It's probably just Phil, he's run out of colouring books or something.

Anything to get out of Stewart's think sphincter.

Hello, receptionist. Could I have my phone, please?

Your name, sir? It's Stewart. Stewart...? Stewart Pearson.

Peter Mannion, mine's the old Nokia. It's engaged.

Yeah, thank you. Look, the one with Stewart written on it.

No, nothing. Just keep trying. It's engaged.

I can't get any reception. No, you won't round here.

No reception at reception, we always say. The best spot, sounds stupid, is the children's play area.

Top of the slide.

Nothing.

God, I hate the country. Get higher, you idiot.

That's it, that's it, I've got something.

Download the intel, Peter. Come on. Put it on speaker.

No. I've got loads of messages from my wife and from Phil.

She's taking the dog to the hospital. Oh, come on.

She's... She's had a long wait.

The wound in his paw's gone septic. Oh, please, Peter, move on.

Tickle's dead. What? Tickle's dead.

OK, it's my turn on that signal, Peter, get down.

Wait, I'm listening to the fucking message.

I need to get this signal. Just get down.

Stop being so childish. Jesus Christ. Just get down, Peter.

I've got it, I've got it. Playtime's over. Tickle's dead, OK?

Number 10's gone off-the-hook mental. Take my phone to call the PM.

Right, Phil's meeting us, he's going to bring a shirt, suit and tie.

You are not going to arrive looking like the manager of an organic wine bar.

Right, come on, come on, come on! Movement. Sh! Hello?

Update, Phil's intercepting Peter.

Everyone's coming back here, half an hour.

Coverly, comms. Yeah, can you hold on one second please?

ETA plus 30 minutes GMT.

Well, anyway, Mannion has surely got to freeze housing disposals now.

Yeah, on that point, Glenn, I wonder if it might be at all helpful

if we collated every single statement Mannion's made about Tickle and the sell-off policy.

Yeah, as a sort of favour to selected hacks,