I mean the thing is, Dan, you know, pragmatically,

I'm now a party grandee.

Malcolm, this is a private conversation.

You are not a grandee, you're a fucking blandee.

No-one knew what the fuck you stood for. Political fucking mist.

No substance, no weight.

You've got all the charm of a rotting teddy bear by a graveside.

By the way, women fucking hate you.

I can show you the polling.

They think you come across like a jittery mother at a wedding.

The best thing you ever did in your flat-lining non-leadership

was call for an inquiry.

Because that will fuck the government, and it will fuck you.

So now, please, just fuck off back to your home, you headless frump,

and prepare for your column in Grazia.

Steady on Malcolm, that's a bit strong. Come on, let's go.

OK, you... Well, you just need to know that you have absolutely

fucking done it now, Malcolm.

Because you're about to find out what it feels like

to have me pissing into your tent.

Well, you know what?

Your piss will never fucking make it into my tent, because by some

unforeseen Nicola Murray-shaped fiasco, like every fucking Nicola

Murray-shaped fiasco I've had to deal with for the last two years,

you'll end up blowing your own fucking stream

into your own fucking face. There's your golden handshake.

Finished?

You're finished.

We'll see.

Right. Well, thanks, Dan. Think about what I said.

Also might want to think about the fact there should be

an apostrophe in 'it's'. Illiterate fuckers.

What did Dan say about the inquiry?

Fucking Dan! He's just a... He's basically just a bent dummy

with Malcolm's hand shoved up his arse. Fucking..!

All right, just calm down. Bastards.