For goodness sake. Oh, is this more quiet bat guano?

This Week would like to photograph politicians

wearing underpants over their clothes.

And Grazia would like to know

what you carry in your utility belt and why?

I'll say you're not interested. I'm fucking not interested.

I'm only interested in working out which of my feet is which.

So we need to be rid of Nicola.

Rid of her? She's tank.

She's fucking electoral asbestos. Wow, so...you, you want to...?

I want this party back in power where we can help people.

I don't know whether you've noticed but we haven't got any fucking power.

We can't help anyone. We're like a family in a Cuban slum.

We're out in the middle of nowhere. We're in the fucking...middle of the ocean,

with our own Ellen MacArthur sobbing, crying - enough.

Over the side she goes.

She's going to sleep with the fishes.

Or at least witter on at them until they fucking lose the will to live. So, do you...?

(Do you have a plan?)

Optimum time for her to step down is eight months from now.

Over that period she has to be very gently dislodged -

like a tick from a cat's ear.

You set up that batpeople photo!

Olly, I'm shocked at you suggesting that.

Jiminy Fuckmas, Malcolm! I don't know about any of this.

It's time for you to step up, Olly. What's that film that you love?

What film? The one about the fucking hairdresser,

the space hairdresser and the cowboy.

The guy, he's got a tinfoil pal and a pedal bin.

His father's a robot and he's fucking fucked his sister.

LEGO, they're all made of fucking Lego.

Star Wars. That's the one, right.

It's like that, OK? You want to fucking kill the bad guys.

And you'll be able to blow up the big... The Death Star.

The Death Star thing.

Then you can go and live happily ever after