Series 3 – Episode 8

This programme contains strong language and adult humour

That's what we masters of the dark arts call a blip.

We need to start booting up this crime stats inquiry.

Julius, what is the deal? At the moment, Malcolm is getting the sack.

You, fucking speak! You've always fucking got something to say.

I'm only a cabinet minister! Fuck off then.

Malcolm Tucker has resigned.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE Happy days!

You will fucking see me again!

Malcolm! Malcolm! REPORTERS CLAMOUR

Let me in. No.

Watch the hedge. Watch the hedge.

I'm just trying to get home, please.

Show's over, OK? Fucking bacteria.

You know, I just can't quite believe this.

This is the single most shocking thing I've seen

in politics since the SDP.

I thought he'd at least go out with a bang, or a killing spree.

I always imagined he'd just shout so hard

his lungs would come up and choke him to death.

End of an era.

A really shit era though, isn't it? Whooooo!

Yeah, all right, calm down. Balrog's dead!

I mean, that's it. They're done.

No-one can replace him. It's like when Queen lost Freddie.

Certainly not Paul Rodgers. Right, that's the two seconds of respect

due to him, now get back to your desks and do something, OK?

Not the sofa, who are you, Lorraine Kelly? Get out here

and do something. If you've nothing to do, leave,

because you're clearly surplus to requirements.

Um, lads and lasses.

Please, just a quick word, thank you.

Really, it's just a handhold,

to set the tone for a slightly rejigged regime.

I've done all the important departments,

and now I've got to you.

Seriously, I've done that joke everywhere,

even with the genuinely big departments.

I'm not aiming at you in any sort of a snide way.

I'm just checking that we're all at the very top of our games.

Glenn? Mate? Sorry.

Are you on top of your game? I am... I'm above my game.

I'm in a geostationary orbit, way above it, looking down, going, "Hello, game, it's Glenn!" Right.

You know, there's an election looming. This is a serious time.

We need to be aware of that.

But I love humour and that was good humour.

Do you want to swim the Channel for Scope?

No! Do you want to do Dragons' Den for Children In Need?

I'd rather fuck a real dragon.

Would you consider promoting a politically-themed restaurant?

How does that... How does that even work? Fuck, no, I don't care.

Would you like to write a children's book called The Angry Spider?

So, everything, good.

Yeah, you know, a bit of instability with Malcolm gone.

A sort of sense of post-psychotic twat's disorder.

No, no, listen. I understand.

But you know, right now, you're all emerging from the cellar.

Pleased that the beatings have stopped, scared of what the future might hold.

But long-term, I think we're all going to be OK.

Pep-talk over!

Return to your desks and prepare for government.

We're in government.

Well then, prepare to stay in government.

All right. How do we do that? Pack an overnight bag.

Would you please fucking well...!

Sorry, I lost my temper.

Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?

Oh, I've found it again, it's all right!

Always in the last place you look, eh?

So, can I... Yeah.

Great. Actually, can I have a word with you, Nicky? Yeah. Nicola.

I just wanted to check...

Obviously, Dan Miller's cabal is going house-to-house through

the cabinet looking for numbskulls stupid enough to resign

to trigger his elevation to the throne.

Obviously. What I need to know is, are you solid?

Yeah, I'm completely, I'm solid as the proverbial.

As a rock, as a rock, hard, as a sailor's wang on shore leave.

Superb.

You really are a potty mouth, aren't you?

Well, a lot to do!

Ollie, Glenn, in here now.

Quick, quick. Glenn, don't faff about with your glasses.

You take them off every time you come in here, it's not impressive.

What do we know about the anti-Tom cabal? Why have I not been contacted by them?

Because it would be... Um...

You're seen very much as an individual around the...

That's bollocks. It's cos I'm the girl at the party nobody wants to dance with.

I'm the freak in the corner with a pint of cider and blackcurrant and the funny eye.

No, no. I mean, it's a big Rolodex full of numbers...

Thank you, you may go. We still would like to dance with you.

Fuck off! Go and put your glasses back on.

Malcolm? Sarah Jennings. Welcome to the BBC.

Did you have any trouble getting here? No, I had trouble getting in.

They thought I was a terrorist. If you'd like to take a seat down there.

We're really very excited.

Yeah. This could be the highlight of my career.

And I've taken a dump in the White House.

That's great banter, that's exactly what we're looking for. Is it?

So, this pitch.

It's for the sort of person who tried coke once but didn't like it - it's a BBC Three show.

It's a bullshit description but, you know, it paints a picture.

Who didn't like coke?

Oh! Yeah. So the idea is, you're going to be

talking to other people who, like you, have been through the shits.

For this, I was thinking Brian Keenan? Kerry Katona?

Sorry, do you mind?

Sorry, I have got to take this.

Yeah, no...no worries.

We'll continue this. Yeah? Hello?

Oh, hello. Where did you go for lunch, Belgium?

I was meeting a friend. Oh, right.

Meanwhile, back in Gotham City, the Express is running the idea

that your victim support scheme is actually a rapist's charter.

And Steve Fleming wants you to do some local media.

There's this guy who's very angry his dead mum

keeps getting sent parking tickets, so can we cover that?

So, dead mum, rapists. Yep, all good.

Ollie, could you assemble a policy profile for me

for the Centre for Economic Reform out of Yale?

Yes I can, why? Just curiosity - it's a very interesting think tank.

You haven't been offered a job or anything, have you?

You might comment. I couldn't possibly say yes.

I mean, if you've been offered a job, we better start looking around ourselves.

You can't start planning an exit from this department. That would undermine me.

Nicola, there's someone called Hannah on line three, she's from the Centre of Economic...

Thank you, please scram. Sod off.

Get out, don't go looking for jobs.

So, what d'you reckon? Sod that, we've got to put some feelers out.

But we'll do it discreetly. Yeah, like you do on the Tube.

I suppose it is the end now for you two, the full stop.

After all those commas, a few little semi-colons on the way.

I wouldn't be quite so smug, Terri.

Because I heard from very good sources that the opposition will be getting the Fucker in.

Yep, that's what I heard too.

They're definitely getting the Fucker in. I haven't heard that.

The Fucker, he coming. He coming to your town.

You do know why they call him the Fucker, don't you, Terri?

Yes. Sorry, not you.

Is it because he's a bit of a fucker?

It's not going to be easy for Peter Mannion.

He's not going to be reading The Wind In The Willows, sipping camomile tea.

He's going to have a crash helmet, bent over, doing his best

to be heard over a force 10 fucking from the Fucker. Piers, hello.

Hello, Philip Schofield.

I fuck lobsters for money.

Take the rice first. Thank you.

I want you to be very clear, Malc, why it is that I've brought you in.

That fine, that's fine. D'you know what hat it is that I'm wearing?

Is it your baldy swimming cap wig?

No, it's my government trouble-shooter Stetson,

which is a long way from my Homburg of sober inquiry.

Do you know I'm thinking about doing a television programme?

I had heard something on the grapevine.

You know that programme Civilisation with Kenneth Clarke? Yes.

It's going to be like that, except with fucking more quim, you know?

It's me, Simon Schama and Alan Yentob,

in a cage, fucking lump hammer each, whacking the shit out of each other.

The last man standing wins a fucking Ford Focus.

The thing is, Malcolm, your departure has basically precipitated a call to arms, in effect.

We have it on reasonably good authority that there are

between three to four cabinet ministers who are disgruntled,

and are planning a mass resignation.

That means, very simply, a Dan Miller coronation.

As my nephew would say, this shit just got real. Your nephew?

Yeah, he's at Charterhouse.

Only a day boy, not a boarder.

Anyway, the fact is, it has to be stopped.

And there have been a number of ideas being tossed around,

and one of them is, would you be prepared to come back?

Are you out of your tiny shiny fucking mind?

Look, we can do this simply. Step one, are you interested? Of course you are.

Step two, will you come back?

Yes?

Superb. Step 3. This is the important step.

Will you use your considerable influence to destroy the cabal?

Can I drop it down?

Fandabbydozy! Step four, it's party time.

Let's tool up with basmati rice and wahay!

You're asking me...

Come back here and mop up the fucking splatter from my own assassination?

You know where the bodies are buried.

We'll just say you're coming back to advise. It's election strategy.

Not a day-to-day Government business role.

I can't come back unless I know that I'm in the clear in your report.

I'm not in a position to discuss that. Not with my current hat on.

However, would I be sat here now, if the man in the other hat, which is also me,

wasn't sure that everyone involved in this inquiry

didn't come out relatively well?

And what about Steve Fleming, yeah?

You schizo hat-fuck.

Let me put it this way.

You see this onion bhajee?

Let us just pretend for a minute that that onion bhajee is the problems that would be caused

by a report that criticised you or Steve Fleming. Hmm?

Watch.

You see what I'm doing?

I'm eating the onion bhajee.

Why?

Because I'm the man that makes the bhajee go away.

There's a rumour that you're getting the Fucker in. Are you lot getting the Fucker in?

Look, if you are, just say the word "Fucker." Uh...

Hey! I'll call you back.

Tintin's sexy sister.

You're back. Are you back? I'm back like ballroom dancing.

And I need your help, my little...Fuckbob Shitpants.

Right. Well, OK.

I need you to hook me up to a printer. I need a printer.

All right. I wont do any blow-job jokes if you don't, mate.

Yeah. Copy that...mate.

Just because somebody has to kill people for a living doesn't make them a killer.

Do you know what I mean? Not hugely, Malcolm, no.

Anyway, what's the story, fuckanory? What's been happening?

Nothing much, really. Just...

The only bit of turbulence is this job Nicola's thinking of taking.

Yale, apparently. The key people?

No, the university.

There's a think-tank there that's approached her.

I don't think that would be a good idea. Do you?

Well, she seems pretty set on it.

Do you think that would be a good idea?

I'll have a word with her. Yeah, have a word with her. Yeah.

So you're not going to ask me how I'm getting on?

Sorry, that's very rude. How are you getting on, Malcolm? How are you?

Well...good days and bad days. Right.

Steve Fleming's...

I don't, you know...

The guy is... I fucking despise the guy.

I despise him as much as fucking James May presumably despises himself.

I'm glad he's getting a fucking death sentence in Nicholas' report.

Ah, death sentence for Fleming?

Yeah, that's...not something that should be out there.

No. No, no, no, no.

I'll catch you later. Thanks for doing that. Not a problem, Malcolm.

I'm very grateful...

Malcolm's back. Malcolm's back. He's through there.

What? I'll call you back. Hi. Hello.

Are you alright? You've got that cock in the cookie jar look.

He's back. Who? Barrymore? No. Clement Attlee?

Oh, fuck! Yes. Malcolm. Yes.

Oh, no. God, he's going to kill me.

I was there when he was being sacked and he asked me for help

and I held out and now he's going to want revenge, isn't he? Fuck!

It's going to be like...

Kill Bill or Get Carter, only it's going to be Get And Kill Nicola

And Then Get Carter And Bill To Fucking Kill Her Too. How did you hear about it?

I've just connected his computer for him in the old liaison...

Fuck! He's in the building? Shit! Where?

He's in the old liaison office. But he's in an odd way, Nicola.

It's like he's been to the vet and had his knacker's done.

When I come back from Cabinet, I'm going to hide in my office.

For the rest of the day.