The leader of the opposition is in that room, Malcolm,

practising walking.

I mean, baby horses can walk from the womb.

She's one-nil down to a pony!

A pony isn't a baby horse, it's a foal, a fucking foal is a baby horse.

Right, our guest tonight on I Don't Give A Fuck About Baby Horses is me.

We need to do something about Nicola.

I mean, you know about her plan? I mean, Nicola with a plan?!

That's like a...toddler with a harpoon.

There's a toddler wandering around in that office with a harpoon.

Yes, well, don't you worry about Nicola's plan -

I'll deal with that Sweaty Betty.

Listen, when you wake up in the morning, you've got a routine, haven't you?

Big shit, granola, check the e-mail, shower and a shave, Nespresso...

sometimes a second shit.

Exactly, you have a plan, that's good.

Nicola has a plan, that's not good -

but I have a plan that's fucking great.

And then I bow?

It's more of a nod, anyway.

Yeah, it's, sort of, "All right, dead-oes?", but a bit more solemn.

Remember to put the wreath down this time.

I didn't actually not put it...

It got caught in my glove, I told you.

Oh, that's very moving, "They shall not grow old,

"who photocopy their arses at the Christmas do."

Look, I don't want to show myself up

in front of 5,000 uniformed pensioners again.

I'm glad you're thinking about those pensioners

cos those are the poor fuckers who gave everything

so people like you could play at running the country. Oh nice.

Olly, walk with me.

Er, forwards or backwards?

Malcolm!

You'd get a much better response from her if you didn't bully her.

Sweetheart, she should be doing the bullying.