All language subtitles for The.Thick.Of.It.S04e04.1080p.Web.H264-Poppycock_track3_[eng]

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.