Charles Nevin: Mo, baby, where are these WMDs? Georgie boy, I cannot lie. Elvis has them

Hacks like me spend large amounts of time in the pub fighting off darting-eyed types pressing illicitly obtained transcripts on us

You cannot, in my experience, be too careful on the phone. If only Mo Mowlam had taken the precaution of talking to me first, she would have been spared the embarrassment of transcripts of her conversation with Martin McGuinness – "Martin! ... I'm fighting like fxxx to stay ... I'm gonna dig in ... I'm still chuggin' on Finucane ... OK, babe! ... Take care!" – being splashed all over the popular prints.

I could have warned her that old Fleet Street hands like me spend large amounts of our precious time in the pub fighting off approaches from any number of darting-eyed types pressing illicitly obtained transcripts on us. Why, on Friday alone, I was offered these:

Thursday, 1 May 2003, 4.30pm (BST)

Iain Duncan Smith: "Hi, man, take five, it's like IDSy here."

Tony Blair: "Dunks, babe! You got action? Or are you at grouseville?

IDS: "Grouseville, man. Like, heavy. I gotta say, this gig ain't the soft parade I thought it was gonna be. It's like, a hard rain's not gonna fall, it's falling like now, wow. Best minds of my generation, man."

TB: "Cool, Dunks! Chill! Zen! Motorbikes! Sorry to have laid this thing on you, man, but you were the man, innit, right?

IDS: "Right on. But, like, wow. Wow. What

is this stuff? It's Lebanese Red, man!"

TB: "Cool for you, IDSy. Now what is the problem, like, specific-wise, babe?"

IDS: "Problem? What problem, man?"

TB: "IDSy, turn the King Crimson down, man. You've got a problem? Blunt? May? Davis? Wee Billy? All of them?"

IDS: "The problem? The problem? Well, it's like this, man? Do I really have to keep shaving my head?"

TB: "Too right, man. It's like, for your country. Don't worry, I'll send some cornflakes round. Take care, babe."

Tuesday, 29 April 2003, 7.15pm (EST)

George W Bush: "Mohammed, baby, how's it hanging? It's GW!"

Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf: "Georgie, you old son of a slowly griddling infidel's small intestine in the warmest barbecue pit in hell! What can I do for you? No, no, don't tell me, I treble guarantee you that I know what you want. You wanna surrender!"

GWB: "That's my Mo! Now quit chuggin' around! Mo, I need a favour. Pronto. Where in the name of a fried Texan are all these WMD you were telling me about?"

MSaS: "Georgie, you know Mo. I am like your first Georgie. I cannot tell a lie! Elvis has got them. Take care, babe."

Wednesday, 16 April 2003, 12pm (BST)

Sir Alex Ferguson: "Hullo, yar wee ocht snock baggie givity roerk fiftie-fiftie ball far poost cheese-eetin surrendah munki!"

Arsene Wenger: "Alex, mon cher petit chugger! Tale mee, what kearn ai doo pour vous? Voulez-vous sahm larst meeneet elp weet, ow you say, votre Chreestmas tree formation, n'est-ce pas, babe?"

SAF: "Cee yew Jimmy, title mein woot any hilp fra anay snail munchers errxcept bald coot goalie between yew and me wee bit chuggin worrit aboot, ye ken?

AW: "Oo ees ziz Ken? Fabien, n'est-ce pas? And ow are ze Bex Spaneesh leisons goheeng?"

SAF: "Frigchugbricht! Man on close him down! Only ah snikkit rang to wish ye luck cos ye'll need it chivity bamboozle six up befoah halfff taim! Gotta go now, been ah great honour asked bickety ficklit act as interpeter foar wee Ian McCartney! Adieu, mon vieux babe!"

Thursday, 19 June 1999, 6.30pm (BST)

Mo Mowlam: "Ian! Babe! Rock on! Do the funky chicken!"

Rev Ian Paisley: "What?"

MM: "Ian, babe! It looks like the Big E for Big Mo, babe!"

RIP: "What?"

MM: "Don't worry, Ian, babe! I'm chugging!"

RIP: "I don't know who you are, young woman, and I don't know what chugging is, but it sounds Catholic to me."

MM: "Ian, babe! It's Mo Mowlam!"

RIP: "Dr Mowlam? No surrender! Babe!"

Wednesday, 18 March 1990, 1.15am (GMT)

The Prime Minister: "Hello, big boy!"

Sir Edward Heath: "Chuggin' 'ell! Mags! Wotcher! I was just off for a tinkle on my organ!"

PM: "Cor, I like the sound of that, Eddie, my old china! It's been a bit since we made sweet music together, hasn't it, babe?"

SEH: "Yeah, well, Monday evening does seem a long time ago now, doesn't it, doll? How's about it?"

PM: "Steady, tiger! Discretion! Think of the memoirs!"

SEH: "I don't give a giant panda's chuff! I must see you!"

PM: "Chequers. Back door, Sunday evening. John and Edwina and Sir Roy will be there. Bring your car keys. Take care, babe."