Hacks

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(MIMICS PRINCE PHILIP)

You buggering fool!

Of course I'm Prince Philip!

My God, is this place run

entirely by idiots?

(Thanks, babe.)

Just fax me the bleeding bank

statement, you bloody imbecile!

F*** off, we're not paying that!

Miss Loy!

He texted to everyone!

I've seen more of Ashley's cock

than Cheryl has!

Max, Max, we've got computers

full of Ashley's cock.

We've had to install more memory

to cope with it.

No, it's always that shape. Now,

50k and we might have a conversation.

David Bullingdon, 1984.

No, I'll wait.

Um, sorry. Were you

the cappuccino or the latte?

I was a coffee.

Macchiato?

A coffee. Has no-one heard

of bleedin' coffee any more?

No frothy scum,

no chocolate sprinkles.

No syrup of bollocks.

This is cold!

Max, how can you put a footballer's

knob on the front page?

Boiling is a bonus, hot I like.

Warm, I'll accept.

This is the wrong

side of f***ing tepid!

I wouldn't pay that

if he was juggling oranges

and singing Old Man River!

(WHIMPERS)

(WHIMPERS) Hang on, Max. Face me.

Never let them see you cry.

Men think it's weakness.

You need bigger bollocks

than any of them. Sorry, Max.

She likes you.

The Daily Mail won't have it.

I suppose she had

to like someone one day.

If it's such a great exclusive,

put it on the phone.

Yeah, put Ashley's cock on the phone!

Exactly! So get me Cheryl.

She can talk, she's the story!

Hack 'im? No, I'm blagging, mate.

Anyway, you want pinging.

Juvenile Huntington's chorea?

Has she got a phone?

Look, we're a f***ing tabloid!

You try fitting juvenile

Huntington's chorea in a headline!

(CHATTERING)

I'm hanging up, Max.

I'm hanging up.

Tabby, what you got?

I'm on it, even as you speak.

Three weeks of nothing, Tabby.

Come on! The ginger prince

must have been up to something.

Kate, darling,

even he has quiet weeks!

SONG:
634-5789 by WILSON PICKET If you need a little lovin'

Call on me, all right...

PHONE BEEPS:

And if you want a little huggin'

Call on me, baby

Mm-hmm

Oh, I'll be right here at home

All you got to do is pick up

your telephone and dial, now

6-3-4-5-7-8-9

What's my number?

6-3-4-5-7-8-9...

'I'm sorry, I... '

'I know I'm drunk, but I wouldn't

be drunk if not for you!'

'My maid-of-honour! At least

before it was the au-pairs!'

'It's spread to his bones.

They reckon three months, tops.'

'No, I'm not stalking her.'

'Nine inches, not lying!

Could hang washing on it!'

'Got me an appointment at... '

' Yeah, don't leave messages,

cos I think they're hacking

our voice mails. Oh, hang on.

This is a voice mail, isn't it?'

So, eh, Mrs Whippy.

Does she do the same things

as Fraulein Spank?

More things? Oh!

We should bloody well complain to

the, uh, Press Complaining Council.

'I know it was you. I know it!

You were the only person I told!'

'The coffin was so tiny.'

Gordon, "You saved the world,"

they said to me.

Prime Minister.

Have you met David?

I hear he's after your job.

(THEY LAUGH)

Do you know, Stanhope, I liked Kenny.

As much as you can like

a tabloid editor.

I'm sorry he's going.

Well, he didn't do

what I told him to!

No, he didn't do

what I told him to.

In fact, he was going to

run a story on you, David.

Oh, Stanhope, I don't think I've done

anything that will excite your readers.

Don't ask me. I don't get involved

in all that muck.

Something about drugs,

fancy-dress party, July '89.

At the roof-garden?

(HOARSE LAUGH)

Anyway, enjoy yourselves.

Everyone who's anyone is here.

And Piers Morgan!

They only f***ing laugh at your

jokes cos they're scared, Dad.

I know.

So who are you going to

back at the next election?

Whichever one laughs loudest!

Why not just f***ing deny it?

It's the royals, the police

will take it seriously!

Yeah, but...

They know our Royal Correspondent called

the Prince's phone from our office.

Wrong number? Y'know,

she's got fat fingers and...

So, Oliver Bland.

Who did you have to shag

to become editor of The Comet?

Everyone!

No, it's not officially

been announced yet.

Detective Inspector,

this is Kate Loy.

She's going to be my Deputy Editor.

Hello, Chief Superintendent.

Assistant Commissioner.

Deputy Commissioner.

Nice to see you.

Assistant Chief Constable!

Deputy Assistant Commissioner.

Chief Constable.

So, who's running the Met tonight?

So don't tell me you're taking this

phone-hacking bollocks seriously?

Right, who wants to meet Britain's

most famous Detective Sergeant?

Micah Todd, off the telly!

So I hear the royals

are cutting up rough?

Mr Feast!

Which one is it? The tart,

the poof, or the Nazi?

I won't hear a word

said against the royals.

They always die on a Saturday.

Eh?

Margaret, Diana and the Queen Mum.

We got to break the story

on a Sunday.

PIANO MUSIC:

Listen, Connor says

I should sell the papers.

He says they're dinosaurs.

He said the TV made six billion,

you lot only made 40 million.

Well, as you said at Davos,

to the public, TV is a friend,

but newspapers are family.

In the end we count for more,

as blood is thicker than water.

So you think you're in

with a chance, then?

That's why you had

your little speech ready.

What?

OK, OK. You're the new editor

of The Comet.

But I thought...

It's not decided till I decide.

Do you want to break the bad news

to Oliver or shall I?

Oh, I think I owe it to him

to do it myself.

Katherine Loy,

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