(POUNDING MUSIC)
- Nialls, Bradley. - OK.
Jackman, Alistair. Normally one down from Jackson, Michael.
- Not on the list. - I am.
- Step aside, please. - Look up Jackman, Alison, please.
The guy who does the bookings is this homophobic fuckwit
who thinks it's hilarious to put me down on guest lists as Alison.
People are starting to call me Alison to my f... face.
- The guy's an arsehole. - Yeah.
You know the really upsetting thing?
The social-climbing bitch who knows I'm down as Alison will turn up
trying to get in on my name.
Damien, I owe you.
- Name? - Larinda Gernow.
- Yup. Name, please? - Amanda Turner.
- Yup. Name, please? - Jackman, Alison.
I'm on the list.
You're being wilfully obtuse, Martin.
Shadow Spokeswoman for Work and Pensions? A prestigious client.
Have you met spokes-bore Joanne Standing in the flesh?
Come on, Charles.
Charles, can we get Melinda back into the Celebrity House?
Not unless she's prepared to break in, no.
I'll push for Nell to be token tits next series.
Of all the anti-Labour campaigns I could have got, I end up with the graveyard shift.
- Old people have rights, too. - Not the right to make my life intolerable.
Martin, this came by hand. It's unsigned. I've no idea who it's from.
Oh!
"Disembowels." A perfectly ordinary word. Why the apostrophe?
- Oh, God. I should have known. - What?
When Liz Hurley says yes to something, you think she'll turn up.
But she won't unless you put her in a wheelbarrow and trundle her there!
- This is to do with Gianfranco Tutti? - It could be, yeah.
So the restaurant opening was a howling fiasco?
Pretty howling, yes.
Psychotic celebrity chef wants to macerate you.
- Sort of thing. - He did learn to cook in prison.
Martin, the solution is as plain as the as yet unchopped nose on your face.
Fly to Naples, seek out the moustachioed grandmother,
wine her, dine her, grit your teeth and squeeze her thigh under the table
and she'll tell Gianfranco to stop being beastly.
His grandmother's dead.
- Death isn't necessarily an obstacle. - He almost certainly killed her.
Martin, you've had my advice. There's nothing more I can do to you. Alison.
In my office. Now. And you, young man.
Oh.
(CHARLES) The Terry Venables campaign.
I sent a questionnaire around asking for ten reasons why you'd trust him.
- And? - Only one came back - from Gwyneth.
- She got him confused with Terry Waite. - Were the answers any good?
- Not bad. - Use them, then. Where's Jamie?
Hiding from me.
Right... Nick, I need a table for two at Meccano.
- One o'clock. - Are we on show?
No, we are not. I'd rather tear my own head off than be observed.
- Table 12. Gerald Kaufmann's table. - Sounds ideal. Why?
Because I've got a magnum of champagne looking for a dark, moist hiding place.
Right. Nick...
Martin and this Tutti-frutti idiot - do I have to worry about that?
- Mm. Yes, I'm afraid you do. - Right.
Make a note in my diary to worry after lunch.
There he is.
It was a terrible party. Full of stuck-up ponces.
I did manage to chat to Brad and George, but it wasn't until we got to Century.
You'd have hated it.
What I want, Charles, is to be remembered for having the guts
to see this Right To Retire thing right the way through.
Pension reform could transform the lives of ordinary working people.
And where would we be without them?
And it's not my fault our leader has such a fat arse.
- He has what? Sorry? - It's huge. We call him Pork Bum.
You never noticed?
It's fantastically difficult not to, but I didn't expect you to mention it.
It's mentioning the damn flabby thing at a private fundraiser
that's got me fast-tracked to the exit.
I was marched to the billiard room
where the Estelle Morris "I'm not up to it" press release was ready to be signed.
I refused, of course, but it makes no difference. I'm condemned goods.
So you've offended your fuhrer?
Now you're interested.
How about pet? Yeah. I think pet.
OK. I've got pet. So...
"Would like to meet outgoing hunk, 30 to 40, GSOH, no baggage, NS,
"home-loving type, no timewasters." How's that sound?
Right. I'll get that over to "Time Out" right now.
My pleasure, Kylie. And g'day to you too.
I keep a diary, you know.
Ah, so that's the card you've been waiting to play, is it?
- Don't pretend you're not interested. - Joanne, look at my eyes.
I'm not interested in your diary or your bloody old people.
I am mildly diverted that you remarked
on the largeness of your leader's arse, which caused your downfall, but...
- Let me put some cards on the table. - No. Let's look at the cards on the table.
Who are you? Don't answer that. I'm making a rhetorical point.
- You're Neil Kinnock. - Wrong party, wrong sex.
Both irrelevant.
If the British public were forced at gunpoint to appoint a new prime minister
and they could choose between Jeffrey Archer and Neil Kinnock, who would they pick?
A convicted crook and mythomaniac or a sincere and dedicated socialist?
They'd choose Archer every time, and why?
Because Kinnock is Kinnock.
There's something about that poor bastard that makes you want to run from the room.
And you're the same.
- No offence. - None taken.
You should hear me on people I don't represent.
- So you'll take me as a client? - We already have.
I just needed to evacuate a small truth
before opening the dressing-up box and seeing what could be done with you.
- Are you paying for this lunch? - In the short term.
Could I see the wine list?
Jonathan, "Willkommen Berlin" was about the Weimar Republic
and they want to set the film on a space station orbiting Saturn
with Britney Spears in the lead role of Otto.
Think of your father's reputation, his dignity, his...
They're offering how much?!
- Hang on, Jonathan. - Sorry, Martin, but it's Mr Tutti.
- Bloody hell! He's not here? - No, no, no.
Well, I don't think so. Don't know where he is.
Sounds like machinery in the background. Lots of grinding, crushing.
- God Almighty. - I told him you were away.
- Good. Where have I gone? - New Zealand.
- He didn't believe me. - Shit!
I think he might have people watching the place.
Look, don't worry. He's still on the line. I'll deal with it.
Sorry, Jonathan, where were we? How much?
If I am going to do this, you'll have to allow me to sprinkle my magic dust.
- What kind of magic dust? - I'd like to start with your hair.
- What's wrong with it? - You've got plenty of it, which is a bonus.
Name one prime minister who was bald? The British will never elect a slaphead.
I hope you're not going to tart me up.
I shall be subtle, I promise you.
Maida Vale.
Trinny? Charles.
Other Charles. Listen, I need you to work your dark expertise.
I need it fast and at a less than criminal rate.
Female. Politician. Tory.
Well, put it this way - you'll need to set your cement mixer to high.
(CHARLES) Not only did I have to buy her a wine that I would only buy for myself,
but she started to wiggle a diary at me.
Is there anybody above the rank of dustman
who isn't recording their dismal maunderings for the benefit of society?
Martin?
If you feel the commission is beyond you, pass it on to an account executive.
I appreciate that you're in fear of your life, Martin,
but there's no call for that kind of remark.
- I'll be another ten minutes at least. - And then are you walking to the car park?
I don't actually park in the company car park.
I walk you to the company car park
and then I walk for another 20 minutes to where I've found a space.
Is that a yes?
(TYRES SCREECH)
The thing I wanted to talk to you about was I've had an overture from another company.
Oh?
- A very attractive offer. Great package. - I see.
So I may not be around to walk you to and from your car much longer.
I'm sure Gianfranco won't try anything in daylight. Maybe at night...
- See you in the morning. - Excellent.
(ALISON) And this is the really appalling thing.
Of those people that work five to ten years beyond the scheduled age of retirement -
across the board - 73% complain of regular headaches.
Migraine probably has more impact. I'll look into it.
- What did you come up with? - Sorry?
Joanne Standing, pensions.
I talked to you about it yesterday.
You'd been on an extended lunch. You were going on about old people.
- I thought you were pissed. - Never more sober!
Pump some flair and imagination into it... and lose the old people.
Isn't this about old people?
No tabloid's going to publish pictures of them -
unless there's been an earthquake in Uzbekistan and they're cradling infants.
If we're going to go old, go attractive old. Think Honor Blackman.
This needs to be addressed.
One, the more offensive the question, the wiser your smile.
However obnoxious the other bastard, however much he has you over a barrel,
you know something he doesn't and you still find it amusing.
- Two... - Should I be taking notes?
Hands in your lap. Only use one if you have a particular point to make.
Flap them about, women will say you're neurotic.
Three - and this is the most important -
use first names as soon and as often as possible.
It gives the viewer a warm sense of celebrity community.
Charles, really, this is crap.
And, four, when you want to say something really important
and you want to appear absolutely sincere,
lean forward slightly, engage the host eye to eye.
- That's what I'm doing. - Already we're making progress.
(THEME TUNE PLAYS)
Still to come, be mortgage-free for a year, and all the latest soap gossip.
Joanne Standing, former Shadow Cabinet member, has been very quiet of late,
but she's back as Shadow Spokesperson for Work and Pensions
and sporting a new look, which Tarquin will be looking at in depth.
- Who the hell is Tarquin? - Absolutely no idea.
So let's find out from the lady herself what the new look is all about.
(SONG: "I'M STILL STANDING" BY ELTON JOHN)
You are joking.
# I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah,,, #
- Oh, Joanne. How are you? - Hello, Fern.
It's lovely to see you. You look fantastic.
- Tarquin, take us though Joanne's look. - I've got to agree with you.
- You're looking fab. - Thank you, Tarquin.
The obvious touches are a softening of the hairline.
We've added some make-up... sculpting,
just to highlight where the cheekbone and jawline should be.
And accessories as well.
- I love the ankle bracelet. - (FERN) That's the first thing I saw.
It's obviously to do with sex, but I can't work out who's doing it with whom.
Pop Bitch has just flagged up the Tories having some bonding jolly in Brighton.
Hotel staff report whimperings of sexual ecstasy coming from Pork Bum's bedroom.
- How unsavoury. - So we're having a sweepy.
- I see. Was Mrs Pork Bum in attendance? - No.
It's not rocket science, is it, children?
Think about it.
Man under stress alone in a hotel? What would you be doing, Jamie?
- Given there might be Pay TV channels. - All right, yeah.
On the other hand, is this a serious story?
- Will be. Jamie says it's her. - Never. Could be her though.
- I thought this one was a bloke. - He is.
Not a bad guess. She's been dead for five years.
- I thought she went to live in Portugal. - A not dissimilar experience.
Why isn't Joanne Standing on this list? I'm putting her on.
- I don't think it's her, Charles. - No, neither do I.
But it might raise the profile of our dreary client
if word got out that she might be the Pork Bum porkee.
- I'm jacking into the matrix now. - Meaning?
The Internet, Ali. I'm feeding the rumour mill.
Good.
I'm joined now by Joanne Standing,
the Conservative Work and Pensions Spokesperson
and the driving force, it's fair to say, behind the Right to Retire campaign.
Miss Standing, you've hit a nerve,
- Use his first name. - It's become an issue, Huw,,,
Good girl.
People expect to be rewarded for all their years of hard work,
So you firmly believe that this government has seriously neglected its pensioners?
I think successive governments have, yes,
- if we're being honest, - Oh, let's be that.
Some might argue that a certain matter is being made public via the Internet
which is, in fact, highly detrimental to the integrity of your own party,
Sorry... you've lost me.
Sweet, sweet Joanne. That kind of innocence you just can't fake.
I don't know. How can I tell whether my wife's having an affair?
She shuts the door when she's having a pee.
Are we to abandon every vestige of reason before work today?
Cat's got this thing. I think it's pernicious.
- "Ten Signs Your Wife Is Having an Affair." - You'd find it useful, Martin.
Has Sarah started wearing jewellery in unusual places?
Then there's this - page five. "Who Is the Tory Whory?"
- "Which lovely is dating the Tory leader?" - Where's our MP, Joanne Standing?
- Second place. - We can improve the place and the page.
I'm still not happy with the clothing.
On Graham Norton last night, she waded through that dress.
The footwear makes her walk like John Wayne. Trinny always blanks on the shoes.
Put her in heels and her arse will go off like a jelly on springs.
Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
Every red-top's running it, so she's in the frame.
- Good. Good. Next? - Right...
We don't have all the VT yet, but we open on a shot of a man walking down the street.
He's coming home of an evening. First voiceover.
"At the end of a long walk we all look forward to putting our feet up."
Then his wife there taking his son from his arms.
Into second voiceover.
"And at the end of a hard day's work, what's better than a nice up of tea?"
Isn't this footage from the HobNobs retro campaign 1999?
"So why, at the end of our days, can't we expect a little reward
"for the years of hard graft - some downtime to enjoy life?"
Not retire till I'm 70? You must be jokingl
- Off. - Sorry?
- Turn it off. - We're coming to the slogan.
- Give me the slogan. - Give us the slogan.
Er, right. Well, Tom talks a bit more about his life and then we see the headline,
"Old Age - don't knock it till you've tried it."
I want to give the government a kicking and you're giving me "It's a Wonderful Life".
What we need is a horrifying insight into the cataclysmic awfulness
of growing old under New Labour -
The fellow in the video - it's supposed to be post-Blair despair -
he doesn't look old enough, his costume isn't crappy enough.
Tom is 78 and that's the uniform he actually wears, so...
Authenticity's not a currency we must deal in.
Give me an ancient wreck, lashed by the elements.
"Old age - it'll happen to you" sort of thing.
Let's feel the reaper's icy touch. Let's hear the tolling of the bells.
Never mind, Ali. It was a good effort.
(NICK) it's generous, very generous.
But not enough.
- Oh? - I also want a parking space.
Only senior management get parking spaces.
It's taken months of begging and backhanders just to get two...
If I had a parking space, I could walk you to and from your car every day
- Charles will be furious. - Here.
Leave it with me.
- Don't understand. - The trick is to become indispensable.
The homicidal chef fell right into Nick's lap.
He was perfect. Certainly had me going.
But then Nick thought he might increase the pressure a little bit
and that's where he slipped up.
He got his mother to pose as a rival executive headhunting him.
It's not a bad notion, just poorly executed.
No self-respecting PR of any authority sits in the window of a restaurant.
(CHARLES) Argos has reported a massive run on ankle bracelets.
This campaign should be about the issues.
Soon you can immerse yourself in a bath of pullulating old people. Won't that be nice?
Inspecting nursing homes is precisely what I should be doing.
- Here we are. - You coming in with me?
The smell of urine and cabbage makes me gag.
(REPORTERS CLAMOUR)
- Charles, what have you done? - I cannot tell a lie...
Well, that was one, obviously, but I shan't tell any more.
These good people are waiting for someone very special to arrive - you.
Thank you for the welcome. Joanne Standing.
(CACOPHONY OF VOICES)
"Not retire till I'm..."
"Not retire till I'm over 70?"
It was a nice part, so I thought I might as well do it.
It was a double. You've had enjoyed it.
We toured the Far East with it. Lovely cast. Fantastic stage manager.
- What the hell are you doing? - The directory liked my look.
What are the chances of getting this cast, filmed and edited by the end of the week?
We've got a rough cut - one or two sequences to do. The director's already in a hissy.
Well, fire him. Get another one. Do it yourself.
(SOMBRE CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYS)
(W0MAN) Work without leisure, Graft without reward,
Life without hope, Is this what we want?
Tom Dromgoole - ex-serviceman and ex-dockyard worker and engineer,
Tax-payer all his life and now,,,
Not retired till I'm over 70?
I've done me bit and this is the reward I get.
Tom will be just one of millions of us working until we drop -
until that final bell tolls,
Is this what we want?
Excellent. Chuck Barber's "Adagio" on it and bike it round to all the major networks.
Now the work starts.
Looking at opinion polls, the Tory strategy of targeting pensioners has paid off.
Whatever collective progress the Tories may have made today,
that's been eclipsed by the news a few moments ago
of the promotion of the architect of their good fortune, Joanne Standing -
former Work and Pensions Spokesperson,
She's been long seen as a fading star in the party,
Today she was catapulted into the limelight,
- Have you been watching? - Ah... Sshh.
Yes, I'm delighted to announce that the leader of the Conservative Party
has invited me to join the Shadow Cabinet
to serve in the post of Shadow Home Secretary, Thank you,
(REP0RTER) Her promotion is a sign of the faith the party has in her,
- Well done, Jo. - Christ.
Yeah. Secretary. Typical.
Alison, don't speak.
- You look disappointed. I... - No. I'm surprised.
Go away now, please.
Joanne. You're so unspeakably important,
I'm amazed you don't have flunkeys in powdered wigs to answer the mobile phone.
Dear Joanne. Are we on snogs?
Well, I must say... you've come a long way very quickly.
To quote the surprised actress.
- I couldn't have done it without you. - This, of course, is true.
But what astonishes me, frankly, is... the pace.
Poor Charles.
Frankenstein has created the monster and it gets invited to more parties than he does.
Well, it would be very curious if I were to begrudge my own clients their success.
Food, drink, money, sex...
one cares nothing for any of these things.
But your happiness, Joanne - you in the plural, all my little boys and girls -
your triumph in your chosen field, your ascendancy...
that's what I live for.
You're looking at me very closely. Inspecting me for irony.
Find any?
I'll tell you the oddest thing about me - for a man doing the job I do -
I'm completely obsessed with the truth.
I have to have it. It doesn't matter whether anybody else does, but I must.
- I'd like a drink. - In a minute.
You see, I had you perfectly plotted out in stages - one to ten.
We get to four and then suddenly, whoosh, you're at 20 - Shadow Home Secretary.
Well, hurrah and let's all sing the school song,
but success of such suddenness and of such magnitude, not of my creation,
makes me anxious, Joanne, because I don't understand it.
You launched me. I had momentum.
They saw me whistling past, recognised in me a commodity they needed and grabbed me.
But I was sure that Pork Bum would never be a signed-up member
of the Joanne Standing Appreciation Society until at least stage nine...
Unless, of course, he had already been appreciating you all along...
in a Brighton hotel room.
He'd made a particularly cretinous speech one night at dinner,
so I went up to his room afterwards
to tell him I thought his head was as fat as his arse.
I started shouting, in fact, and...
the effect was not quite what I had anticipated.
He liked it. He liked being shouted at by an angry woman.
His enjoyment was clearly visible.
So I told him off some more.
This epiphanic discovery in a Brighton bedroom -
is it something that you might, in the heat of the moment,
uncontrollably commit to your diary?
It's possible.
Taking particular care to record details
that trespass into the realm of the lascivious and the downright horny?
Regrettably, I can see that happening, yes.
I have recently been thinking about my pension plan.
Glass of wine?
www.tvsubtitles.net