Incident Reports

And I'll be shot of this fucking department. Takes four days to get a memo through! "Social Affairs."

What the fuck does it actually MEAN?

It's so vague. "Hello, I'm Hugh Abbot, the Minister for...

Minister, hello. Just going to see Mr Tucker. Oh, I'm sorry. Mr Tucker has someone there.

Yeah. Little shit, anyway, Dan Miller.

See you. Goodnight. Goodnight, Hugh.

Where the fuck's Terri! Oh, Terri? Did you not know? Malcolm's...

My milkman knows. Hugh, I have some wonderful news for you.

I'm sorry. I was just shitting you. It was just an early-morning joke.

Can we send out a revised biography and not that photograph of me with the fucking moustache?

We beg to fucking differ. Where do you think you're going? Number 10.

Where's Neil? Leicester, poor fucker.

N-O-M-F-P. Not my fucking problem. I like that. Do you?

I nearly liked the enormous fucker reading it.

And how's the minister? He's shitting himself.

"Just fucking waiting."

For fuck's sake. But everybody knows the lines, yeah?

I'll punch you in your substantial gut! Fucking hell, Robyn!

You little fucker. I got it, look.

Hugh, can we do the prep for the factory visit now?

Sam, a coffee and a fucking skinny muffin if that's possible.

hat the fuck are YOU doing HERE?

Good fucking man! Good to meet you.

He's the guy that fucked the opposition for us.

Would you just nod when the big fucker talks,

but look, I've got brains coming out of my fucking arse.

Yep. Listen, don't touch the keyboard. Bob'll go fucking nuts.

What, they've been after you for stuff about me? Your fucking whips?

How much fucking shit is there on the menu, and what fucking flavour is it?!

It's like this furnace of shit.

Well, here we are, Hugh.

Hello. Hugh Abbot. Nice to meet you.

The minister would love to know.

Can you please shut up for one fucking minute?!

Now, Hugh. I'm going to have to hang up.

Yeah. Well, how did you get... No, you fucking don't!