Fire up the mid-range saloons. Nicola Murray, just the girl!

In 20 minutes' time, the Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

Shitting Henry!

Exactly, exactly, exactly, Nicola! See that, that fucking gibbering?

That's what everyone is doing now, the fucking cabal, the fucking opposition, fucking us!

Stay. No, look. Please don't ring...! Don't fucking ring her.

It's time to tell the Yanks to fuck off. Come on.

It's fucking huge, isn't it?

Hello, yes, sorry, I'd just like to put you on to our mutual acquaintance, Nicola Murray.

There's nobody there. Yeah, I spoke to her already. You fucker!

They're always looking for cleaners there. You fucker, Malcolm!

Stuart! Stuart? The Fucker's downstairs. No, no, no.

He is, and he is complete poison. Ah, The Fucker!

No, because... I've come here to tell you that you're fucking sacked.

Shall I escort Stuart from the building? Don't be such a fucking turncoat.

Could you find a hostel, go there and take a fucking overdose of barbiturates?

Get on to the J drive. You'll find key... Fuck, that is brilliant!

Fuck, what I really need to do is shoot you all in the back of the head! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

So fucking what? Some people, they just fucking love to hate.

Some people, they'd fucking walk around the fucking Garden of Eden

fucking moaning about the lack of fucking mobile reception.

These are the kind of fucks who watched Mandela, fucking Nelson Mandela...

So we fucking forget about them.

Now it's the colour of the fucking BBC weather map.

It looks like anaemic dogshit.

and their hordes of fucking robots.

Bend down, pick up any fucking weapon you can and twat the fuckery out of them.

It will be fucked.

Let's get out there and let's fucking kill them.

Car's here. Car's here, Nicola.

I want a fucking chocolate biscuit!

See you, Nicola!

When is Peter getting in? That nurse is becoming a bit of a running sore

Mr Tickel. He's not still in his fucking tent is he?

Peter. Can we talk Tickle?