Reporter to reporter 2 about to throw something at her: If you touch me I will cry rape.
Editor commenting on another editor’s baggy trousers: I could clothe a Ugandan village with all that extra material.
Editor: How can you be Italian, you don’t even eat pasta?
Editor talking to giggling reporters: It’s like it’s wet playtime at school and you’re trying to teach but everyone’s too excited because they’ve been inside all day.
Reporter: That’s cause you’re a spastic.
Editor: You can’t call them that anymore, you have to call them scopes.
Editor talking about the general strike: Can you imagine if we stroked?
Editor talking to other editor who asked him to repeat himself: Tune in or fuck off.
Editor: It’s like crack cocaine for fruit lovers, but a lot cheaper – 18 for a pound. Maybe that’s where the old NHS’s drug programme is going wrong, fucking get them off the drugs and on to satsumas.
Reporter: Has anyone ever been awarded a sainthood while they were alive?
Editor: Only that Canon dude, but he was dead.
Editor1: What the hell are you doing?
Editor2: I’m just sat here dressed as Santa, I don’t see any cause for alarm.
Editor1: I should have been a singer.
Editor2: Yeah you could have been in a new five-piece boyband called Twat.
Editor commenting on writing in a colleague’s birthday card: I had to write really big cause there’s no staff left.
Editor discussing the Christmas decorations: I think we’ve lost a few bits.
Reporter: Yeah, from your heads.
Editor: Aww don’t be nasty about little [colleague], I know he’s a moron but he’s our moron.
Editor looking through an agenda: Not this fucking meeting again. Making everything fucking count. Go fuck yourself.
Reporter to colleague: It’s alright, he’s going through a breakdown. I expect him to be shampooing dogs by the end of the day.
Reporter picking up editor’s gloves: I’m going to rub these against my genitals.