MALCOLM: 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. Morning, I'm looking for Mr Oliver Reeder. He looks a bit like a Quentin Blake illustration.
NURSE: Just down the corridor on the right.
OLLIE: Very good, Bill, very good. You weren't funny in London, you're not funny in Salford.
MALCOLM: Oh, do I have to do the...?
NURSE: Yes, please. Matron knows best, eh?
NURSE: I do.
MALCOLM: I've got a friend who drinks this stuff. Give him that, and a bag of macadamias and he's made for the night.
OLLIE: Hiya, Mum. Yeah, a bit sore.
MALCOLM: Here she is. Britain's latest post-op transsexual. Do they actually manage to graft one on?
OLLIE: I'll call you back, Mum. It's the scary Morrissey.
MALCOLM: I've come to cheer you up.
OLLIE: Did you actually buy me flowers, Malcolm?
MALCOLM: It's one of the many advantages of living close to an accident blackspot. So, how are things, little boy from The Secret Garden?
OLLIE: 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.
MALCOLM: So have you seen this?
OLLIE: “Nicola Murray is unelectable”?
MALCOLM: Fleming is foaming.
OLLIE: Is that it then, is she fucked?
MALCOLM: So we can all start firing our actual pistols onto her fucking fat, unelectable, smug head.
OLLIE: How... Is this it now?
MALCOLM: It's on. It's on like fat Pat's thong. We're putting her on a train to Bradford. It's the closest as I could get to locking her in a metal box.
OLLIE: Oh, this is the "Here To Hear" thing. A great idea, going round the country listening to people tell you that they hate you, just in different accents. "I fucking hate you", "I hate you," "I fucking hate you.” So, wait, today's the day?
MALCOLM: 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.
OLLIE: Malcolm, I'm in hospital, I'm not, I'm not wearing any pants.
MALCOLM: I don't care if you've been dead a year, playing cribbage with Jimmy fucking Saville. I want you to make a bomb and explode it, today.
OLLIE: This is a metaphorical bomb right?
MALCOLM: This is it, Jack fucking Bauer, time for you to embrace your inner bastard. I'll be in touch, right.
MALCOLM: That wee nurse needs cheering up.
OLLIE: Nice, really nice, Malcolm, those are my flowers.
HELEN: Is everything OK?
NICOLA: I've had a stroke. Oh, no, no such luck.
HELEN: Is that why you're not answering your phone?
NICOLA: I'm finding it quite comforting.
HELEN: Maybe I'll bring you a shot glass and some bleach.
NICOLA: Hey, only my kids are allowed to talk to me like that, and my husband.
HELEN: Don't forget you're on a train to Bradford soon.
NICOLA: Can you try to arrange for me to be underneath it?
HELEN: I look forward to our lovely train journey together.
NICOLA: I look forward to you fucking off, actually. Thanks very much.
MALCOLM: Is the Dowager Countess receiving?
HELEN: Can you give her a minute? She's meditating.
MALCOLM: Step aside, she's asked to see me. Morning. Oh, God, oh, dear. You can get that in large print you know.
NICOLA: Still not knocking, I see, Malcolm.
MALCOLM: It's an old habit from my time in the Haitian death squads. So, how you doing?
NICOLA: The Guardian seem to hate me more than the Prime Minister, I mean, what do I expect next, am I gonna get spat at in the street by Michael Palin?
MALCOLM: 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 gonna do about it?
NICOLA: I'm not going to exploit a suicide.
MALCOLM: You can't look a gift corpse in the mouth, you should be taking it and slapping the government about the face with it, bit of slap with tickle.
NICOLA: No, I'm not doing it, it's insensitive, as was that.
MALCOLM: Sorry, I just think this is what we should be doing.
NICOLA: Look, fine, it's there as a policy we can use in the extreme, but I just, I just want us to try and build some momentum through positivity.
MALCOLM: OK, yeah, good luck with that. That's me being positive, by the way.
NICOLA: So, it's just a quick chat with Sky, yeah?
HELEN: Yeah, just give them ten minutes' bullshit about how you much prefer them to the BBC, and then get straight onto the "Here To Hear" stuff.
NICOLA: It's a very good name "Here To Hear," well done. Much better than, what was Ollie’s effort?
HELEN: "We're All ears." But the "all" was capitalised, implying that everyone is actually an ear.
NICOLA: Christ in a hot tub, that is truly terrible.
DUGGAN: Olympic sprinters don't get paid for the number of hours they run, otherwise, if they did, the faster you ran, the less they'd actually get paid.
NICOLA: Oh, God, Duggan, of all people. John, nice to see you again.
DUGGAN: 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 who's name I cannot recall.
CAMERAMAN: I'm Nicholas.
NICOLA: Hello, hi. Nicola Murray. This is Helen, my number two.
DUGGAN: Ah, unexpected item in bagging area. I was expecting something more Ollie shaped, I'm JD, recently divorced.
NICOLA: Erm, John, maybe...
DUGGAN: Please call me JD, I've rebranded.
NICOLA: Right, so John, if you could get us some drinks, that would be great.
DUGGAN: 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.
OLLIE: Glenn, mate, guess who? No, it's Ollie Reeder. Who the fuck's Preston? No, all right, listen, I was wondering if you fancied a spot of lunch? You know St Thomas' Hospital? Well, let's say St Thomas' Hospital. Because I'm in St Thomas' Hospital, Glenn.
BEN: Yeah, it's a Nigella recipe, you, you, you sort of do it with gammon and Coca Cola, it's fantastic.
MALCOLM: Ah, the hairless Hagrid? I need a private word.
BEN: We're in the middle of something.
MALCOLM: I need you lot to make like a tree, and go fuck yourselves.
BEN: Yeah, we'll, we'll pick this up later.
NICOLA: You know, Westminster can often seem to be all about “here, here”. But we want to make it clear that with "Here To Hear," we are very definitely here to hear. So, today, in Bradford, we're going to be talking to the good folk of that city, that we're there for them, that we are listening to their concerns and that we're there to, erm, that we're here to hear.
CATHY: Great, well.
NICOLA: That OK?
CATHY: I think that's us done.
NICOLA: Good, good, lovely.
CATHY: Thanks.
NICOLA: Thank you.
NICOLA: Oh, are you, that's where you're erm...
CATHY: We'll be grabbing some GVs and some day in the life shots.
DUGGAN: Just some shots of you pretending to work, pretty sure I mentioned it.
NICOLA: You absolutely, definitely didn't mention it, John, but that's, yeah, great, nice to spend a bit more time...
DUGGAN: 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.
MALCOLM: I'm sorry I can come back, I didn't realise you were so fucking busy.
BEN: Well, I could do some work but you know what, we're still going to lose.
MALCOLM: Don't be so grim, you big quim. You are the future of this party, yeah, you are the next generation.
BEN: And you're in its past. I mean, I don't really know why you're still here, Malcolm.
MALCOLM: I want to see this turn around. 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.
BEN: Very original observations, Malcolm MacIntucker, but what's the solution?
MALCOLM: Nicola has to go. Today.
BEN: Oh, right.
MALCOLM: You need to resign.
BEN: And challenge her for the leadership?
MALCOLM: That, 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.
BEN: You want me to stick my cock in a fan so that Dan Miller can become the next Prime Minister! Fuck you very much, Malcolm. What do I get out of this?
MALCOLM: I would not ask you to do this for nothing, would I?
BEN: You might.
MALCOLM: I'm asking you, because you're a big fucking beast. Which is why, when you come back, it'll be as Foreign Secretary.
BEN: You mean Foreign Secretary, that isn't code for Northern Ireland, I'm not fucking going there.
MALCOLM: This is the proper Foreign Secretary with all the perks, fuck-off breakfasts at Dubai hotels, tours of secret Russian sex shops.
BEN: All right, all right, I'll do it. And you know what? I'd have done it for a lot less.
MALCOLM: I beg your pardon?
BEN: I'd have done it just to see the look on Nicola's face.
MALCOLM: I've underestimated you.
BEN: You've been out manoeuvred by a player. It happens.
MALCOLM: Yeah, well, didn't used to.
NICOLA: God, this is absolutely ridiculous. We so should have sat separately in first.
HELEN: We can't do first class, it's career suicide, you might as well do a shit in the aisle. I want you to stay smiling, looking relaxed. Ben Swain is resigning. Shitting quitting.
DUGGAN: Fuck off!
NICOLA: Shut up!
DUGGAN: What, is it sex scandal? I bet he pays for it. Is he a Gaylord or something?
HELEN: Grainne thinks it might be a putsch.
NICOLA: 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...
HELEN: Sure.
NICOLA: Terrific.
HELEN: I think I might go and get a wrap. Does anyone want anything?
NICOLA: No, thanks.
DUGGAN: I quite fancy one of those pizzas that's so hot the cheese actually evaporates.
HELEN: Right, John, can you...
DUGGAN: Sorry I thought, are you not going to fasttrack now?
HELEN: Yeah, I am. All right, I'll get you a fucking pizza.
DUGGAN: She is bonkers.
NICOLA: I, erm, 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?
DUGGAN: Totes, consider it done. Or about to be done, pre-done. I'm saying yes, is the gist, basically.
NICOLA: Hello, hi.
HELEN: Do you want me to do a ring round?
NICOLA: Call Ollie.
HELEN: Why?
NICOLA: Ollie and Ben are mates. I'm sorry, I have to keep walking, this train feels like it's getting very small right now.
HELEN: It's not, it's the same size.
NICOLA: Get Ollie to call Ben and tell him to offer him anything he wants, anything at all, bigger portfolio, pig roast, whatever, I… I've just got to keep moving, I have to keep moving.
OLLIE: So go on then, how's life in Nazi HQ, is it fun collaborating?
GLENN: Oh, don't start all that again, I got into government by accident.
OLLIE: Speaking of which, how is Terri?
GLENN: She's entering her dog for Britain's Got Talent. What's the matter with you? Please tell me you're looking for a bone marrow donor and that I'm your only hope. The answer would be "no," by the way.
OLLIE: Bad luck, no, it's an appendix out. I hope it is, since your lot took over the NHS everything's a fucking adventure.
GLENN: Look, this is all incredibly entertaining, but you've called me over in my lunch hour and as you're fond of saying, I don't have many left. So, you know all this stuff with Mr Tickle.
GLENN: Sad business.
OLLIE: Very sad business.
GLENN: Yeah. Mr Sad is actually very, very sad about it.
OLLIE: Yes, Mr Happy on the other hand, fucking delighted.
GLENN: Mr Stoic's taking it on the chin.
OLLIE: Yes, Mr Milk-it says we should probably stop this now.
GLENN: Okey-doke.
OLLIE: I need you to dig out an old email for me.
GLENN: One of those confidential, "delete after reading" emails, that we never did delete?
OLLIE: 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?
GLENN: No.
OLLIE: No, because 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.
GLENN: So what's going on here, are you starting… Is Malcolm starting a coup?
OLLIE: A bit louder, because there's a man in a coma over there, Glenn, who didn't quite hear that.
NICOLA: Right, wee mission accomplished.
DUGGAN: Actually, having an accurate wee into a moving train toilet would make a great round on The Cube with Philip Schofield.
CATHY: Nicola, is it true there's a rumour that Ben Swain is going to resign?
NICOLA: No, that's not true. I mean it might be true that there's a rumour, but that rumour is not true.
CATHY: So Ben Swain is completely on side?
DUGGAN: Oh, look, I think Helen in the vestibule, Nicola. She wants to, erm, wants to talk to you about your wrap. In terms of filling, chicken or, or cheese. That's what her body language is telling me. Any how.
NICOLA: Right.
DUGGAN: 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.
CATHY: Do you need to get that?
NICOLA: Erm, no, but I do need a wee, so...
GLENN: Alright, take it easy, let me give you a hand.
OLLIE: Don't!
GLENN: I'm sorry.
OLLIE: Not there!
GLENN: Alright.
OLLIE: That's where the appendix usually goes. He's not actually the grim reaper, just a friend. Helen, yes.
HELEN: Some serious shit's going down. Ben's threatening to resign.
OLLIE: Ben? Nah, he's just a fucking air bag.
HELEN: I know he's a fucking air bag, but if he goes off now in Nicola's face, she'll crash, so you've gotta call and stop him, OK?
OLLIE: We… And you've hung up. Wow, I'm fine, thanks, for asking, Wednesday fucking Addams.
GLENN: Ollie, this is the shittiest lunch break I've had since Stewart took us all out for sushi.
OLLIE: Patience, old man, and you can watch the fuck puppet master at work now. Ben Swain! Benign tumour, bental illness.
BEN: Ol... Oliver cyst, Olivetti spagett… I don't really have time for chit chat, Ollie.
OLLIE: Are you resigning, mate? Are you dropping the R-bomb? Benola Gay? And I'm not just talking about the rumours.
BEN: Let's just say it is time to prepare the hidey hole for Madame Hussein, her reign of error is over.
OLLIE: And out of interest, Ben, what would it take to stop you from resigning?
BEN: Why, what's Nicola offering?
OLLIE: Name your price.
BEN: All right, Shadow Chancellor.
OLLIE: Ah, you still got it, Benny.
BEN: I'm serious, stop fucking laughing.
OLLIE: All right, I'll, I'll call you back.
GLENN: This is a fucking joke. Ben Swain, Chancellor. He goes into debt every time he passes a sweet shop.
OLLIE: Let's pass it on to the new Glenn. She's about to lose her job, so she's more like the old Glenn.
HELEN: Yes?
OLLIE: He would like Chancellor.
HELEN: He wants Chancellor.
NICOLA: Just give it to the fucker.
HELEN: It's fine.
OLLIE; What? Are you jerking my turkey? Chancellor?
HELEN: It's a panicky thumbs up, from the vestibule.
OLLIE: Shit a thimble. Right, well. Shadow Chancellor Swain.
BEN: You are kidding me!
OLLIE: Deal or no deal?
BEN: I'll take the red box containing the fucking red box, thank you, Noel, Ah, that is amazeballs. Ha! Ben Swain, knocks it out the park.
GLENN: I'm off.
OLLIE: No, don't go, just stay there. I'll just use the… Yeah.
MALCOLM: What have you got for me, Professor Brian Cock?
OLLIE: Ben small-balled it, she offered him Shadow Chancellor, he's not resigning.
MALCOLM: Christ in a diamond heist, the dopey fucking bollard. Right, how are you getting on with the old man from Up?
OLLIE: Yeah, you know, getting there.
MALCOLM: Well get a move on. I want him leaking like Cliff Richard out jogging.
OLLIE: Right, OK, I'll be right on it.
HELEN: Er, OK, Anne to justice, Sanjay to energy and climate change, and Cuntface to culture, media, and sport. Er, so C-face to CMS.
NICOLA: Er, Doug to Scotland, and Frank to international.
HELEN: Frank to international development. It works, we don't need Ben. Fuck Ben.
NICOLA: Fuck Ben. Brilliant, give me some skin, palm, I dunno. Sorry.
DAN: I wasn't expecting to have to up my offer.
BEN: But that's how a gazumping works, Dan.
DAN: Er, what if I were to offer you Deputy Leader of the party?
BEN: I would consider it.
DAN: Would you?
BEN: I would consider it briefly, and then say "no."
DAN: I see.
MALCOLM: Oh, here she is, Pippa Middleton, trying to steal the limelight with your peachy little arse. Right, where are we?
DAN: I've just offered Ben deputy leadership of the party.
BEN: I don't want it. I want Chancellor.
MALCOLM: Chancellor? Of the United Kingdom?
BEN: It's what Nicola's offering me.
MALCOLM; Are you sure about this Ben? How's your economics?
BEN: Good, strong.
MALCOLM: What you're a PPE guy?
BEN: No, History of Art, but...
MALCOLM: You are confident that one day you'll be able to shepherd the country out of one of the darkest economic periods in its entire fucking art history.
BEN: 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 advert is talking.
BEN: This is tiger by the tail time, and I am loving it, loving it, loving it.
DAN: In that case you leave me no option, Ben, I'm gonna have to say "yes".
BEN: Ha, ha, Chumba-fucking-Wumba. Then I resign on the dotted line.
MALCOLM: Can you give us a minute, Ben, please? Dan and I need to talk some strategy.
BEN: Might head in the direction of confection. Any snackage, anyone?
DAN: No, no.
MALCOLM: Is this for real?
DAN: No, of course it's not for real, Malcolm. I'm offering him Chancellor, I may as well offer bass player in The Wurzels, because that burley haemorrhoid's not in any fucking Cabinet of mine.
MALCOLM: Good. So how you gonna shaft him?
DAN: That's not my problem. That's your problem, Malcolm.
MALCOLM: Right, so this is a little test? You're weighing my balls?
DAN: Should we get Ben?
MALCOLM: Oh, he'll be back. Like the shit Terminator. There he is.
GLENN: Ben Swain.
OLLIE: 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.
GLENN: Oh wind it up, Polly fucking Toynbee.
OLLIE: Alright fine, think of it this way. Do it for yourself then, Glenn. Do it for the sheer revenge. 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?
GLENN: Absolutely relentless.
OLLIE: The worst thing is, there's no humour in the cruelty. 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.
GLENN: If you just shut up… I'll do it.
OLLIE: You are a diamond, Glenn, not just any form of ancient carbon, the best. A diamond.
GLENN: Do I send it to Malcolm or you? Organ grinder or monkey?
OLLIE: I'm no monkey, not any more. Things have changed there, right? But, yeah, send it to Malcolm. And CC me, no BCC me.
GLENN: BCC you?
OLLIE: Yeah.
MALCOLM: I can't find Benjamin Glutton anywhere. The massive fuck's gone to ground somehow and nobody's felt the aftershocks.
NICOLA: It's fine, we've sorted it, we've averted Benaggedon.
MALCOLM: No, no, I know about the deal, but he's still resigning.
NICOLA: Are you sure?
DUGGAN: Commander Duggan, reporting for duty, what can I sort?
NICOLA: Go away, stop molesting us.
MALCOLM: Oh, Glenn, you wrinkled beauty. This is an emergency situation, Nicola, you have to break the glass and hit the dead Tickle button.
NICOLA: No, I don't want to do that.
HELEN: What don't you want to do?
MALCOLM: Bash the Tickle button. You need to talk to Sky, call for an inquiry, now.
NICOLA: I really think this could massively backfire.
HELEN: Is this Tickle? That could be good.
NICOLA: I cannot talk when I'm talking.
MALCOLM: You're on the ropes, Nicola, do something fucking drastic.
NICOLA: I don't even know how to refer to him! Do I call him Mr Tickle? I can't call him Mr Tickle.
HELEN: You're stuck on a train.
NICOLA: I fucking know I'm stuck on a train.
MALCOLM: Just attack, attack, and do it before Ben's resignation gets out.
NICOLA: 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...
HELEN: Just take a moment.
NICOLA: Yes, just go.
BEN: Ah, Suzy, might shake it up, spray it round the room like a… Obviously I won't.
MALCOLM: You can't have champagne in here. You're not fucking pregnant.
BEN: It's just Prosecco.
MALCOLM: Just get on with it.BEN: I hereby tweet, "I have resigned. More to follow." Didn't seem that momentous.
MALCOLM: How many followers have you got?
BEN: 612, or thereabouts.
MALCOLM: Christ, let's hope it gets retweeted, otherwise you might just as well just whisper it to a fucking dead tramp.
NICOLA: 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 lead to the death of Mr, er, a missed and valued member of society, are now going to have to come under scrutiny.
CATHY: Great, thank you, Nicola. We've just had word that Ben Swain is thinking...
HELEN: Thank you. Nicola has to take a very urgent call, thank you so much.
NICOLA: I have to get off this train, I'm hyperfuckingventilating.
HELEN: I'll get the door.
NICOLA: And leave Duggan where he is, because he's just flotsam now. Not flotsam, er jetsam, the other one, jetsam.
DUGGAN: 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.
CATHY: Four letter ones?
DUGGAN: Funny. No, she hardly swears at all actually, the occasional "shit".
NICOLA: I'm gonna kill Ben Swain, I'm gonna fucking, fucking kill Ben Swain. I'm gonna get some fucking giant Yorkie, and ram it down his gizzard.
HELEN: OK, better? Are we there? It's good to let it out, I think.
NICOLA: Once I get out in the air...
HELEN: We're gonna do a ring round. I'm going to leave Mary to you, she's a bit HRT-ish.
NICOLA: Go, go, go. Kate, hi, can I count on your support? Sorry, I am a bit out of breath it's just because just because I'm running up a ramp. No, no, not with a view to jumping off. That's brilliant, that's great news. Thank you. Hello, Bill. Is it safe to assume we can count on your support then, love? OK, that's fantastic, I knew I could trust you. Lazy fucking shyster. 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 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 fibroid polyp bitch. I hope they sprout out of her abdomen and fucking choke her.
HELEN: We can still do it. Do you want a bit of lippy or something?
NICOLA: Do I need it?
HELEN: Yeah.
MALCOLM: OK, Ben, Big Ben tells us that it's resignation time. Are you pumped?
BEN: Yeah, I'm pumped, pumped to the fucking max. If I was a petrol pump I'd be making that clicking sound.
MALCOLM: Oh, Ollie, you foxy lady. The press have been hoofing an email about that proves Nicola agreed with this key worker housing scheme.
BEN: Sweet. Suzy, can I get some powder?
MALCOLM: Oh, Glenn, my trusty crusty. I've just had my boney buttocks saved. These phones are amazing, aren't they? I've got an application that can throw grenades into people's dreams.
BEN: So, how do I look?
MALCOLM: Has that suit got a reinforced trouser arse on it?
BEN: Ha-ha, very funny, what, a joke that I'm going to shit myself?
MALCOLM: No, you're going to need it for the ten years you'll be on the back benches. The email trail about the key worker housing shows that you, Benjamin Trevor Swain, were gleefully in favour of it, just like Nicola.
BEN: You... erm...
MALCOLM: There you go. Break a leg, love. And your neck and your wrist, it doesn't really matter.
NICOLA: I never act on impulse, I'm so not impulsive and Malcolm made me do it and now, fuck.
HELEN: What?
NICOLA: Launching this inquiry may prove to be misguided in that I now recall I may have fleetingly supported the policy myself.
HELEN: So you've essentially launched an investigation into yourself?
NICOLA: Malcolm made me do it.
HELEN: Oh, well, Malcolm, yeah.
NICOLA: You've met Malcolm. I would have said that it was ethically bad, I'm sure. I said...
HELEN: I'll tell you what you said, just give me a minute. Brilliant, courtesy of the Telegraph website 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?
NICOLA: You remember all your emails, do you? That you sent three years ago? From what I understand from Ollie, a large number were sent to that married producer on the Daily Politics.
HELEN: Ollie is a fucking... because… He was supposed to leave her and… OK, 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?
NICOLA: Tell you what, why don't you make the little list and shove it up your tight cold arse. I just need to stare.
HELEN: Have a good stare.
BEN: 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 in the foreseeable future.
MALCOLM: Dan. Yeah, Blinkey's gone. Yeah, don't ask how I did it, but I'm on my way over. Get some sexy underwear on. Wear a basque.
JOURNALIST: Are you backing Dan Miller for the leadership?
BEN: I can't reply to those questions at the moment.
OLLIE: Hello.
NICOLA: Ollie, how the shit has this happened? Ben's gone and I'm about to.
OLLIE: Er, I'm sorry about that.
NICOLA: You're not going to try and talk me down off a ledge, are you cos I'm really tired and the pavement looks like a nice, warm, splatty bed right now.
OLLIE: Nicola, if you fight this, it's just going to be one of those long slow agonising deaths.
NICOLA: I might still recover though. I mean, maybe you should come on board a bit more, maybe be my number one?
OLLIE: Sorry, it's career cancer, I would say, terminal. I'm sorry Nicola, this is it.
NICOLA: Is it? Right.
HELEN: I am sorry.
NICOLA: I really thought I could be Prime Minister.
HELEN: Did you?
NICOLA: Yes, didn't you?
HELEN: Yes. Of course.
NICOLA: Against a parade of top-hatted turds, how could I not win?
HELEN: I don't know.
NICOLA: Can you ring James actually? Because he'll just be all smug on the phone and then I'm gonna end up asking for a divorce and that's exactly what he fucking well wants me to do, and I just know I'm going to end up with the fucking kids.
MALCOLM: Right, come on, folks, gather round. Grab your cheesy nachos and your fucking vuvuzelas, this is what we've been waiting for, it's the queen's fucking speech.
NICOLA: Hello, everybody. Thank you very much for coming here at such short notice, I will be reading a short prepared statement.
MALCOLM: Come on, this is history in the making. This is the ending of a chapter of a very thin book that nobody enjoyed reading.
NICOLA: It has become apparent to me that I no longer have the full support of my party.
MALCOLM: You never had the support of the party, you big bag of fucking useless doubt.
NICOLA: It is for this reason, and with a heavy heart, that I have decided to stand down as leader.
MALCOLM: Sam, get me Fatty on the phone. Tell him he's won a hamper. He needs to know the line and tow 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!
NICOLA: 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...
MALCOLM: And here he is, the anointed one.
DAN: Oh, please, please I'm not Christ. He was quite a scruffy man.
MALCOLM: I think Nicola's just finishing herself off here.
NICOLA: Thank you very much. Thank you.
HELEN: Nicola, Nicola, this way, this way.
NICOLA: Oh shit. Oh, God, here we go.
JOURNALIST: Do you feel you've been stabbed in the back, Mrs Murray?
HELEN: She won't be answering any questions at this time, thank you.
JOURNALIST: Will you be backing Dan Miller?
MALCOLM: Can you hear that sound? Underneath the champagne corks popping, there's another sound. 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. Thank you very much. We have got some work to do with you.
JOURNALIST: Will it be Dan Miller?
NICOLA: Thank you all very much.
JOURNALISTS: Any regrets in the last two years? Do you have a legacy? Worst leader in living memory?
MALCOLM: Get hold of Claire Ballentine by the ears, if necessary. Tell her she's on the World Tonight tonight. Nicola's security pass. Get it altered. She gets into the lobby and the canteen. And that's it.
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