The Thick of It

Malcolm: Hey. Hi, Angela. Oh, I like the hair, nice little corkscrews. How's it going? Ollie: Yeah, er, fine. Um, we were just, er, talking about why Angela shouldn't do a big story on the big insidery piece, kinda day of spin, sort of spread in the paper... Malcolm: Oh, wait a minute, wait a minute. I know why she shouldn't. Because, you know, if she did that, she'd be dead. To me, to this department, to the government. And she'll never get another story, or a fucking whiff of a story as long as she kept her sorry, hack bitch face lingering around Westminster, because I would call every editor I know - which, obviously, that's all of them - and I'd tell them to gouge her name out of their address books so she'd never even get a job on hospital radio where the sad sack belongs. That's what I'd tell her. [to Ollie] But maybe you should do it. See you later.

The Thick of It, CC BY-SA 4.0

Glenn: It's sad. Hugh: Well at least I've made something. Terri: Anyway, these focus groups, they're absolutely useless. Ollie: Oh, so it's useless to ask people what they think, is it? It's useless to ask people's opinions before we formulate a policy? It's useless?! Glenn: Look, there's no point in asking people what they think. They either don't know what they think or they think that you should bring back hanging for traffic wardens. Or they just think what every right-minded thinking person would think, and that's just common sense! Ollie: Oh, yeah yeah yeah, oh yeah, "I'm Geoff Average, and I think the same as everybody else cos I'm Mr Average Normal Bloke and everybody thinks like me cos I work in IT, and on the weekends I pop a few pills and do a bit of DJ-ing, y'know, spare cash cos I'm a single mum and I'm a member of the National Trust, I enjoy any sports on TV, anything with Colin Firth, I enjoy domestic violence and sun-dried fucking...karaoke." Not everybody is the same,

The Thick of It, CC BY-SA 4.0

Hugh: Can't we just kill him, shoot him? Ollie: What about we just fire him at a wall from a cannon. Just a wall two feet away. Glenn: I know, we force feed him with a mixture of garlic and Dettol in Cup-a-Soup. Hugh: What about the old red-hot poker up the arse? Edward II? Ollie: I'd like to nail him to a tree through the head and watch lice slowly crawl over his body, eating off the flesh in a slow and painful death, (having already noticed Julius) but that rather bitter anomaly aside, most of the responses to the Warwick report press cuttings were pretty positive. Hugh: (telling a joke at his party) And Julius, Julius Nicholson, says, ”I'm sorry but I think you'll find you're sitting in my seat.” Hugh: And this was to God, as I mentioned in the setup. Anyway, have a lovely time. (to Ollie, whispering) A fiver if you set off the sprinklers.

The Thick of It, CC BY-SA 4.0

Hugh: Christ Malcolm, how do you appear out of nowhere in a building made entirely out of glass? Hugh: It's going to be like sitting on a tea crate, having chicken shit sprayed all over me. Malcolm: Hey, I'm going to have a swear box installed on Monday. Hugh: What? Malcolm: Fucking joking, you twat! I'm on turbo.

The Thick of It, CC BY-SA 4.0

Stewart: Yeah, who are you meeting? Ollie: Okay.

The Thick of It, CC BY-SA 4.0

Of the moment, of the moment, I told you to say '<nowiki/><nowiki/>of the fucking moment': there's a huge difference between me saying to you, 'Nicola, I would like to go for a lovely walk with you', and 'Nicola, I would like to make a hat out of your fucking entrails!' (And then, Malcolm's cell phone rings. Again.) Excuse me.

The Thick of It, CC BY-SA 4.0