'Nothing, Malcolm.'

Bin stuff.

BNP, Mark.

She's standing for the British National Party. Stamford Bridge.

For fuck's sake!

Very straightforward. Basic stuff, Mark. Do your research.

Standing for the British National Party.

All right. What do you want, Mark? Two little bits of tit. Two titties.

PHONE RINGS

Jesus. Christ!

Will it hit the One?

No, I know what time it is. I can SEE what time it is!

Hold on it. Make sure they don't get it.

The story is not the story. Sunita has spilled the overspend.

Nobody's got the corruption angle. The BBC might not even run with it.

Try to fuck up the numbers, right? Hit the phones. Everyone on the phones.

We'll over-complicate.

Stats, percentages, international comparisons, information.

E-mail them fucking words of information.

And tell them they'd better get their heads around it before they put pen to paper,

or I'll be up their arses like a fucking Biafran ferret!

Come on! Unleash hell!

So, I give her the sign and we end up staying for lunch.

How does that happen?

Tell me about it. I don't know. One less rubber chicken in the wild.

I'll get you out of here soon.

What's the wait now? You don't know? No.

As soon as she did the lunch thing, she went and gave the driver an hour and 20 minutes off.

Fucking hell! I know, he's gone AWOL.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Where is she now? Is she looking for him?

Yep. Looking for him.

Where's he gone? Fuck! Ron!

Somebody start bumping up that Hugh Abbot story, right?

Get it bumped up to number one. Let him take the heat, yeah?

Come on. Let's go!

Eh, eh? Do you think you're fucking immune? Get plugging!