PERSUADING

Don't you worry about Nicola's plan… I'll deal with that Sweaty Betty. Listen, when you wake up in the morning, you've got a routine, haven't you? Exactly, you have a plan, that's good. Nicola has a plan, that's not good…  But I have a plan that’s fucking great.

Karen will want you to say "War is unforeseeable." And Linton will want you to talk up the "climbing the mountain of conflict" line. You say nothing, OK? You stay detached, otherwise that's what l will do to your retinas. No, no, no, no. We're going to stay here and you are going to rehearse saying nothing.

Listen, l hear that you might be preparing a story that we might not like. Yeah, please. l just wanted to say, please, this garden-wall story, don't run with that. Simon Foster's constituency office wall. That's what you've got, haven't you? Oh, shit. l haven't let the cat out of the bag, have l? Please, don't run with that. My reputation will be in tatters.

Look people really like you when you go just a bit early. You know, steely-jawed, faraway look in your eyes, before they get to a point when they sitting around pub say, “Oh, that fucker's got to go.” You surprise them! “Blimey, he's gone, I didn't expect that. Resigned? You don't see that much any more. Old school, respect, I rather like the guy, he was hounded out by the fucking press.” How about that, huh? What a way to go, yeah?

Of course you have a choice. You can decide exactly how you say “yes". You can do it with a voice. Have fun with it. I look forward to toasting your success. Have a lovely time in Leamington, yeah? Of course you can fucking go.

Oh, welcome to the men's room! Jesus Christ, listen. It's this simple, right? If she goes on with Nicola, she'll be watched by 15 housebound mouth-breathers. Oh, and by the ever-swelling ranks of the unemployed who fucking hate us, by the way. But if she goes on with Tom, she'll make the 10:00 news, right?

OK, OK, go ahead and print "unforeseeable”.  Listen, assume l tell your wife about you and Angela Heaney at the Blackpool conference, what would be best, an email, a phone call or what? Hey, l could write it on a cake! With those little silver balls. "Your hack husband betrayed you on October 4th… and congratulations on the new baby.” Maybe it's better to spike it, yeah. OK, fuckity bye.

What the fuck is your girlfriend doing, hitting us with this? You won’t mind if I kill her then, will you?Hey, hey, hey, hey, if you could sweet-talk that sour-face bitch into dropping this you will be sweet to me, actually very very sweet. Yeah, I will just have to kill both of you, will I. That’s a joke by the way, not a very nice one, a nasty one which masks a lot of very negative feelings about this fucking department.

Where's all this education, where does it go when it comes to this? You take this and this and you put it onto your bird's breasts and you rub them and squeeze them very, very gently. You get her into the sack, you bang her fucking brains out, make sure that she comes and you just give her the policy.

Yeah, well, my expert would totally oppose that. No idea, but I can get one by this afternoon. You have spoken to the wrong expert. You've got to ask the right expert. You've got to know what an expert’s going to advise before he advises you. Hugh, whether you like this or not, you are going to have to promote this Bill. So what I'm going to do is, I'm going to get you another expert.

You still don't need to resign. lt's not ridiculous. lt's not ridiculous at all. . . You're fired. Over the wall, l mean, that's just not tolerable. Look. Give me the paper. The Telegraph has a cartoon of you teetering on the Great Wall of China, suggesting you are the only political fuck-up visible from space. Look at this. Look at it. No-one could survive this. The PM's very clear about this. You're sacked - over the wall. l have spoken to the PM. Whether it's happened or not is irrelevant. lt is true. And he was very clear you've got to go. Well, if you want to turn this into some anti-war protest, expect to hear your "mountain of conflict" sound-bite everywhere. From ring-tones to fucking. . . a dance mix on YouTube. And l will marshal all the media forces of darkness, to hound you to an assisted suicide. Right-ho. Let's just go and draft your. . ."Dear Prime Minster, Just a quick note to say, 'Thanks for giving me the sack,"' letter. Off we trot. Come on, young Simon.