to assume we can count on your support, then, love?

Okay, that's fantastic. I knew I could trust you.

Lazy fucking shyster.

-(CONDUCTOR BLOWS WHISTLE) -Mary, I was really hoping

I could count on your support.

Well, I'm disappointed to hear you say that, I must say.

Because if I'm honest, Mary,

you know, you sort of brought some of this on yourself, really.

Well, in that you had quite a lot of time off before being diagnosed.

All right, Mary. Thank you. Bye.

Fucking thyroid polyp bitch!

I hope they sprout out of her abdomen and fucking choke her.

(PANTING)

-We can still do it. -(NICOLA SIGHS)

Do you want a bit of lippy or something?

-Do I need it? -Yeah.

Okay, Ben. Big Ben tells us that it's resignation time.

Are you pumped?

Yeah, I'm pumped. Pumped to the fucking max.

If I was a petrol pump, I'd be making that clicking sound.

MALCOLM: Oh, Olly, you foxy lady.

It seems that the press have been hoofing an email about

that proves that Nicola agreed with this key worker housing scheme.

Sweet. Suzy, can I get some powder on my nose?

Oh, Glenn, my trusty crusty.

-I've just had my bony buttocks saved. -Thanks, Suzy.

These phones are amazing, aren't they?

I've got an application here that can throw grenades into people's dreams.

So, how do I look?

Is that your suit with the reinforced trouser arse on it, yeah?

Ha, very funny. What, a joke that I'm going to shit myself?

No, it's because you're going to need it

for the 10 years you're going to be sitting on the back bench.

The email trail about the key worker housing

clearly shows that you, Benjamin Trevor Swain,

were gleefully in favour of it, just like Nicola.

You've... Um...

There you go. Break a leg, love.

And your neck and your wrist. It doesn't really matter.

I never act on impulse.

I'm so not impulsive. And Malcolm made me do it and now, fuck!

What?

Launching this inquiry may prove to be misguided,

in that I now recall

I may have fleetingly supported the policy myself.

So you've essentially launched an investigation into yourself?

Malcolm made me do it.

-Oh, well, Malcolm, yeah. -You've met Malcolm.

I would've said that it was ethically bad. I'm sure I said...

I'll tell you what you said, just give me a minute.

Brilliant. Courtesy of the Telegraphwebsite.

You said, "Great revenue raiser

"but I'm afraid it's a no-no because of my bloody husband."

I'm sorry. Why would you do that?

You remember all your emails, do you, that you sent three years ago?

Because from what I understand from Olly,

a large number of them were sent to that married producer on the Daily Politics.

Olly is a fucking... Because...

He was supposed to leave her and...

Okay, while we're on our way back to London,

maybe we should make a list of the things,

you know, you're for and against.

Let's start with something simple.

-Animals in circuses? -Tell you what.

Why don't you make the little list and shove it up your tight, cold arse?

-I just need to stare. -Have a good stare.

I believe that this government should be attacked

for its involvement in the tragic death of Mr Tickel,

but I do not believe that Nicola Murray is fit to lead such an attack

because email evidence has clearly shown that she herself,

when a minister, supported the exact same proposals.

Er, as for a brief and regrettable period of time did I.

And so it turns out, I will not be seeking a front bench position...

-Dan? Yeah, Blinky's gone. -...in the foreseeable future.

Yeah, don't ask how I did it but I'm on my way over.

Get some sexy underwear on. Wear a basque.

REPORTER: Are you backing Dan Miller for the leadership?

(MOBILE RINGING) BEN: I can't reply to those questions at the moment.

-Hello. -NICOLA: Olly,

how the shit has this happened?

Ben's gone and I'm about to.

(MOUTHING)

Er, I'm sorry about that.

You're not going to try and talk me down off the ledge, are you?

Because, I've got to tell you, I'm really tired

and the pavement just looks like a nice, warm, splatty bed right now.

Nicola, if you fight this,

it's just going to be one of those long, slow, agonising deaths.

I might still recover, though.

I mean, maybe you should come on board a bit more,

maybe be my number one and...

Sorry, it's career cancer, I would say terminal.

I'm sorry, Nicola, this is it.

Is it? Right.

I am sorry.

I really thought I could be Prime Minister.

-Did you? -Yes, didn't you?

Yes. Of course.

I mean, against that parade of top-hatted turds, how could I not win?

-I don't know. -Can you ring James, actually?

Because he'll just be all smug on the phone

and then I'm going to end up asking for a divorce

and that... That's is exactly what he fucking well wants me to do.

And I just know I'm going to end up with the fucking kids.

Right, come on, folks. Gather round.

Grab your cheesy nachos and your fucking vuvuzelas.

This is what we've all been waiting for. It's the Queen's fucking speech.

Hello, everybody. Thank you very much for coming here at such short notice.

I will be reading a short prepared statement.

Come on, this is fucking history in the making, right?

This is the ending of a chapter of a very thin book

that nobody enjoyed reading.

It has become apparent to me

that I no longer have the full support of my party.

You never had the support of the party, you big bag of fucking useless doubt.

It is for this reason, and with a heavy heart,

that I have decided to stand down as leader.

Sam, get me Fatty on the phone.

Tell him he's won a hamper.

He needs to know the line and toe the line.

You, bland fucking robot droid, clear that shit out of there.

We need to get a draft in here to blow away the stench of fucking failure.

Somebody get me a fucking Fanta!

The only thing I love more than my party is my family

and I look forward to spending more time with my husband James

and with my children, Ben, Katie...

And here he is, the anointed one.

Oh, please, please. I'm not Christ.

He was quite a scruffy man.

I think Nicola's just finishing herself off here.

Thank you very much. Thank you.

(CAMERAS CLICKING)

(WHISPERING) Nicola, Nicola, this way, this way.

-Oh, shit. -They're coming.

-Oh, God, here we go. -It's okay.

REPORTER: Do you feel you've been stabbed in the back, Mrs Murray?

She won't be answering any questions at this time. Thank you.

REPORTER: Will you be backing Dan Miller?

MALCOLM: Can you hear that sound?

Underneath the champagne corks popping, there's another sound.

It's the sound of the Government's arses yawning open.

Because we have got ourselves a superb

leader in waiting,

who's going to stick the boot

into those coked-up, cousin-fucking, chinless aliens.

(APPLAUDING)

-Thank you very much. -We have got some work to do with you.

Sam!

REPORTER: What are you going to be doing this evening, Mrs Murray?

REPORTER: Will it be Dan Miller?

NICOLA: Thank you all very much.

Any regrets in the last two years? What's your legacy?

Do you have a legacy? Worst leader in living memory?

MALCOLM: Get ahold of Claire Ballantine, by the fucking ears if necessary.

Tell her she's on The World Tonighttonight.

Nicola's security pass, get it altered,

she gets into the Lobby and the canteen and that's it.