I'll call you back, Mum. It's the scary Morrissey.

I've come to cheer you up. Did you actually buy me flowers, Malcolm?

It's one of the many advantages

of living close to an accident blackspot.

So how are things, little boy from the Secret Garden?

Well, you know, there's no WI-FI,

there's basic Freeview it's like living in 2003.

But I am lighter to

the tune of one whole appendix, so I do feel very svelte.

So have you seen this? Nicola Murray is unelectable?

Fleming is foaming.

Is that it then, is she fucked?

Like Caligula's favourite watermelon.

Fleming's fired the starting pistol,

so we can all start firing our actual pistols

onto her fucking fat, unelectable, smug head.

How... Is this it now?

It's on. It's on like fat Pat's thong.

We're putting her on a train

to Bradford. It's the closest as I could get to locking her in a metal box.

Oh, this is the "here to hear" thing.

A great idea, going round the country listening to people

tell you that they hate you, just in different accents.

IN DIFFERENT ACCENTS: "I fucking hate you",

"I hate you," "I fucking hate you,"

so, wait, today's the day? Today's the day.

Once she's on the train, I'm going to detonate the main bomb,

but I need you to set one off later.

Malcolm, I'm in hospital, I'm not, I'm not wearing any pants. I don't care if you've been

dead a year, playing cribbage with Jimmy fucking Saville.

I want you to make a bomb and explode it, today.

This is a metaphorical bomb right?

This is it, Jack fucking Bauer,

time for you to embrace your inner bastard.

I'll be in touch, right. That wee nurse needs cheering up.

Nice, really nice, Malcolm, those are my flowers.