We are definitely talking about our mutual sexual excapades when shit's hit the fan. [He removes his head from Apollo's shoulder then, stretching his legs out and his hands above his head before resuming his attempt at burrowing himself into the sofa.]

He doesn't want to paint a target on our backs, but we've already got a target. The way I see it, the sooner we're all brainstorming away in London and forcing him to do something, the better.