Hello. Prentiss McCabe Public Relations.
How was I to know?
Ten people mooching around a bungalow somewhere in London.
Viewers running to William Hill to put bets on when they might see a nipple.
I thought the test card would get a bigger audience than that.
Which is how this company came to turn down the "Big Brother" account.
My first job was on reception at a publisher's,
and one day this little man was bigging it up because they wouldn't let him in.
"Do you know who I am?" and I was like, "No, but you reckon you're the dog's bollocks"
and it was Al Pacino.
- Ann Robinson. - Mm?
Go on. What about her?
Well, that's it, really. Just, er...
Ann Robinson.
What's this? A meeting of Incompetents Anonymous?
Circle session, Charles.
Mm... no. Help me out.
The staff sit around and admit the biggest mistakes they made in the business.
We've all been. Come on, Charles, your turn.
All right.
This may sound awful... but I honestly can't think of one.
Giving judgement, Mr Justice Moscar said that there was a crucial difference
between the public interest and stories in which the public might be interested,
Just because Mr X was a well-known personality,
it didn't mean that he had no private life,
Joshua, a lot of people are going to find this Mr X stuff a bit science fiction,
The gagging order means that we can't tell our viewers who this person is?
That's right, It's the same for newspapers, too, And no hints or clues,
As boys, we used to read stories in comics about invisibility cloaks,,,
I do find injunctions take the fun out of newspapers.
It's like being led through an orgy in a blindfold.
A "married public figure" has prevented the publication of allegations about him.
Married? So we know it isn't Peter Mandelson or Cliff Richard. Who is it?
Barry Ascot, City Desk.
- Have we heard from Stephen Hawking? - Bugger passed on it.
He loves Grand Theft Auto but an endorsement might screw his Nobel chances.
Barry, it's Charles. Ring me back.
I'll swap you a rumour which might be seen as insider dealing for the identity of Mr X.
Oh, I know who that is.
You had breakfast with the Lord Chancellor and he told you Britain's big legal secret?
- It was on my gossip server. - What are you using?
- Scuttlebutt. Net. - I'm on Whispers. Org. I should change.
When you two have finished this week's Which Website? Who is Mr X?
Bloke called Simon Wellington.
- Wellington? - I never heard of him.
- He's the Health Secretary! - Oh, is he?
- You said you were interested in politics. - Yeah, not obsessed.
On Celebdaq there was a gold rush on him.
- How's Jimmy Bart doing? - Going up like oil futures.
You've given Alison Jimmy Bart? I wanted that.
He's just out of rehab. We couldn't risk a party girl.
Jimmy Bart interviews - have they all signed a pre-nup?
Yeah. Nothing about non-prescription drugs or the fourth-former's abortion.
What did Wellington actually do?
- Got mugged by a rent boy or something. - I'm just into Scuttlebutt. Net.
"Question. Why is the Health Secretary now known to his friends as Wellington Boot?"
"Answer. Because he gets sucked off in a bog."
This democratisation of gossip appals me.
Once only I knew where the bodies were buried.
Now everybody has a map to the graveyard.
Well, Mr X needs help - specifically, from Mr P.
Yeah. I hear what Professor Hawking's saying...
But what I want to get across is that the ads aren't going to be tacky.
The tag line is "Video games - they are big and they are clever."
We've got Dr Henry Kissinger on the Shrek game, Nelson Mandela is definitely...
But if the Minister would admit that he has a problem, he has my name.
Thank you.
The Health Secretary? Not playing ball?
Not even admitting there's a pitch.
- This calls for the Ethiopian strategy. - Which is?
If you're hungry, go on television and appeal.
Ms Jackman. I'm Andy Strand. This is my first week, so we haven't...
No, but I've seen you on the "Talent Factor". They call you Arsehole Andy.
- Axeman Andy. - Yeah.
Alison, do you have Jimmy's publicity schedule?
This secret impromptu London gig - where will that be?
HMV Oxford Street on the 26th.
OK.
Perhaps we should find the master copies of the album in a field a week before release.
Interesting. We do have a tame farmer who helped us with the Harry Potter thing.
Mm.
Jimmy. This is the draft American tour schedule.
But I want to say something.
Bush is cracking down on drugs.
One sniff of possession and they'll turn you back at the airport.
Jimmy's recent spell eating hospital food...
Jimmy became ill after an allergic reaction to over-the-counter hay fever pills.
The label's very clear about this.
We don't want Jimmy's tour cancelled because a sniffer dog goes crazy at JFK.
(SNIFFS)
- Is he doing media interviews this week? - Yeah. For the solo tour and the album.
At some point before Friday, the record company will carry out a random drugs test.
Jimmy agrees or there'll be no release.
That's cool.
They can test my piss all they want - they won't find anything.
Because there's nothing to find.
Charles Prentiss, as a leading PR consultant,
what would you say to Mr X if he were your client?
I would say that a letter of the alphabet is a small thing,
so you can't hide behind it very long.
So I would say forget the "X", turn to somebody who understands the media
and begin the ABC of admitting and explaining.
Some advice if you're watching, Mr Wellington.
Oh, dear.
I'm only a spin doctor, but I would say you're suffering from a broken injunction.
We're so sorry. I have to say this is live television.
Big apologies to Mr X, as I ought, of course, to have called him.
We'll be back after this.
- (THEME TUNE PLAYS) - We're out of this ad break in two minutes.
Jesus Christ, Steve! Do you keep your brain cells in your scrotum?
We're talking to the duty lawyer.
- Meanwhile, don't even mention him as X. - OK.
- You were great. - Thanks.
You blushed. You've improved since rehearsal.
- It's very simple. I was looking for a fox. - Right.
Jesus. It's our own fault.
We train you guys to talk bollocks in the House of Commons and the television studio,
but please spare me the dispatch box stare.
I'm not Leader of the Opposition. I'm an intelligent man.
A fox. Really.
There are foxes on the heath.
It's quite a sight. I like to go there after doing my red boxes.
Simon. Simon... As the Prime Minister's Press Secretary,
you take more confessions than a priest, so I've heard the best lies in the business
and yours is the political equivalent of "the dog ate my homework".
If I were making up a cover story, I'd make up something less ridiculous than this.
- You had scratches and torn clothing. - I was mugged.
Regrettably, these two men stopped to help me. That's how the story got out.
Where's the selfish, uncaring society when you need it?
Simon, do me and yourself a favour.
You're gay.
- It's what we call a "moma". - I'm sorry?
Moment of madness.
That one's a bit inky. Have to think of a new one for your press release.
Minute of misjudgement. Flash of... Well, maybe not flash, but whatever.
Look, call me a leaker, call me a plotter, call me anti-European, but I'm not gay.
Simon, you probably think that being gay is the wrong answer,
which is why you're lying,
but it's the right answer.
The PM's got most of the country now,
but even after a couple of gay Cabinet ministers...
the pink flag doesn't exactly flap for him. So...
We're going to appoint a minister for fudge packers and muff divers -
as the electorate will learn to stop calling them -
except we can't find a gay minister.
- Well, what about? - Mandelson won't take it.
Stereotyping.
But then look what the fox dragged in.
I'm not gay.
Simon, you have 48 hours to decide.
"Out and proud" is the press release I'm planning.
If you're out, you're in, and if you're in...
you're out.
Both "Hello" and "OK" have passed
on the exclusive of Michael and Catherine renewing their vows.
As you say, for obvious reasons.
But there's definite interest on a photo-feature on their second honeymoon.
"Saga Magazine".
(DOOR BUZZES)
("SIMPSONS" THEME ON TV)
- Mr Prentiss? - Indeed. Why don't you come up?
- Ah... Mr Wellington. - How do you do?
Priestly offered to make me some kind of Secretary of State for Same Sexes.
Really? Out of the closet into the Cabinet. He's good, you know.
In fact, he's the only person, apart from myself, I've ever dreamt of being.
Because he's the only PR guy as good as you?
Almost as good.
As if someone would pretend to be queer to be a privy councillor.
Well, for centuries men pretended to be straight for power.
There's something so cutting edge about flipping it.
But you definitely said no to Priestly?
Yes. I couldn't live a lie, Charles. I'm not gay.
Oh, I see. In that case, we've been rather off-piste, haven't we?
So perhaps you should tell me
what you say took place in Hampstead Heath that night
at one o'clock in the morning.
Urban foxes?
Yes. It's the only defence Wellington Boot will wear.
By the time you and I have finished,
the English upper classes will be taking foxes for walks on a lead
instead of chasing them across fields.
I always like to record it myself for our records.
Whatever. When I did Robbie Williams I forgot to put the batteries in
- and the media mummies have hours. - Media mummy?
Jimmy, before we do the heavy blah blah,
we're running this new slot, Celebrity Washbag...
Hold on. Celebrity Washbag wasn't in the pre-nup, Shanti.
Yeah. It was like this morning's brainstormer.
(SNIFFING) Sorry.
Oh, sorry, Shanti. It's just the um...
It's just the hay fever.
I can't take anything for it now. Not even homeopathic shit.
In the clinic, they told me that the stuff you get in Boots can be as bad as Class A.
Though all that Jimmy knows about Class A drugs himself
is that when he was in Plasticine Donkey before he went solo,
there were other people in the band known to have used them.
Media mummy knows best.
All I've got in my washbag is a toothbrush and a razor.
- Can we go off the record? - Whatever.
Thanks. Jimmy, my agency's representing the agency's Safe Sex campaign
and I was wondering if maybe in your washbag...
No way. Diss it, missus.
Never use skins. It's like having a shower with your coat on.
I'm a blister pack girl.
- I think the record company would like it. - OK, media mummy.
These days all I have in my washbag
- is a toothbrush and a wrap of skins. - Pack of condoms.
Thank you.
I'm having trouble with Barrymore. Being on cable makes him feel like a failure.
- He is a failure. - I know, but what can I say to him?
I bought one of those self-help paperbacks once and it had this line in it.
"Failure may seem like a dead end,
"but it's really the slip-road to the freeway of dreams."
But that's bollocks. I can't just tell my client bollocks.
That's your job.
But with the greatest respect, Mr McCabe,
most people simply do not believe that the Health Secretary was looking for foxes.
Absolutely, Kirsty, and I must say I was sceptical myself,
but I have talked to a number of experts,
including the president of the London Fox Club -
a world authority on foxes -
and he assures me that in the greener parts of the metropolis,
fox spotting is the new kite flying.
He puts it down, very largely, to eating disorders.
What, foxes get bulimia?
No, no... I think you may be putting words in my mouth there, Kirsty.
No, it's a question of the fact that we leave too much food - all of us do -
and from the fox's point of view, why bother to dig up Farmer Giles' hen coop
when there's half a ton of organic chicken parmigiano lying about all over Hampstead.
But let's face it, Mr McCabe,
most men on Hampstead Heath at one o'clock in the morning are not looking for foxes.
Well, that may be, and that is my point, Kirsty.
It is the men you have just referred to
who are giving the normal, nocturnal, urban fox spotter a bad name.
In the same way, we know, of course,
that some male public conveniences have a...
what could be called a sociological as well as a urological role,
but that doesn't mean that there aren't men in these conveniences
who are simply having a pee.
There's always a scene in movies where the top cop and the big villain finally meet.
- Colin Priestly. - Maybe I should wash my hands.
The profession we're in, I'd wash them afterwards.
- I really admire your work. - Thank you.
Though I have to say, Charles, on the Simon Wellington business...
When Mr X was unmasked on television, you set that up, didn't you?
I'm told that scenario has been floated on some websites, yes.
It's an interesting spin on events, isn't it?
You know, I sometimes think we over-complicate this job. Don't you?
Charles, you and I know perfectly well
that Wellington was playing dick-sticks on Hampstead Heath that night,
but the whole Basil Brush stunt's just been brilliant.
You know what my kids said to me at breakfast?
"Daddy, can we have a fox?"
I thought, "Colin, you've met your match."
I was really quite down... till I saw this.
It's just some sketch about Wellington on the heath with a man.
This kind of stuff can't hurt us now.
It's not a sketch, it's a transcript.
The blokes who helped Wellington that night weren't passers-by,
they were hacks for the "Daily News".
Been following him around.
Aiming their sound gun at the oak trees.
Did the newspapers give you this or did you give this to the newspapers?
You're so suspicious, Charles. I sometimes think we over-complicate this job. Don't you?
If they had this at the beginning,
why did they let us play the Fantastic Mr Fox for four days?
Ah, I see what you're getting at, but no -
the delay makes it more likely that this is true.
The tabloids won't shoot you in the back if they can get a better angle on your head.
Showing that you're a liar now is a better story than last week.
- They've held this up. - The shitting shits!
Listen...
When "Two Brains" Willetts got into a mess over that memo,
her argued that the world "wants" meant "lacks" in the sense Jane Austen used it.
Yes, but I'm not sure it would be helpful to argue that you "lacked" a blowjob.
No. No sensible man would try to spin this transcript.
But, luckily, this company employs two brains.
This isn't happening and I'm not saying what I'm saying.
Treat this as a little deep background advice.
We've all played Chinese Whispers and I simply remind you
that all a litigious man - and we all know that Mr Wellington is nothing if not that...
All a litigious man has to do is to convince a jury
that some of the phrases in this transcript bear a second meaning -
as opposed, of course, to a double meaning.
OK. What's the double... I mean, second meaning of that?
Well, this raises the precise point.
A sound gun on a windy night struggles to distinguish between two words
which fall similarly on the ear.
Is it possible that the Minister is saying here,
"What's a boy to do to get a fox round here?"
Referring, quite reasonably, to the very quarry that's brought him to the heath.
Third page, four lines from the bottom. Four-letter word beginning "C-O".
Well, my thought again... Could this be a five-letter word beginning "C-O"?
- Which would be? - Copse.
"I like a really big copse."
The other fox spotter is alluding to an area of woodland
in which the animals might gather.
(COLIN) Writing a letter of resignation's always a poignant task...
and I've taken particular care with yours.
This letter is dated and timed 9 a.m. Tomorrow.
How thoughtful. Giving the condemned man time to eat a hearty breakfast.
Simon, I'm offering you a seat in the Cabinet.
As the song so nearly goes, "What a difference a gay makes."
Jimmy, this is Liz De La Mare.
- Elizabeth. - Elizabeth.
- Of the "Observer". - Oh. "Observer" eh? Respect.
I've spent all week talking to "Your First Bra" and fanzines.
Elizabeth, you didn't send the form back.
No. I don't sign pre-nups. Journalistic ethics.
You more or less called Mother Teresa a lesbian.
It's a bit late to be going for the Pulitzer Prize.
If I sign my name on that letter, they'll be the only two words I'll write.
(JIMMY SNIFFS)
Yeah. "Vasectomy of the Soul" was the best album Plasticine Donkey ever made.
In fact, it's probably the best album that anyone's ever made.
- Jimmy, could you take your glasses off? - Who's asking?
- I'm asking. - Bollocks! The CIA told you, didn't they?
But it's fine...
'cause I'm wearing false eyes.
(SNIFFS)
(MOBILE RINGS)
- Jamie. - Jamie, it's Alison,
Hello, Alison. Qué passe?
There may be a problem with Bart,
I don't know anyone who takes drugs,
but he's just asked me to ask the hotel manager to stop it raining,
Does that mean he's back on the stuff?
Mm. That could be just pop star ego. Top end, admittedly, but possible.
OK. I'll give you a quick checklist.
The government will get rid of me if I'm not gay and my wife will get rid of me if I am.
Simon, I'm going to suggest a solution which may shock you as a politician.
Hypocrisy.
You'd be a minister for gays who really, in secret, was straight.
Well, stop all the clocks.
We have a Defence Secretary who used to march for CND,
a Culture Secretary who thinks Picasso can't do faces
and if the Chancellor forgets his calculator the pound collapses.
You're very good at this. You should have gone into politics.
They did ask, but I wanted to work where the real power and money lay.
I'll... I'll talk to my wife.
Ticks for self-obsession, paranoia, dilated pupils and fast speech,
plus he's sniffing like his nostrils have got a sponsorship deal.
A doctor's about to turn up with a specimen bottle. We're finished.
Not necessarily. OK. There's this masking agent.
It's big in the banks in New York. They take it on a Monday morning.
Great. Where can I get it?
You're going to have to score some. Its street name, I think, is Charlie Tippex.
(KEYS TAP)
Colin.
I don't think you'll be needing that any more.
- Sorry. You're too late, mate. - What?
- Bugger! Who is it? - He wouldn't say,
All he said was, "One of my colleagues suddenly remembered that he likes men."
So now he takes your gay seat on the Cabinet. But who?
None of the obvious ones, apparently,
John Prescott's not wearing nipple rings?
When would I see him without his shirt?
(BUZZER)
- Hi. - Hi.
I'm looking for Charlie Tippex.
- Are you? - Yeah.
- I'm not sure if I'm at the right place. - This is Line Up.
- Right. And what exactly do you do? - Who are you, Princess Anne?
- Er, no. - What does it look like?
It looks like a TV production company.
Well, that's what we are, then.
- Right. - Did someone send you?
- Jamie Front gave me the address. - OK.
First, it's not called Charlie Tippex now - the manufacturer objected.
- It's Snow Blind. How much do you want? - Oh, I don't know. A couple of pounds.
- Right. That'll be £30,000. - Right.
But we do take all major credit cards.
No, I was...
- A couple of grams. Is it for Jamie? - No. It's for a friend of mine.
Well, tell your friend that it's all about balance.
The ratio has to be exact. One part Snow Blind for every five parts Charlie taken.
Right.
Good.
- Water, Jimmy? - Ta.
- (KNOCKING) - I'm Dr Dunn.
I think you're expecting me. No, please... Finish your water.
The more goes down, the more comes out.
(SOUND OF URINATING)
- Jimmy, was the test OK? - Yeah. Piece of piss.
(CHARLES) Those offers just came in for you this morning.
Yes... Gay radio stations
and beer ads where the joke is what a failure you are. No, thank you.
Mellor and Portillo made far more money out of office than in.
In a year you could be splashing Priestly's face with the wake from your yacht.
I'm sorry to lose your company's commission, Charles,
but I'm not taking jobs predicated on what a flop I am.
Simon, I know failure must seem like a dead end...
but it could be a slip-road onto the freeway of dreams.
That's complete bollocks, isn't it?
OK. Ann Robinson is now my second biggest mistake.
My biggest mistake, I think, was not to realise
that being really, really, really, really careful doesn't work necessarily
if someone else is being really careful as well.
It's kind of what I want to say.
- What... is it about, like, contraception? - No.
It's about not spiking a rock star's drink with Snow Blind when he's taken it already,
so he's negative for drugs, but almost dies from an overdose of masking agent.
We haven't heard a confession from you, Jamie.
OK, Ali. Um...
My biggest regret is that...
I didn't drag Charles in here to confess to screwing up the Wellington case.
There are some things in life you just can't deny,
Trust me - this is the best beer in the world.