Incident Reports

Yeah, you got a decent backhand yet, have you? Hugh, Hugh Abbott, we played tennis together.

Now I've got to phone the Prime Minister of Great Britain.

Fucking brilliant!

Morning, morning, morning. So what's the story in Bala-fucking-mory?

and click her right through the fucking head. Yeah. PHONE RINGS

If you don't know whether or not you were promoted or relegated, guess what? You were fucking relegated.

I've got no fucking idea what that means either, but it spells SAC.

I'm the Minister for fucking Social Affairs.

Hugh Abbott. Problems?

Hugh, we're not gonna be here long.

Hugh, Robyn's just given me the date for your appearance before the Education Select Committee -

Oh, great(!) Oh, that is great. Yes, welcome home, Hugh.

It's like sitting on a tea crate having chicken shit sprayed over me.

Poor Keith. Malcolm must fucking love this place -

four ministers in one building.

Problem is though, Hugh, that there's been a bit of a rush.

It's been like someone driving down Whitehall shouting, "Bring out your shit!"

Just what I fucking need - five new ways to lose my job.

So, citizenshit - what we need to do is knock together some nice,

You just took a shit with your clothes on, Ollie.

Why? What...? Glenn's boy, Peter, he went to a special needs school. Oh.

There's more to life than having Nick Robinson's mobile number on your fucking Blackberry.

All right, fine, sorry, Hugh. I feel for the guy. I had a girlfriend with special needs once, so...

Look at the size of that - you could fucking crucify somebody on that.

but no-one's trying to fuck over special needs kids.

Hugh, whether you like this or not, you are gonna have to promote this bill,

that the parents of SEN children absolutely fucking flock to...

The alternative is to isolate these kids in ghetto schools. The minister won't be a moment.

Hugh, Glenn says could you head over? Yes, I must go.

I haven't! I'm taking a fucking stand on this one, I'm buggered if I'm gonna let you down.

Hugh, the Guardian website has broken the e-mail thing.

I'm a shape shifter. Look, get this fucking sorted out.

Hugh, I don't want to be the story.

Just fucking pull yourself together and act your age, we've had enough of your puerile influence.

Actually, Hugh, I think I might have an idea about...

(I saw you, Hugh, I saw you do it.)