And it looks as though we've started the fightback by beating ourselves up

and poking out our eyeballs with our own fucking teeth.

Jesus. Right, who primarily should I be shouting at?

Glenn. Oh, thank you very much.

I have the minutes here which are a record...

You can't just overwrite minutes.

You specifically can't do it, because you can't unlock the PDF file.

Somebody has done a huge poo on my desk and I want it cleared up.

My bum is clean, clean as a whistle. And I'm going to tell you something interesting.

Unless you take the hard drive and smash it up with a hammer or drop it in acid,

that data will be retrievable.

It says so on the BBC website.

I need a short list of people who are responsible.

Glenn, will you bring me a short list with your own name on it?

Malcolm's on his way over. Bugger. Does he know? I don't think so.

Do you want me to go and ask? No, don't ask him. All right!

We need to cancel the Guardian lunch.

No. No. No. That would be a ridiculous signal to do that.

It's the kind of signal a dying whale sends out. Noooo! We lost the immigration figures!

Sort of a signal.

Would you all please just fuck out of my office for a long time. Very good.

I got you a croissant.

Morning, desk jockeys. Is glummy mummy in?

I think she's on the phone.

Right, so why don't I just cool my heels here? Good morning, Malcolm.

Do you know, Malcolm...

the best way to clear a paper jam?

I don't know.

Kill a kid an hour until it sorts itself out?

Excellent timing, Malcolm. So if you could sort out the sack race situation

that would be terrific. What would you like to do on that?

Ideally, build a time machine so we can go back and not invite photographers to the sports day.

If I fail to build a time machine?

Just sit on it really, Terri. Stop it growing.

Zap it, like a tumour.

Thank you. Yes.