"I'm afraid Foley is that sort of person," Tarrant said again, regretfully.
She opened the oven door to check the roast. "He's the sort of person who brings out the worst in me," she said angrily, "so just go back and tell him he can take his wretched bits of paper, unsigned, and stuff them up his ministerial arse."
Tarrant looked shocked. "You surely don't mean that, Modesty?"
"No, I'll amend it," She began to baste the potatoes. "Tell him to roll them up tightly, set fire to them, and then stuff them up."
Tarrant gave a long sigh, beamed with pleasure, and took a notebook from his pocket. "I must write that down to make sure I have it quite correct," he said happily. "I was hoping I might goad you to a little rare vulgarity."
She closed the oven door and stared. "What are you up to?"
He was writing carefully. "This is so much better than any protest of mine could have been. Now let me see ... roll them up tightly, wasn't it? The point is, I have to meet with Foley and the P.M. tomorrow to make a final report on this matter. Now, when you give an account of a conversation to Foley he won't accept a paraphrase, but has a habit of interrupting with the words, 'Yes, but what exactly did he say?'" Tarrant paused and looked up, "Was it stick it up or stuff it up, Modesty?"