All language subtitles for The.Thick.Of.It.S02e02.1080p.Web.H264-Poppycock_track3_[eng]

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.