The Thick of It (2005–2012): Season 4, Episode 4 - Episode #4.4 - full transcript

They're quiet...
(Subtitles Edited by Abhishek Shandilya)

... bat people!
What she doing?...
Is she sniffing these pens at night?
(Subtitles Edited by Abhishek Shandilya)

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

Tickle wasn't the Queen of people's
hearts, he was a twat in a tent.

Tickle! 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 gonna
be painful, yeah.

But you know me,
I'm always on the look out

for new sources of powerful opiates.

Morning, I'm looking for
Mr Oliver Reeder.

He looks a bit like a
Quentin Blake illustration.

Just down the corridor on the right.

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.

Hiya, Mum. Yeah, a bit sore.

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

Do 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?

It's one of the many advantages

of living close to
an accident blackspot.

So how are things, 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?

so we can all start firing
our actual pistols

onto 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 her on a train

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

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?
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 a year, playing cribbage
with Jimmy fucking Saville.

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.

Is everything OK?

I've had a stroke.
Oh, no, no such luck.

Is that why you're not answering
your phone? I'm finding
it 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 soon,

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.

Is the Dowager Countess receiving?
Can you give her a minute?

She's meditating. Step aside,
she's asked to see me.

Morning, oh, God, oh, dear.

You can get that
in large print you know.

Still not knocking, I see, Malcolm.

It's an old habit from my time
in the Haitian death squads,

so how you doing?
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?

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?
I'm not going to exploit a suicide.

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.

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

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

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.

OK, yeah, 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 them ten minutes'
bullshit

about how you much
prefer them to the BBC,

and then get straight onto
the "here to hear" stuff.

It's a very good name
"here to 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.

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.

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 who's
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.

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

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

Yeah, it's a Nigella recipe,
you, you,

you sort of do it with gammon
and Coca Cola, it's fantastic.

Ah, the hairless Hagrid?
I need a private word.
We're in the middle of something.

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

Yeah, we'll,
we'll pick this up later.

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.

Great, well. That OK? I think
that's us done. Good, good, lovely.

Thanks. Thank you. Oh, are you,
that's where you're erm...

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

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.

I'm sorry I can come back,

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.

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 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.

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?

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.

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?

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 shops.

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.

I've underestimated you.

You've 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.

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.

Fuck off! Shut up!

What is it sex scandal?
I bet he pays for it.

Is he a Gaylord or something?

Grainne thinks 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.

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 fasttrack now?

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

She is bonkers.

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?

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...

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.

What's the matter with you?

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.

I hope it is, since your lot
took over the NHS

everything's a fucking adventure.

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. Sad business.

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

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

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 did delete?

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, 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.

So what's going on here,
are you starting...

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 Cube with Philip 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 that there's a rumour,

but that rumour is not true.

So Ben Swain is completely on side?
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.

Right. 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.

Do you need to get that?

Erm, no, but I do need a wee, so...
All right, take it easy,

let me give you a hand. Don't!
I'm sorry. Not there! All right.

That's where the appendix
usually goes.

He's not actually the grim reaper,
just a friend.

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
gotta call and stop him, OK? We...

And you've hung up.

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

Olly, this is the
shittiest lunch break

I've had since Stewart took
us all out for sushi.

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

'Ben Swain!'

Benign tumour, bental illness.

Ol... Oliver cyst,

Olivetti spagett...

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
talking about the rumours.

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

for Madame 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.

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.

Let's pass it on to the new Glenn.
She's about to lose her job,

so she's more like the old Glenn.

Yes.

'He would like Chancellor.'

He wants Chancellor.

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

What? Are you jerking my turkey?
Chancellor?

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

Shit a thimble. Right, well.

'Shadow Chancellor Swain.'

You are kidding me!
Deal or no deal?

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. I'm off.

No, don't go, just stay
there. I'll just use the...

Yeah.

What have you got for me,
Professor Brian Cock?

'Ben small-balled it, she
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, OK, I'll be right on it.

Er, OK, Anne to justice,
Sanjay to energy and climate change,

and Cuntface
to culture media and sport.

Er, so C-face to CMS.

Er, Doug to Scotland,
and Frank to international.

Frank to international development.
It works, we don't need Ben.

Fuck Ben. Fuck Ben.
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.

Er, 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?

I've just offered Ben
deputy leadership of the party.

I don't want it. I want Chancellor.

Chancellor? Of the United Kingdom?

It's what Nicola's offering me.

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

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

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.

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.
No, she's not.

The fat man from the
Go Compare advert is talking.

This is tiger by the tail time,

and I am loving it,
loving it, loving it.

In that case you leave me
no option, Ben,

I'm gonna have to say "yes."

Ha, ha, 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,

I may as well offer bass player
in The Wurzels,

because that burley haemorrhoid's
not in any fucking Cabinet of mine.

Good. So how you gonna shaft him?
That's not my problem.

That's your problem, Malcolm.

Right, so this is a little test?
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.

All right 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?

Absolutely relentless.

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.

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 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.

I can't find Benjamin
Glutton anywhere.

The massive fuck's gone to ground
somehow and nobody's felt
the aftershocks.

It's fine, we've sorted it,
we've averted Benaggedon.

No, no, I know about the deal, but
he's still resigning. Are you sure?

Commander Duggan, reporting for
duty, what can I sort?

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,
call for an inquiry, now.

I really think this could
massively backfire.

Is this Tickle? That could be good.
I cannot talk when I'm talking.

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

I don't even know how to refer to
him! 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, 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.

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?

612, or thereabouts.

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

otherwise you might just as well

just whisper 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 lead to
the death of Mr, er,

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 that
Ben Swain is thinking...

Thank you. Nicola has to take a very
urgent call, thank you so much.

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

I'll get the door.
And leave Duggan where he is,
because he's just flotsam now.

Not flotsam, er 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?

Funny.

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

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.

OK, better? Are we there?
It's good to let it out, I think.

Once I get out in the air...
We're gonna do a ring round.

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

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.

We can still do it.

Do you want a bit of lippy
or something?

Do I need it? Yeah.

OK, 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.

Oh, Olly, you foxy lady.

The press have been hoofing
an email about that proves

Nicola agreed with this
key worker housing scheme.

Sweet. Suzy, can I get some powder?

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.

So, how do I look?

Has that suit got a reinforced
trouser arse on it? Ha-ha,
very funny,

what, a joke that
I'm going to shit myself?

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.

You... erm...

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 have 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 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?

You remember all your emails, do you?

That you sent three years ago?

From what I understand from Olly,
a large number were sent

to that married producer on
the Daily Politics.

Olly 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? 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
in the foreseeable future.

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.

Are you backing Dan Miller for
the leadership? I can't reply to
those questions at the moment.

Hello.

Olly, how the
shit has this happened?

Ben's gone and I'm about to.

Er, I'm sorry about that.

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.

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?

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.

Against a 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 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.

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.

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 history
in the making.

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 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!

'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.

Nicola, Nicola this way this way.

Oh shit.

Oh, God, here we go.

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

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

Will you be backing Dan Miller?

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.

What will you be doing this evening?

'Will it be Dan Miller?'

'Thank you all very much.'

'Any regrets in the last two years?'

Do you have a legacy?

Worst leader in living memory?

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.