Incident Reports

shit spraying machine and you happen to be bunking off work and not very far away, so I need you here.

She's got a fucking dog with her.

Get a fucking move on. Where are you?

And you should be, so fuck off.

at a few receptions this evening including the Rod Hughes do for Tom.

like a fucking coma.

That has to be a bad sign. I didn't hit fucking Glen.

Look at the size of him. I wouldn't fucking hit him, he's a fucking man mountain.

Government department... to govern... Fuck, how can I learn this when you're still writing?

Pull yourself together, Nicola.

Fucking am Josh. Nicola Murray can do this, come on.

all the Nicola Murrays in the room.

to see you shite. Come with me.

Like there'd been a Scottish James Bond. Shut the fuck up.

Fuck. Fuck me. I... I didn't leak anything, I swear to God.

I'm just going to fucking kill you. Why?

I'm scaring you? I'm so sorry I'm fucking scaring you.

OK, I'll just explain what I'm going to fucking do to you.

fucking rip them off, fucking paint eyeballs on them

and I'm going to stitch them onto a fucking sock and use that as our mouthpiece.

I've got to get out. All right. Look, I want out, Nicola.

This is no good for fucking pacing.

Malcolm, Nicola. Julie tweets.

Christ on a cross trainer, Nicola, Julie's the fucking leak.

On the other hand I am fucking starving.

Keep the door and your arse cheeks fucking tightly closed, right.

Oh, fucking hell, Malcolm.

You fucking sound like you are. No, no, no. I've seen Spooks.

You have treated me like a bag of shit all day.

I should've known not to trust yous lot when yous fucked over the Metric Martyrs.

he'd be fucking appalled by the way yous lot are carrying on.

We go out there, we say our goodbyes and we'll get Glen to go and do the fucking desert burial, OK?

Put her on a train back to shit town or wherever the fuck she came from.

Fuck's sake. Fruit by the pound.

Watch and fucking learn, OK.

about the fucking finer points of fruit and fucking veg merchandising.