Episode 6 – Towering Alan

Alan is in the studio, finishing his morning show:

Alan to his listeners: That was Japan. The effeminate futurists, from the 80’s. With “Life Can Be Cruel in Tokyo”. It’s certainly congested. I’d love to go. In the meantime, it’s seven o’clock. Oh, Guv’nor, he;s got me bang to rights, it’s Chief Constable Dave Clifton of Scotland Yard’s very own plainclothes pop force.
Dave: Yes. Good morning, Alan…
Alan: Whoa, let me finish. Hello, hello, hello.
Dave: Yeah, I think your splidding hairs a little bit there Alan.
Alan: Sorry, splidding?
Dave: Yeah, splidding, you know.
Alan: Sorry, it’s difficult to understand you when you say splidding. Because I know in real life you say “splitting”. It’s interesting the way you substitute a “d” for  a “t” when you’re broadcasting. If you ask me, it’s the behaviour of a dosser.
Dave: A dosser?
Alan: Yes. A dosser and a dwad.
Dave: Alan Partridge there…
Alan: There are others, aren’t there. There’s did-head,  and there’s dalendless shid. And if rumours are to be believed, you’re back on the boddle.
Dave: Err, this is “Einstein A Go Go”.
Alan: Gid. That’s git.

Alan is back at the Travel Tavern letting himself into his room, where Lynn is already there, preparing for his day:

Lynn: Just let myself in. Needed the toilet.
Alan: Well, close the door. So, err, everything all right?
Lynn: Just a bit of tummy trouble.
Alan: No, I mean generally. Not specifically the toilet.
Lynn: Oh, yes, everything’s fine.
Alan: Good. Right, so what have you been doing?
Lynn: Oh well, I’ve been getting your clothes ready for the country show. And doing a bit of tidying.
Alan: Tidying? What do you mean, tidying?
Lynn: I just did the bed. I didn’t go near, your draw.
Alan: Good.
Lynn: By the way, they’d like you to judge the vegetable competition. [Alan is now sporting a gilet] Very manly, it works.
Alan: All I need now, it a shotgun. Both barrels, BANG! You’d hit the wall. Good thing about this is it has the appearance of a bullet-proof vest, so any fanatics would be put off altogether, or they’d simply go for a head shot. In which case I won’t even know it’s happened.
Lynn: Alan, I’ve told you a thousand times, no one wants to kill you. It defies sense. Why?
Alan: Because I’m a soft target. They’re not going to go for the Prime Minister, he’s surrounded by bouncers. Yet everyone knows I will be in Swaffham at 3pm, outside the vegetable tent.
Lynn: Your mind’s flying.
Alan: Of course my mind’s flying, Lynn. I’ve been living in a hotel for 26 weeks! 182 days in a Travel Tavern! See this, look. Sanitary bags. They put these in my room every day. They know I’m a man. I keep loose Werther’s Originals in them. Look at this, seen this. That is 182 bottles of body lotion. I was going to sell them in a car boot sale.
Alan: I can’t remember what it’s like to dial a number from a telephone without hitting nine first. Hello? Reception? Sorry, I must have hit a zero.
Alan: Lynn, I was at a friend’s house the other night. I was trying to make a phone call. I thought there was something wrong with the phone. I’d been hitting nine, Lynn! I felt like a ruddy idiot. I just left. I couldn’t stay there after that.
Lynn: Would you like a Horlicks?
Alan: Yes, please. [Lynn opens one of Alan’s desk drawers] Not in that drawer.

Sophie arrives at Alan’s room with a box of stuff from his ex-wife:

Sophie: Hello, Mr Partridge. Everything all right with the room?
Alan: Yes, marvellous.
Sophie: This box arrived for you.
Alan: Oh, super. I’ve been trying to get my hands on this box off Carol for months.
Sophie: Is that you?
Alan: No. That’s my daughter, Denise. Bit of a rebel. What’s so funny?
Sophie: Nothing. It’s just that she really really looks like you.
Alan: Yeah, well it’s not me. Have I got a pierced naval?
Sophie: I don’t know.
Alan: Well, I haven’t.
Alan: Oh, great. Nigel Rees’ Book of Humorous Graffiti.  This is the Koran for that after-dinner speaker. A quick tip for you, Sophie. If you’re ever doing an after-dinner speech, you say, “My Lords, Ladies and gentlemen. Sorry I’m late, I just popped to the toilet. And while I was in there I saw some graffiti and it said ‘I used to be indecisive, but now I’m not so sure’”. Straight away you’ve for them by the Jaffas. It’s witty. Not like a lot of the graffiti you see these days in toilets. It’s just crude. Like, you know, touch my this. Suck my such and such. Something all over my whatever.
Sophie: My penis is so and so.
Alan: Yeah. There we go Lynn. Tony Hayers. I tell you Sophie, you’ve not witnessed pure evil until you’ve looked into the eyes of a man who’s just cancelled your second series.
Sophie: I think he looks quite nice.
Lynn: The devil can take many forms.
Alan: All right, Lynn. She’s a member of a Baptist Church. I think there a bit…
Sophie: Sorry about saying penis earlier.
Alan: Don’t worry about that. Trapped her finger in a car door once. She swore like a docker.
Sophie: I brought you some more stationery. I’ll just put it in the drawer.
Alan: I’d rather you didn’t.
Sophie: Are you all right for body lotion?
Alan: Yeah, sure. I’ve got 182 bottles.

Alan is at the Swaffham Country Fayre judging the vegetable competition and acting as compere for the show:

Alan over the speaker system: Clydesdale horse. 12 hands high. Hands of course, the ancient system for measuring horses that’s been around since medieval times. Of course, tape measures in those days were viewed with suspicion. Anyone who could unfurl 15 feet of thin sheet metal from a pocket-sized box, would have been killed as a witch. It’s tragic to think that girls, some as young as the ones holding balloons over there, would have been burnt at the stake. May god have mercy on their souls.

Alan is judging the vegetables in a tent:

Alan: A nice tray of plums there. Just put “nice plums”.
Alan: This is lovely, this. It’s sort of like an old lady’s hair. An old lady’s blonde hair. Quite attractive. I mean, put that down as a plus point.
Alan: These are nice. Got a nice kind of glossy finish. I knew a bloke who had fingers like that once. He’s dead now. An Irish navvy. Angina. Wasn’t pleasant.
Alan: Cabbages. Don’t like cabbages at all. Come one. Let’s get through this lot. They’re all rubbish, so take your pick.
Alan: And I’m not sure about these.  Because, I don’t know whether this protrusion is a good or bad thing. Actually, this would make a very good murder weapon. Because you could beat someone to death, then eat the evidence. I’m sure Agatha Christie’s probably already thought of that one. The onion mystery. The onion murders. Good idea for a programme. Not that the BBC would commission it. They wouldn’t know a good idea, if I hit them over the head with it, and then ate the evidence.

Alan is back compering:

Alan over the speaker system: Fire! Fire! The fair’s on fire! I’m joking, of course it’s not. But that’s the kind of thing you can see from…err, what are they called. The local fire brigade, I don’t know the district, in tent four. My own tip is never throw water on a fat fire. It’ll take your face off.
Alan over the speaker system: The stocks are now open for custard-pie throwing. I tell you who’d I’d like to put in the stocks, Tony Hayers. He is the Chief Commissioning Editor of BBC Television. And it wouldn’t be custard pies I’d be throwing at him either. I’d like to throw cabbages, hot Bovril and gravel. I don’t know if you are familiar with BBC commissioning policy, they are obliged to contract… you’re not even listening are you? You people. I’m going. It’s all wrapping up in about an hour anyway, so I don’t think you’ll miss me. Thank you. Goodbye.

Alan is back in the Travel Tavern, where Lynn is spending some time ‘doing the catalogues’:

Alan: Hello, Lynn.
Lynn: Oh, sorry. I was just doing the catalogues.
Alan: Let’s have a look. Looking at the big girdle section? Interesting isn’t it that these women are technically models. Where do they get these men from? Who smiles at a Black & Decker Workmate for goodness sake?
Lynn: How did the country show go, Alan?
Alan: I walked off.
Lynn: Who’s upset you this time?
Alan: Just, people. I just hate the general public.

Alan receives a phone call from Sue Cook:

Alan to Sue: Hello, Sue. It’s Alan. Sue, take the fag out of your mouth, I can’t tell what you’re saying. What, really? Oh, my god!
Alan to Lynn: Tony Hayers is dead.
Lynn: Yes!
Alan: He fell off the roof of his house, trying to remove an aerial. Broke his neck.
Alan to Sue Cook: So who’s replaced him as Head of Programmes? Chris Feathers? That’s an interesting choice. Right. I mean, he’s definitely dead? Right. Presumably, there’s going to be some sort of funeral? They’re cremating him? Good, good. Right. And will Chris Feathers be at the funeral? Right, right. Can you hold on a minute Sue?
Alan to Susan: Chris Feathers likes me. He likes me! He used to flirt with Lynn all the time. Mind you, that was 20 years ago.
Alan to Sue Cook: Right. I think I’ll be going along, yes. Well, it’s the least I can do. All right, thanks Sue. You can puff away now.
Alan to Lynn: Kiss my face!

Alan is at the funeral service for Tony Hayers:

Alan: Chris. Chris Feathers. Hi.
Chris: Alan, how are you?
Alan: Well, very well. Well, I mean considering.
Chris: Oh, yes. Brilliant man.
Alan: Oh, yes. He had a second-class honours degree in media studies from Loughborough University. What a waste.
Chris: Did you know they’ve asked me to take over Tony’s job as Chief Commissioning Editor?
Alan: I had heard something. Can I…?
Chris: Just two minutes
Alan: Right.
Alan to Jane Hayers: Jane.
Jane: Thank you for coming.
Alan: Can I offer you my deep, deep, despair on this very bad day.
Jane: Thank you.
Alan: I mean, how are you coping?
Jane: Oh, well, terrible really. We’d booked to go on holiday next week.
Alan: Bugger!
Jane: He’d have been 41 next month.
Alan: Oh, god. All those people who go around saying life begins at 40. They’re notable by their absence. The nerve. Where you close?
Jane: He was my husband.
Alan: Yes, yes, of course. What was he doing on the bloody roof?
Jane: He was getting the aerial down because we were moving.
Alan: Yeah, I know. I was being rhetorical. Did he actually bring the aerial down with him?
Jane: Yes, he did.
Alan: Comforting to know that the last thing he did was an act of kindness.
Jane: Thank you for the travel clock.
Alan: Oh, you got it. Littlewoods are very quick, aren’t they?
Jane: They are, yes.
Alan: Anyway, commiserations. Hang on in there. I’m sure you’ll bounce back. If there’s anything I can do, just ask. Apart from heavy lifting. Got a bit of a bad back. [Alan’s phone starts to ring] Shall I leave that?
Jane: Yes, I think so.
Alan: I’d better answer it. Hello, Partridge.
Jane: Can you go outside?
Alan: All right. Oh, Curry’s, great. No, I was just talking to a widow. Now look, I want two speakers for an Alba stereo system. Hello? Battery.
Chris: Peter, hello. Oh, Alan, have you met Peter? He’s just revamped our News and Current Affairs.
Alan: Chris…
Chris: Just two minutes.
Peter: Bad day.
Alan: Yeah, yeah. Hmm.
Peter: Ironic, really. He worked in television his whole life, died getting an aerial off a roof. So in the end, it was television that killed him.
Alan: Yep. Very good that. Have you got a battery for an Ericsson?
Peter: No. I wonder if he’s up there now, looking down on us.
Alan: What, on the roof? Oh, I see. You mean in heaven with the apostles.
Peter: The interesting thing about News and Current Affairs…
Alan: Would it be terribly to stop listening to you and go and speak to somebody else?
Chris: Jane.
Alan: Chris?
Chris: Oh, Alan. Have you met Jane?
Alan: Yeah, I’ve done her.
Chris: Oh, good.
Alan: Chris, can I…?
Chris: Just two minutes.
Alan: He keeps saying that. Just trying to think of something to say.
Jane: Well, there’s nothing to say.
Alan: Well…
Jane: No. There’s nothing to say.
Alan: Well, hang on, hang on. It’s all, a pain in the arse, isn’t it? Have you got a battery for an Ericsson?
Jane: No!
Alan: Of course, of course not.
Jane: Is something the matter?
Alan: Erm,  I want to go and talk to him over there.
Jane: Well, go and talk to him then!
Alan: Thank you.
Alan: Chris, can we have a chat?
Chris: Yes, of course Alan. Dreadful business.
Alan: Oh, awful, awful business.
Chris: Tell you what, can you see me tomorrow in the office?
Alan: I’d love to.
Chris: I need to pick your brains.
Alan: Pick away, pick away.
Chris: You’ve got the common touch.
Alan: Thank you.
Chris: You’ve been away too long. Alan, I want you back on the telly.
Alan: Jurassic Park! That is fantastic. Great.
Chris: The old team, eh?
Alan: Absolutely, yeah.
Chris: Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.
Alan to a church goer: Terrible new, terrible news. [Leave the church singing] Life isn’t everything…

Alan is back in the Travel Tavern, after going out an upgrading his stereo system to a Bang & Olufsen:

Alan: Life, it’s the name of the game and I want to play that game with you. Ba ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba  ba ba  ba-ba. Ba-rama ba-da ba-da, ba-ba ba.
Susan: How was your…
Alan: BAM!
Susan: How was your day, Alan?
Alan: I went to a funeral, which was very sad. And then I popped into Hi-Fi Serious to pick up a top-of-the-range Bang & Olufsen stereo system. Do you like it?
Susan: Well, it’s in a box, Alan.
Alan: A bit like Tony Hayers. Susan, will you go out with me?
Susan: No.
Alan: Would you go out with me if I was younger and more attractive?
Susan: Erm, yes. I think I probably would.
Alan: I’d better go and build that time-travel gymnasium then. I’ll come back aged 25, built like a brick shit-house. Then you’ll kiss me.
Susan: If you’ll excuse me a moment, Alan. I have to leave the desk unattended.
Michael: Hello, Mr Partridge. I’m gonna have to make two trips, man. I keep dropping bits of it. I’ll go and get your other bits and pieces.
Ben: Bang & Olufsen? Wow, that’s serious, man. Whose is it?
Alan: It’s mine.
Ben: I didn’t know you were into music. I know you’re a DJ, but I’ve heard your show.
Alan: Yeah, I like all the bands. I’ve got a broad taste,  from the Brit-pop bands like UB40, Def Leppard, right back to classic rock, like Wings.
Ben: Who’s Wings?
Alan: They’re only the band The Beatles could have been.
Ben: Well, I love The Beatles.
Alan: Yeah, so do I.
Ben: What’s your favourite Beatles album then?
Alan: Tough one. I think I’d have to say, The Best of The Beatles.
Ben: Gum?
Alan: Yeah, cheers. So who’s your favourite singer then?
Ben: Oh, anything really, you know. Frank Sinatra. Kurt Cobain.
Alan: Who’s he?
Ben: Nirvana. Blew his head off with a gun?
Alan: Why?
Ben: He was depressed.
Alan: Why? Were they not very good?
Ben: No, they were great.
Alan: Oh. Someone should have told him.

Alan is in BBC Television centre for his meeting with Chris Feathers:

Alan: So, Chris, what’s your strategy?
Chris: God alone knows, Alan.
Alan: Can I say one word to you? Streamlining.
Chris: That’s, sacking people.
Alan: Well, basically, yeah.
Chris: Well, where do I start?
Alan: Who was that man who was boring me at the funeral?
Chris: Oh, Peter Linehan? Well, he’s just revamped News and Current Affairs.
Alan: Yeah, but he’s finished revamping it now. So, give him a painting of a Spitfire, and let him go.
Chris: OK.
Alan: And err, Susan Pickardy? You know her?
Chris: Oh yeah, documentaries. Feminist with the flat chest. [Referring to Lynn] She doesn’t have that problem, does she?
Alan: No. [Lynn folds he arms to cover her chest] Don’t crush them, Lynn!
Chris to Lynn: How are you? Did you get married?
Lynn: No.
Chris: I got divorced, oh well.
Alan: I’m sure Lynn would be happy to go for a drink with you. If that’ll help things?
Lynn: Yes, yes.
Alan: Do you want to make a note of that, Lynn. Go for drink with Head of Programmes. Great. Well, let’s get down to business. Can we talk about… ME!
Chris: Yeah, All right. What can I do for you?
Alan: Right. Bottom line, Chris. I want a six-month contract at the BBC to make television programmes.
Chris: No, Alan. I’m not going to give you a six-month contract.
Alan: You’re just like all the rest, aren’t you? You sit there on your fat spotty behind, in a dead man’s chair, leching at her like a piece of meat…
Chris: Alan, Alan, Alan! I’m not going to give you a six-month contract, because I have prepared a five-year one.
Alan: Uh? That’s brilliant.
Chris: £200,000 a year.
Alan: That’s a million pounds! Jurassic Park. I’m sorry for saying you were fat before. I just mean you’re big boned.
Chris: That’s all right. How about celebrating. Let’s get a bottle of Bolly!
Alan: Sod that, let’s have some champagne. On me. Go on, Lynn. Go and get it.
Chris: Right then [Chris begins to sign the contract, starts to gasp then keels over his desk]
Alan: I suppose you want to check the small print. [Gets no reaction from Chris] Come on, Chris. You must have seen a dozen contracts like that.
[Chris falls to the side, pen in hand] Oh, no! Oh, no. Chris? CHRIS? Oh, God! Erm. Hello, Chris. Are you dead? Oh, God.
[Alan picks up the phone to dial for help, notices that Chris hasn’t signed the contract] Just, not finished signing it there. [Takes Chris’ hand and starts to sign the contract] Just like that. Tedious, all this contract business. Oh, you’ve got the date wrong there. Just initial that. And my copy. Here’s to the future. Sorry.

Alan is back in his room at the Travel Tavern, he has a prepared a goodbye party for the staff:

Alan to Lynn [Looking at the banner he has made]: Do you think that’s all right? Not too sentimental? Excellent. Do you want to put something on?
Lynn: Oh, yes.
Alan: I’ll just go and check the party bags. [The theme music from “Black Beauty” begins to play] What’s this, Lynn?
Lynn: It’s the theme tune from “Black Beauty”.
Alan: It’s brilliant. [There’s a knock at the door]
Alan: Hello. Ah, Michael.
Michael [Holding a large bottle of Scrumpy]: Aye aye, Mr Partridge.
Alan: Michael, do you want me to take that?
Michael: No, no. I’ve had a fair bit already. I’ll stick with it, man.
Alan: That’s fine. But it does preclude you from the alcohol that I’ve provided.
Michael: Oh, you’re all right. I’m all right with the Scrumpy!
Alan: That’s a nice shirt.
Michael: Aye. I got married in this. Do you like it? I got it from Manilla.
Alan: I didn’t know you were married.
Michael: Aye. I married a Filipino lassie, like. Didn’t work out. She didn’t like Newcastle, and she didn’t fit in with the culture.
Alan: What, as she gone back home?
Michael: No. She moved to Sunderland. She’s shacked up with me brother.
Alan: Oh, right.
Lynn: Michael, would you like a miniature scotch egg?
Michael: Oh, not for me, pet. I’ve got meself a steak and kidney pie. Oh look at that, I’ve gone and sat on the bastard. Would you believe it. [There’s another knock at the door, it’s Mike Sampson, a kitchen salesman who is staying at the hotel]
Mike: Hello.
Alan: Ahh, come in.
Mike: Thank you very much.
Alan: Want a glass of wine?
Mike: Thank you very much, cheers.
Alan to Lynn: What’s he doing here?
Lynn: You said invite a guest.
Alan: Lynn, that’s just a phrase. I didn’t mean it.
Mike: Nice room.
Michael: So, who are you?
Mike. Oh, err, Mike Sampson. Pleased to meet you.
Michael: Oh, hey. I’m Michael an; all. So err, have you got a job?
Mike: Oh, yes, yes. I supply fitted kitchens. The funny thing is, that I’ve been in the business for 15 years, but I cant actually cook! You see a cookery book here, wouldn’t be much use to me!
Michael: Mr Partridge, he said he sells kitchens, right, for 15 year, but he cant cook.
Alan: I know, I heard him.
Michael: Then, right. He sees the cook book and he says “It’d be nee good to me that, would it”
Alan: I know, I heard him.
Michael: Ah, come on. Lighten up, you stuffy git. [There’s another knock at the door, it’s the rest of the hotel staff]
Alan: Oh, the cavalry. Come on it. Great. Look at the sign there. It says “Thank you, staff and goodbye”. Marvellous, it’s all happening now. This is Michael, he sells kitchens.
Mike: How do you do? Yes, I was just saying to the others. I sell kitchens, but I can’t actually cook myself!
Michael: Right. And then he spies that cookbook, right. And he says “That’d be nee use to me, man”. He’s crackers, man.
Ben: So, Mike, where do you live?
Mike: Oh, I come from Acton in West London.
Sophie: Is that nice?
Mike: Yes, it’s quite nice. A few too many blacks! [The staff and Alan are stunned by what he’s just said, Alan kicks him out]
Alan to Mike: I hope you don’t mind. It’s just that some people find what you said a bit racist.
Alan: So. What do people think about the pedestrianisation of Norwich city centre?
Michael: Hey, aye. I reckon it’s a really good idea, like
Alan: You’re wrong.
Michael: Oh, man. What about mothers with pushchairs and little bairns and that?
Alan: Oh, Michael. You’ve got a lot to learn.
Michael: No, man, look. It’s you that’s got a lot to learn, right.
Susan: Err, Michael! Michael, Mr Partridge is still a guest in this hotel. Now I think perhaps you’ve had just a little bit too much to drink, and maybe it’s time you should leave.
Michael [Leaving]: If that’s how you all feel…
Susan to Ben and Sophie: Now, you two can stop giggling.
Alan to Ben and Sophie: I don’t know what her problem is.
Susan [Shouting]: I’ll tell you what my problem is! Having to listen to your crap for the last six months! You’ve been in this hotel for 182 days, you little shit. Ben, Sophie, I want you on reception. And you! Check out is twelve noon tomorrow!
Alan [Handing a party bag (which is a sanitary bag) to Susan]: Do you want one of these?
Susan: A sanitary bag?! What are you trying to say? [Slaps Alan, then leaves]
Alan to Lynn: I think that went quite well. Shall we clear up? I fancy an early night.
Lynn: Shall I put “Black Beauty” back on again?
Alan: Yes. We can clear up while we listen to “Black Beauty”.