PHONE RINGS

Tucker. Malcolm, hope I didn't wake you up.

Hewitt...

Yeah, I'm doing a piece this Sunday, a big piece on focus groups,

it's sort of inspired by your latest policy disaster.

'I'm going to be concentrating

'on how your man Abbot can't do a single thing

'without focus groups.'

I'm shaking with fear.

That's sexual jealousy.

'You are so very very witty,'

pity none of it makes it into your columns.

I'd love to spend the evening listening to you,

but I've got better things to do.

Fuck off back to your match reports, you twat.

Hello. Hugh, it's Terri. Yeah, hello.

I'm sorry I've woken you up.

I wasn't asleep, I have to be picked up again soon,

so I didn't think it was worth taking my trousers off.

Listen, I've just heard that Simon Hewitt is doing another piece on you

about how you rely on focus groups.

'Oh, cock.' But I'll be straight onto it in the morning,

so don't lose any sleep over it. 'Are you taking the piss?'

Erm, no... I'm sorry I've got to go, I'm sorry I've got an egg on.

Right, see you in the morning.

Yes, snuggle up, bye-bye. Night, Hugh.

Bitch!

How fucked am I?

Well, you look awful, you quite often look bad...

In terms of negative publicity, on the fuckometer, where am I?

Oh, twelve.

Yeah, twelve say. Out of what?

Erm, fifty.

Oh, mine was out of ten.

Right, so I'm 24% fucked according to you

but according to you I'm 120% fucked.