Hey all! This is my first attempt at recapturing the brilliant political satire that is 'The Thick of It'! I've tried to mix up current events with some of the colourful characters from the series as well as making up my own. I'm not so hot on politics so be sure to pick up on any glaring irregularities as well as giving suggestions for Malcolm Tucker's cursing. I've tried to stay original on that regard! Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Malcolm Tucker was not impressed.
Most of the windows in the Home Office were open, the air conditioners were all broken, in an attempt to find relief from the May summer heat. Civil servants sat, unnerved by Malcolm's very presence, trying to gauge his mood from his facial expression. Many were expecting an explosion of profanity that was only befitting of his reputation, only that wasn't quite true; Malcolm only usually provided profanity, only exploding when well and truly pissed off. This time however, he only smiled wryly.
Malcolm Tucker was not impressed, but thankfully for the Home Secretary and anyone within twenty feet of her, Malcolm was not impressed at the announcement of the Tory's lastest pledges for the upcoming general election. "Is that it?" he asked. No one dared answer, as being bollocked by this man is an experience far less than pleasant. "Is that fucking it?" Malcolm asked once more. "Their policies have more fucking holes than a Eastern European brothel."
"Exactly what I thought, Malcolm," agreed Julia Naysmith nervously, the current Home Secretary. The Home Secretary had become a very popular person in the press since she took office during the last cabinet shake up. She barely ever saw Malcolm, which meant that she did her job and did it well. A tall, slender woman with a working class Manchester background, she was famed in the media for being a bit of a looker, as politicians go. "Don't think you're off the hook just yet, sweetheart," Malcolm said ominously. "I still to have a word with you."
Julia's mood sank immediately. Word of the Conservative's patchy-at-best policy announcement wasn't enough to just make Malcolm leave. That was his way; once he was in for the kill, he went straight for the jugular. "Shall we take this to my office then, Malcolm?" Julia asked.
"Aye, fine then. Off you fucking pop," Malcolm said, almost playfully. The Director of Communications followed Julia to her office while she ran over the possible scenarios for Malcolm's unplanned visit. He certainly didn't come just to catch the announcement of Tory policy on their television. As far as she was aware, Julia hadn't done anything wrong but Malcolm's all seeing, all penetrating eye was more than inquisitive enough to notice even the most minor of scruples.
"Take a seat," Julia said once they had arrived in her office. Once sat, she asked, "So Malcolm, what can I do for you today? Would you like some tea, coffee?"
"A fucking ice bath maybe. Your air conditioning fucking broken or something?" Malcolm asked.
"Well observed," Julia said, remembering that throwing some light abuse Malcolm's way might delay the inevitable pounding of abuse.
"Well, the least you could do is provide some buckets for my armpits. They're like the fucking Niagara Falls in this fucking heat," Malcolm said. Being Scottish, he wasn't too fond of the heat and with the summer looking like a really hot one, Malcolm often found he wore a coat of sweat along with his suit jacket.
"So anyway, what brings you here Malcolm?" Julia asked tentatively, hoping not to wake up the rabid dog by poking it with a stick.
"I'm here to congratulate you," Malcolm said plainly.
"Is that it?" Julia blurted.
"Yeah, that's it," replied Malcolm.
Julia sat back in her seat, blew a sigh a relief and said, "For fuck's sake Malcolm, here I was thinking you're pining for blood or something!"
"No, no, no darling, if I felt like crushing some skulls I would have done that already," Malcolm said in his version of reassurance. "The PM is very happy with your work in the run-up. You've made the Shadow Home Secretary look like a pickled fucking gangrened scab which is quite a feat, given the initial warm feelings towards the opposition's proposals for shaking up the Home Office."
"So what are you bloody here for Malcolm, apart from making me think that you're not really you?" Julia inquired.
"Can't believe I'm here just to give you a fucking pat on the head?" Malcolm asked with a coy smile.
"Bluntly, no, I can't. You always at least maim somebody when you visit a department, especially unannounced like this."
Malcolm's smile swiftly disappeared, replaced by a pained expression. Julia immediately become worried and tense. "Well, the thing is, it's more to do with a certain person you're associated with than you yourself," Malcolm said.
"For crying out loud, not this whole Matt Harper thing again?" Julia asked.
"Yes, this whole, Lord Matthew Harper thing again!" Malcolm said. "Look, like it or not, Harper cocked up big time when the Daily fucking Mail got him accepting bribes to influence the democratic fucking process. The only reason I didn't fucking lynch him with my shoelaces there and then was that a turd on the side of the road had a better fucking reputation than the Labour party at the time with the whole expenses clusterfuck."
Malcolm quickly cleared his throat and continued. "So in conclusion, you need to cut off all ties with that corrupt piece of goat shit."
"Malcolm, you know my husband's an old friend of his!" Julia exclaimed. "I can't just ask him to not speak to him anymore!"
"That's exactly what I want you to do," Malcolm said. "I don't give two shits about this 'once at Oxbridge, always at Oxbridge shit'; your husband just needs to sever all ties with the prick."
"I can't believe you're asking me to do this," Julia said, no longer able to look Malcolm in the eye.
"Look sweetheart, your political career has been immaculate so far. That's better than 99 point 9 percent of the tossers out there who call themselves politicians. But this Lord Harper cunt threatens to be a big, fucking shitstain across that clean record of yours and trust me, this shitstain will be very, fucking hard to clean off and very, very smelly."
Julia blew a sigh of exasperation and put her face into her hands. "There's nothing you can do?" she asked.
"Look, I've tried my best to make you look all innocent in the whole fucking expenses debacle and I almost succeeded until the fucking Daily Telegraph took a fucking picture of your husband and Darth Harper playing fucking golf together, being all buddy-buddy and touching knobs and all that shite," Malcolm explained. "There is enough dirt there for a conservatives to build a fucking mountain in your yard and that is why you are going to release a statement that your husband and Lord Harper had a falling out over his dodgy political practices by the end of the week. If you do that, your record stays fucking squeaky clean. Hell, I'll even fucking get on my knees and spit shine it for you if you get this done. If you get this done."
"That's not all, is it though? You'll actually want my husband not to see him," Julia noted.
"That goes without saying, love. They can do all they want for all I fucking care, when and I mean when, the elections are done with and the general public believe all politicians are saints again."
Julia blankly stared across her office for a moment before looking Malcolm right in the eyes. "There's no other course of action?" she asked.
"I'm sorry, no," Malcolm replied. "You need to distance yourself from Lord Harper. Lock him in your fucking basement and throw away the key, whatever. The Conservatives will use your husband's ties to Lord Harper to try and bring you into disrepute. This kind of thing so close to elections will be all over the front pages faster than a high resolution photo of Katie Price's disease ridden minge. We can't risk it, sweetheart, we just can't. I wish the stupid fucker had just resigned his post and saved us the hassle of picking up the droppings after he shits everywhere but unfortunately, at the time, we couldn't sack him and unfortunately, he is still a member of our esteemed party. This is your one and only option."
Julia Naysmith gave out one final sigh before saying, "Fine, I'll tell my husband the score. Gordon better fucking appreciate this."
"Listen, I fucking appreciate this, all right? It isn't easy darling but with it being so close to elections, the shit has to be caught and flushed away before it gets anywhere near the fan," Malcolm said.
"Okay, okay, I get it Malcolm. I'll get it done by tomorrow. It'll be on BBC News before you know it," Julia said before standing up and pacing about the rear of her office.
"Glad to hear it. That's why you're our number 1 cabinet minister," Malcolm said. "Right, I'm off to rape the Education Secretary right in the nostrils. You keep up the good work, Julia."
Malcolm's apparent aura of evil seemed to linger even after he left which left Julia stranded in her seat for five minutes. Eventually, when the balance of her office had returned to normal, she went out into the pens that housed the civil servants of the Home Office and yelled, "Gabby, Thomas, get over here!"
"Yes Minister?" asked Gabby Williams, a woman in her forties who thought she had seen it all in the civil service. Short and unremarkable, she was not somebody who stood out or tried to do so. She was the same in her work and tried to do everything by the book. Alongside her was Thomas Adams, a young Cambridge graduate from Buckinghamshire who would be the dictionary definition of posh if possible. He often bemoaned his failure to achieve anything more than being a civil servant with his English degree from Cambridge and despite his obvious ability to get things done, he would always complain first.
"Draft me a statement. I need it done quickly," Julia said.
"What would the subject matter be, may I ask?" Thomas enquired.
"Oh shit, yes!" Julia cursed. "Um, the business with Lord Matthew Harper. Say in no uncertain terms that my husband is binning him."
"'Binning', him?" Thomas asked with a raised eyebrow.
"No longer friends with, no longer associates with, something like that! What was it Malcolm said?" Julia wondered out loud.
"Was it something Malcolm said to get you this flustered?" Gabby inquired.
"What do you think, Gabby?!" Julia snapped. "Sorry, didn't mean to yell at you."
"No problem minister," Gabby said.
"You were saying what Malcolm had said?" Thomas pressed.
"Um, had a falling out over Lord Harper's political practices, that was it!" Julia said. "Stop any work you were doing. Just work on this statement and have it handed into my office by the end of the day."
"Yes Minister," Gabby said before walking back to her desk.
"Um, about the air conditioning?" Thomas asked.
"For Christ's sake Thomas, deal with it! None of us are keeping cool either, in both senses of the bloody word!" Julia cried before retreating back to her office. She had enough of Malcolm Tucker to last her a lifetime and hopefully this would be it from him until after the election.
Julia's statement had gone off without a hitch and Malcolm felt like the week was coming to a good end with Labour looking like they had a slim lead in the polls. With three weeks until election day, he needed every piece of good news possible to keep his blood pressure from going Chernobyl. "Thanks Sam," he said to his secretary as she handed him a portfolio and a cup of tea. He skimmed through the documents, mainly reports on all the ministers and front bench MP's, making sure that everybody was keeping to the party line, up to and including every bit of punctuation. Any deviation would be dealt with severely. Thankfully, everything seemed to be going well and Julia Naysmith's statement seemed to have gone well with the press. She was one of the few politicians that escaped the MP's expenses fiasco unscathed and it seemed the press and the public genuinely liked her. Keeping it that way would help Labour's election bid to no end.
"Malcolm?" said Sam after knocking on his office door.
"Yes Sam?" Malcolm asked.
"Jamie McDonald is here to see you. He says it's urgent."
"Send him in then."
Jamie McDonald, Number 10's senior press office was also known as the 'crossest man in Scotland', quite the reputation given that he worked alongside Malcolm Tucker often. "Have you fucking seen what that cunt Harper's went and fucking done?" Jamie asked, his face tomato red.
"Oh for fuck's sake. Has he thrown the toys out the fucking pram?" Malcolm muttered.
"He's thrown the babies out of the fucking pram, fed them to a fucking hippopotamus and then fucking bludgeoned the hippo to death with the cunting pram, that's what he's went and fucking done," Jamie replied, switching on the television in Malcolm's office.
Lord Harper was giving a live and exclusive interview to Sky News as they were speaking. "So you're saying that this statement was Labour engineered spin?" asked the news anchor.
"Julia Naysmith's statement is Labour engineered spin. I have a perfectly amicable relationship with Robert Naysmith, her husband. It is well publicised that we went to Oxford together and we play golf together often. The government are simply hanging me out to dry which is shocking, coming from my own party. I expected more," Lord Harper answered.
"Did you fuck expect more you treacherous wee shite!" Malcolm yelled.
"He's turning into a right cunt, he is," Jamie agreed.
"But what of the allegations of corruption directed towards you? Surely that's affected your standing within the Labour party?" the news anchor enquired.
"If I had done anything wrong, my party would have done something about it. This is the work of the government trying to manipulate even their own cabinet ministers and their family. I know both Robert and Julia and as friends of mine they would not allow this without a fight. What you're seeing is the spin of Malcolm Tucker in an underhanded attempt to gain favour in the election run-up. As of today, I am resigning my post as a peer from the House of Lords and wiping my hands clean of the Labour party as I can no longer support a party that forces their own ministers to go against their friends. If the government is willing to manipulate their own ministers, then what do you think they will do to the public and the voters?"
Malcolm's face contorted into an abominable grimace and said, "I am going to rip that cunt's fucking spine right out of his throat and shove it so far up his fucking arse that I puncture his fucking lungs!"
"Is there a chance that he'll lack enough credibility to get this to run?" Jamie asked.
"I didn't think he had enough credibility to fucking breathe but these Sky News cunts seem to be eating it up. Just about anything could fucking happen in the run-up. What do you reckon?" Malcolm said.
"We might get the Independent, the Guardian, maybe the Mirror to call this guy the fucking twatbag that he is. There's a good chance the Mail and the Telegraph with try to rape us with this shite, maybe even the Times," Jamie said. "And trust anything owned by Rubert fucking Murdoch will try to royally fuck us right up the shitter with this."
"Jesus fuck!" Malcolm cursed. "Right, I need you working until you starting sweating kidneys on this Jamie. I want first editions of tomorrow's papers so hot I could brand a fucking cow with them."
"I'll get on that Malcolm. What the fuck are you going to do though?"
"I'm going to get Julia Naysmith to keep her trap and the trap of that cunt husband of hers shut. They can't get involved, no fucking way. Next, I'm going to find the nearest double-ended fucking dildo so I can shove it twelve inches right into Lord Harper's fucking eye socket! He needs to be fucking silenced. Not another word can come from him."
"Malcolm, he's resigned his post. What could you do to silence him?" Jamie asked.
"He's trying to bring down Julia Naysmith and me with him. That's still party fucking politics if I'm not mistaken. And don't worry, there will be no shortage of buses to run his fat arse over; all fucking driven by me!"