Walkie-talkie could be cropped to see "Alkie" twice.

There are no...

Why would I stand in front of a walkie-talkie sign? Malcie, Malcie.

You know what, Howard, she's not bent.

Either in the sense of being corrupt or being gay.

By the way, that's an incredibly homophobic headline, you massive poof.

You've got egg on your face, Howard.

You over-easy pissbag.

Oh, hey, Yoko Ono and the two remaining Beatles, piss off.

Right, any chance we could just skip over the usual abuse bit and move onto the part where we sort this out?

Yeah. You need to make a decision.

Are you still going ahead with the private school

because if you are we need a statement saying that your husband is leaving his job.

Are you taking the piss?

You're expecting me to choose between fucking up my daughter's life or my husband's life?

Yeah. So I just have to choose between them like they're on some fucking cosmic dessert trolley?

I can't fight on two fronts, you know.

If the press run with both stories, you're fucking dead.

You set this up, didn't you?

What?

To put me in my place or get back at me for ignoring your advice?

Or some other weird perceived slight that doesn't in any way merit

this massive fucking out of proportion Israeli-style response.

You don't realise, I'm your fucking fairy godfather, right? God help me.

I'm your fairy fucking godfather, but I haven't got a magic wand that I can wave about.

I've got a fucking Blackberry and a chiff. You've got a decision to make. Talk to you later.

Malcolm? Sorry,

could we carry on talking about that thing? Was it you who positioned me there?

Do you know what the first sign of madness is?

Paranoia.

Have you seen that film, A Beautiful Mind, with Russell Crowe?

The one where the maths guy thinks that the CIA

are working away in this shed at the bottom of his garden. That's you.

No. I'm not the mad one here. You are the mad one.

You're Russell Crowe. No, no, no.

YOU are Russell Crowe.