What? Fucking joking, you twat.

He's making Paul Remington a Cabinet Minister.

Remtard Remington. I mean, the guy is an epic fuck-up.

I've got a to-do list here that's longer than a fucking Leonard Cohen song.

Well, that's Hugh gone, then.

So sad, isn't it? Hugh.

You don't give a shit.

Anybody. A fucking mammal with a head.

Get me Nicola Murray. Yeah.

with a fucking smiley face drawn on it.

for the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship, Nicola Murray.

Thank you. Hello. I'm Nicola. Lovely to meet you.

These are just Hugh's, previous incumbent's...

James, be fair. I left seven fucking messages for you.

Fucking arsehole.

Yes, the play-pits. The big cardboard boxes full of bits of old junior minister.

Apart from Hugh's guys who are just, kind of, so fucking patronising and cold.

I don't know what the fuck to say to him.

OK. Fuck, right. So Malcolm Tucker, Malcolm Tucker, Malcolm Tucker. Malcolm.

Nicola Murray. Here you are, Secretary of State

Which I think stands for Pretty Fucking Embarrassing.

If you're a bit sloppy about the details, which clearly your fucking husband is.

They'd rather you lived in a fucking cave.

Just a fucking normal chair. Right?

Not a fucking massive vibrating throne.

Malcolm must be hating this. All these bright fresh new ministers to blood-in and to plan a by-election.

give me the time to fuck the Is and fist the Ts, as Robert Robinson might say.

If it's not an issue, I'll fucking toddle off.

because I know that there is no fucking issue here, right?

Jesus H fucking Corbett!

Do you honestly believe that as a minister you can get away with that?

For fuck's sake.

It just doesn't. Of course it fucking does!

You're a fucking human dartboard.

And Eric fucking Bristow is on the oche, flinging a million darts made of human shit right at you.