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Episode 4 – Basic Alan
[Radio Norwich. Alan is wearing a red v-neck sweater.]
Alan: That was one of the biggest stadium bands in the world, REO Speedwagon, and the time, for those who like to tell it in a slightly wacky way, is fifty to six. Or, if you’d like to develop the idea, seventy past four. Or even, er…
[Alan writes something down on a notepad, then uses a calculator, creating about ten seconds of dead air time.]
Alan: … bear with me… one thousand, two hundred and thirty to twelve. I’m joking of course, but the time is ten past five. Let’s say hello to my new comedy character, Camp David. Hello, Camp David! [Presses a button]
Camp David: [It is Alan’s voice, with a camp comedy accent.] Well, hello, Alan!
Alan: And, what did you have for breakfast this morning?
Camp David: Ooh, mince!
Alan: Mmm. Yes, indeed. Er, more from Camp David tomorrow. The time is – well, let’s not get bogged down in the time again. Simply time to say, "ruddy hell, it’s Softcell!"
[Music plays]
[Title music, ending with a short monologue from Alan, drinking a pint of bitter in the pub – "Yeah, well, they’re scumbags, aren’t they? Yeah."]
[Linton Travel Tavern lift. Alan emerges, singing ‘Wuthering Heights’, by Kate Bush]
Alan: Out on a winding, windy moor we roll and fall in green / you had a temper like my jealousy / too hot, too greedy
[The lobby is being refurbished, and the furniture is covered in cloth. Alan sings loudly to attract the attention of Susan, who arrives from out the back.]
Alan: How could you leave me when I needed you / Possessed you, I hated you – I loved you too.
Susan: [Sings badly] Bad dreams in the night / You told me I was –
Alan: [Interrupting] Dear oh dear oh dear. That is extraordinary. I mean, to look at you, you’d think you’d sing like an angel, but in actual fact you sound like a trapped boy.
[Susan giggles amiably.]
Alan: What a lovely smile. You know, you could have been throwing up all night for all I know, and yet your smile wouldn’t show it. I don’t know, perhaps that’s how you keep your figure.
[Susan’s smile shrinks.]
Alan: Ahh. You could tell me anything with that smile, and it’d seem like… Christmas.
Susan: Well, we are having some major repairs done to the lobby, so I’m afraid all this is going to be out of bounds for the weekend. We decided to go ahead, seeing as you were the only guest staying in the hotel.
Alan: [Singing] Ding dong merrily on high, in heaven the bells are ringing.
Susan: Ding dong merrily the sky –
Alan: [Holding his hands up] Don’t sing, Susan! It sounds bad. Just stick to your smile. It’s a lovely smile. You know, you could work on the Titanic. You could say, "I’m terribly sorry, we’ve run out of lifejackets." And people wouldn’t mind. They’d say, "thank you for the information, I’ll take my chances. Can I get a coffee?" Presumably the buffet’s a bit of a free-for-all. Does the rule about women and children first –
Susan: [Interrupting] Alan, why don’t you go and talk to someone else?
Alan: See, I don’t mind that, you know. Because of the smile. You’d make a very good Judas. Betray me and then kiss me.
[Alan smiles intently at Susan.]
Susan: Alright, then, I mean, I just don’t want a kiss. I want to go the whole way.
[Alan looks extremely uncomfortable.]
Susan: If you want me I’ll be round the back.
[Susan leaves. At the other end of the lobby, Michael, Sophie and Ben are playing charades.]
Michael: No, no. Look, right, four words.
Sophie: Four words.
Ben: Four words.
[Michael growls and flaps his arms]
Sophie: Big bird. Eagle? Er… hawk?
Ben: Albatross? Bat?
Sophie: Eating?
[Alan walks over and interrupts]
Alan: ‘The Eagle Has Landed’.
Michael: Aye, ‘The Eagle Has Landed’.
Alan: Michael, can I have a drink, please?
Michael: Aye, sure.
[Alan and Michael walk over to the bar.]
Alan: I’ll have a mineral water, please.
Michael: Aye. Still, or fizzy?
Alan: Er, half and half.
[Michael makes the drink, then rushes back to Ben and Sophie. Alan hovers in the background.]
Michael: Hey, I’ve got another! Right.
Sophie: First word, ‘the’.
Michael: The…er….
Ben: Second word.
Sophie: Second word is… ‘sleep’?
Michael: No, er….
Ben: ‘Sleeping’?
Sophie: ‘Awake’? No. Er…
[Michael starts barking like a dog.]
Alan: ‘Day of the Jackal’. ‘Day of the Jackal’.
Michael: Aye, it’s ‘Day of the Jackal’.
[Alan starts doing his own mime.]
Michael: Oh, er, three words? Er…wash… my… car. Oh, aye! Wash my – oh, I’m sorry Mr. Partridge. I’m on my way now.
[Alan walks back to reception.]
Michael: [To Ben] I’ve got to go and wash his car now.
Sophie: [Behind reception] Is everything alright, Mr. Partridge?
Alan: Yeah, yeah. Erm… what’s round the back?
Sophie: A couple of traffic cones and an old mattress.
Alan: Oh, right.
Sophie: Would you like me to book you in for Christmas dinner?
Alan: It’s May! Sophie, if I’m still here in seven month’s time I think I’m going to be a rather sorry individual.
Sophie: [Smirking] Well, why don’t I book it now, and you can always cancel later?
Alan: Yeah, that’s fine.
[Sophie’s smile grows. Alan walks towards the lift. Ben leans over reception and kisses Sophie.]
Sophie: Why don’t you come round the back?
[Alan hears this just as the doors are about to close. He jams them open and listens to their conversation.]
Ben: Round the back?
Sophie: Yeah, it’s quiet. Come on, fifteen minutes.
Ben: Alright, fifteen minutes.
[Alan walks out of the lift.]
Alan: Er, Ben?
Ben: Yep?
Alan: Could I have a sandwich, please?
Ben: Yeah. Yeah, sure.
Alan: Er, cheese. A cheese sandwich.
Ben: Right, OK.
Alan: And cooked meat. And a hot egg. And a crescent of crisps, please. And a side clump of cress.
Ben: Right. And you want that now?
Alan: No, no. Anytime. Anytime in the next fifteen minutes.
[With a smug smile, Alan strolls back into the lift.]
Alan: [Singing] Oh it gets dark, it gets lonely…
[Cut to Alan’s hotel room. On the sideboard is an untouched cheese sandwich. Alan puts a tape on his hi-fi and lies back on the bed.]
Hi-fi: [It is Alan’s voice, accompanied by pan-pipe music] Welcome to Tape 2 of ‘Let Go’, with Alan Partridge. A sequence of easy exercises to relieve stress, enhanced by the tropical music of the pan-pipes. First, find a quiet place to recline – a bed, or a big chair. I want you to imagine you’re lying on the beach, divested of all the trappings of the twentieth century. No mobile phone, batteries out of your pager…
[Alan has been glancing occasionally at his shoes by the side of the bed. He now gets up and straightens them into a neat pair. Then he lies back on the bed and closes his eyes.]
Hi-fi: …no clothes. You’re completely naked, or with undergarments perhaps made from bark. You’re all alone, the waves gently licking at your feet, your bark trunks soaking up the water like a sponge…
[Alan looks increasingly agitated. He gets up again and pushes the shoes under the bed. He then lies back down.]
Hi-fi: Your head loosens from the torso and bobs into the distance. [Sternly] Remember the breathing techniques from Tape 1. Please relax. I can’t emphasise that enough. All of us experience stress, whether you’re a heart surgeon making vital incisions, or just Dave Bloggs queuing for a rail ticket behind a man who’s buying a travel pass…
[Alan leaps up and goes round the room shutting drawers. He straightens a stack of CD’s, then lies back down on the bed.]
Hi-fi: …which involves photographs, scissors, forms being filled in, and his access won’t wipe. You get the picture. Stress like this just won’t go away, and it has to be combated.
[Alan gets up, switches the tape off, and sits on the side of his bed.]
Alan: Sod off.
[He picks up his Dictaphone.]
Alan: Idea for a programme entitled ‘Yachting Mishaps’. Some funny, some tragic. Presented by that man who was trapped upside-down in his hull eating chocolate.
[Alan puts down the Dictaphone and looks out of his window. Sophie and Ben emerge from the bushes by the car park, and kiss. Sophie notices Alan spying on them from above, and they run off laughing. Alan picks up his Dictaphone again.]
Alan: Idea for a programme called ‘Free Spirits’. No, change that to ‘Bad Attitude’.
[He walks over to the phone and dials.]
Alan: Hello? Oh, hello. I’d like to speak to Fernando Partridge, please. [Irritated] It’s his father. [Calmer] It’s his father. Ah, hello. Who’s she? Is she your latest… ah, right. You both sound exhausted, have you been running? I was just wondering if you wanted to go for a drink. Yep, [sighs] Fernando, you’re twenty-two years old and you’re spending Saturday afternoon in bed with a girl. You’re wasting your life. It’s a beautiful day. Take her out to a local fort or a Victorian folly. Yeah, of course. Look, your mum and I, believe me, we did it everywhere. You know, in the lounge, in the hall, behind a large boulder on Hel Vellyn on my birthday. Actually, that is where you were conceived. Well, we just didn’t take precautions. No! No, we were delighted. Well, I mean, at first I was mortified, you know, but, then you were born and we grew to like you. I remember I left a tartan flask up there. One of those very fragile ones with the screw-on cup stroke cap. These days they’re much more resilient. They took the technology from NASA, basically, which is extraordinary. Modern flasks today are directly linked with the Apollo 11 space mission. Hello? Oh, sod him.
[Alan puts the phone down, then sits for a moment on the edge of his bed. He then picks it up again, dials, and lies back on the bed.]
Alan: Hello, is that Curry’s? I’d like to make an enquiry about two supplementary auxiliary speakers to go with my midi hi-fi system, apro po achieving surround sound. Apro po. I mean, it’s Latin, isn’t it? Well, you ought to have a basic grasp of Latin if you’re working in Curry’s. Oh, you’ve got them. Excellent, good. One last thing, what time do you knock off? [Looks at his watch] Fancy going for a drink? No, OK, just thought I’d ask. Thank you.
[Alan puts the phone down. Cut to the lobby, and Alan walks in.]
Alan: Hello?
[He stands in the middle of the lobby, looking anxiously around.]
Alan: [Calling] I’m just going for a walk. The petrol station. Get some windscreen washer fluid. [Louder] Anyone want to join me? [Quietly] Right. [Shouting] Breath of fresh air!?
[He leaves. Cut to a busy duel carriageway. Alan is strolling down the hard shoulder, singing.]
Alan: Goldfinger, he’s the man, the man with the Midas touch / A spider’s touch
[Cut to a shot of outside the petrol station shop. Alan enters, and we hear his voice from inside.]
Alan: [Singing] Such a cold finger… hands up! Give me all your petrol.
Attendant: What?
Alan: Just a joke. Have you got any windscreen washer fluid?
Attendant: Yeah.
Alan: I’ll have, er, twelve bottles, please.
Attendant: OK.
Alan: Nice array of pasties you’ve got today.
Attendant: Oh, thank you.
Alan: I don’t want one, I’m just making smalltalk.
Attendant: That’s thirty-one twenty, please.
Alan: Fancy a pint later on?
Attendant: No, thanks.
Alan: [Quickly] No, neither do I. Thank you.
[We see Alan emerge from the shop.]
Alan: [Singing] Such a cold finger / Pretty girl, beware of his web of sin / But don’t go in
[Alan walks back along the hard shoulder. He skips occasionally.]
Alan: And the golden girl knows when he’s kissed her / It’s the kiss of death from Mr. Goldfinger [imitates the song’s fanfare]
[Back in his room, a close-up of Alan on the phone again.]
Alan: Oh, hello Susan. Slight problem. I was a bit bored, so I dismantled my Corby trouser press.
[Camera pulls back to reveal Alan’s bed strewn with pieces of the dismantled trouser press.]
Alan: I can’t put it back together again. Will that show up on my bill? No? Great, thanks.
[He puts the phone down and gets up. Looking out of his window, he notices Michael in the car park below. When Michael notices him, Alan mimes shooting Michael with an automatic weapon from the window. Michael responds, clutching his chest and smiling. Alan then puts the gun in his mouth and pulls the trigger, miming the back of his head being blown off. He beams at Michael at the end of his little display, and gestures to the effect of ‘I was only kidding’. Michael walks inside.]
[Cut to Alan, in his Rover 200, driving slowly down the Norwich ring road. Another car follows closely behind. Alan speaks on his hands-free headset.]
Alan: Hello, Lynn, message from Alan. Idea for a television programme based on Michael Palin’s ‘Pole To Pole’. Except I circumnavigate the globe only driving through countries where they drive on the left. And I do it in a lovely old Bullnose Morris. We could call it ‘Around The World With Alan Partridge In A Bullnose On The Left’. Oh, I’m sorry, Lynn. I think that is possibly the worst idea I have ever had.
[The queue of cars behind Alan is now huge.]
Alan: I’m going nowhere, Lynn. Quite literally, I’m on the ring road. Third time round. I’ve just been into B&Q for a bunch of tungsten-tipped screws. Never gonna use ‘em. Never gonna use ‘em. Meet me in the car park in half an hour, Lynn.
[Cut to the hotel car park. Alan and Lynn sit in his car.]
Lynn: Sorry I’m a bit late, I got caught in a taxi that broke down over there. Couple of miles back. I had to walk.
Alan: Was that a lie?
Lynn: No. I’m very hot.
[Alan makes a deep, groaning sigh.]
Alan: You know, these are inertia real seatbelts. They were developed in the late-sixties, early-seventies basically to enable you to lean forward for things [Alan leans forward to demonstrate. Lynn copies him]. But in a crash, they do stop you because… [Alan yanks hard on the seatbelt] Impact! Bang! Lock! [He pulls hard against the seatbelt and grunts] I mean, you get bruises, but…. I’d love to feel an airbag go off in my face. It would be [leans forward again, sharply, then mimes an airbag going off] Brrr, boosh! Boosh! A really cushioned effect on the face. Ohh. I’ll be honest, Lynn, I’m at a loose end, today. That’s why I’m, er… that’s why I’m, er… talking… [Alan enunciates the word exaggeratedly]… talking… that’s why I’m talking…. [He sighs] Could you cool me down with a hand fan?
[Alan has his head turned away as Lynn holds up the hand fan. As Alan begins talking he turns towards her and the blades of the fan grind against his face.]
Alan: You know when I met Damon Hill – ow! Lynn! Be careful with it!
Lynn: Sorry. [She puts the fan away.]
Alan: You’ll take my lip off.
[Back inside the hotel lobby, Susan, Ben and Sophie are playing cards. As Alan and Lynn enter, Susan calls over.]
Susan: Lynn! Lynn! Come and join us, Lynn. Make the numbers up, come on.
Sophie: We need you to come and play rummy.
[Lynn joins them and the four players chat happily.]
Alan: I’ll er… Lynn, I’ll just go up to my room. Got a bit of work to do, so, er…
[Just as Alan begins to walk off, his bag falls open and the contents, little more than a small wallet and a biro, fall out onto the floor. He stoops to pick them up.]
Alan: I normally have files in here, but I’ve got some in the room to put in later. [He zips up the bag and throws it over his shoulder] Strap’s optional…[he walks off.]
Susan: [To Sophie] Oh, no no no. Show, Lynn
Ben: Oh, yeah.
Sophie: [Impersonating Alan, hands by her sides] Morning, Susan! A-ha!
[They all laugh. Suddenly Alan is back, clearly annoyed. He swipes his bag over their heads and hits a barstool. Unsatisfied with the effect this had, he then picks up a packet of crisps from the table and throws it on the floor.]
Alan: Watch it!
[Alan runs for the lift. A little later, in the hotel bedroom, there is a knock on the door.]
Alan: Come in.
[Lynn enters.]
Lynn: Would you like a mint?
Alan: [Annoyed] No. Ye – yes.
[Lynn gives Alan a mint. Lynn eats one too.]
Alan: I don’t think you should have one, Lynn. Considering what’s happened.
Lynn: Right. [She removes the mint from her mouth.]
Alan: I tell you, it’s a good job you weren’t here five minutes ago. Listen to this. Listen, listen.
[Alan picks up his Dictaphone and plays it.]
Alan (dictaphone): Sack Lynn for being unloyal – disloyal, and for joining in fun in a way that excludes her employer. And sack her for being an absolute idiot, and inefficient. Then, can you call Bill Oddie and –
Alan: That’s something else. [Puts the Dictaphone away.] I’ve calmed down, now.
Lynn: Why don’t you come down and play, then?
Alan: Play? Lynn, they were doing impersonations of me.
Lynn: Well they were doing impersonations of everyone, Alan. Even me. It was quite savage.
Alan: Were they really savage? Were they going, "Ooh, shall I sit there? Ooh, shall I sit there? Ooh I’m like a little mouse." [Alan is hunched up with his hands in front of him, pretending to be a mouse.]
Lynn: [Annoyed] No, actually. It was a little bit like this – "Shall I let you walk all over me? Sorry mother, I can’t get you out of the bath, I’ve got to pop down to Linton Travel Tavern to sort out Alan’s problems."
Alan: That’s very good.
Lynn: Thank you.
[The atmosphere is now a little more relaxed.]
Alan: Tell them I’ll join in, and to show that I’m not a stick-in-the-mud I’m just preparing a little joke for them, which should be a lot of fun.
[Cut to the lobby, and Susan walks behind reception. As she does, Alan leaps up from where he was hiding below, growling like a monster. He is dressed in a shower curtain and mat, with various bits of food stuck to his face. Susan screams with real terror and runs away. Hearing the screams, Michael runs to her aid, fist held high.]
Alan: I’m a zombie! I’m a zombie, I’m dressed as a zombie! I’m Alan Partridge!
[Sophie, Ben and Lynn have now arrived to see what all the fuss is about.]
Michael: Would you come out, please, Mr. Partridge, because guests are not allowed behind reception.
Alan: Alright! Alright. It was just a joke, alright, it’s backfired.
Ben: Is that blood?
Alan: It’s tomato ketchup.
Susan: Why have you got a shower curtain round your neck?
Alan: I’m a zombie, I don’t know! It’s supposed to be a flap of skin or something.
Susan: Did you pull that off one of the showers?
Alan: No, I checked all the rings to make sure I could re-attach them afterwards. Nothing has been damaged.
Michael: Why have you got biscuits sellotaped to your face?
Alan: They’re complimentary, they’re supposed to be flaky skin. I’m a zombie.
Sophie: What’s that hanging down between your legs?
Alan: It’s a flex off a mini-kettle. Supposed to be a tail.
Sophie: Zombies don’t have tails.
Alan: Alright, it’s inconsistent! Zombies, by their very nature, are inconsistent. They’re a mish-mash of different bits.
Ben: No, that’s Frankenstein.
Alan: Right, you’ve made two glaring errors [raises his finger to make the point].
Ben: What’s that on your fingers?
Alan: They’re tungsten-tipped screws, claws. Right, error one – actually, they’re quite good for making a point, aren’t they? Error one, right, Frankenstein was the name of the creator, not the monster. Error two, right, Frankenstein is a zombie. He’s a type of zombie. It’s like people who say Tannoy when they mean public-address system. Tannoy is a brand name. Why are you all staring at me? I’m not having a go at anyone, I’m having a pop at the undead. Do you see any upset zombies around?
Sophie: Just the one.
Alan: This country. [He sweeps his shower curtain / cape grandly and walks off.]
[Later on, at the bar, Alan is drinking a pint of bitter. Michael is serving.]
Alan: It’s so depressing, isn’t it?
Michael: Aye.
Alan: You ever thought that suicide might be the answer?
Michael: Well, sometimes, aye.
Alan: Really? When?
Michael: Well, when I’ve seen you looking all depressed and that, you know.
Alan: Not me, you! Have you ever considered suicide?
Michael: Oh, no. That’s the coward’s way out, man.
Alan: You must have got up to a few pranks in your time.
Michael: Wai-aye. Hey, I mind this one time, right. I was stationed out in Belize, right, and I had this little macaque monkey as a pet, right? And one day, I came back to my tent, right, and it’d eaten all my fags.
[Alan laughs.]
Michael: So I picked it up and I threw it into the sea.
[Alan’s face falls.]
Alan: You threw a monkey in the sea?
Michael: Well, it had eaten all my fags, man. It was a big packet of two-hundred duty-frees, like.
Alan: You threw a monkey in the sea? That’s awful. I mean, I was fishing for some sort of funny story. That’s just upsetting.
Michael: Well, you know, I wasn’t thinking straight. I just, kind of, got the red mist in front of my eyes and I just grabbed the monkey and hurled it in the sea.
Alan: Will you stop saying you threw your monkey in the sea? All I can see is a monkey spinning towards the water.
Michael: Well, it didn’t go straight in the water. It bounced off a rock.
Alan: Oh, Michael. That is such a pointless death. At least when they experiment on them they get something out of it, a nice perfume or something.
Michael: Aye. You know, I’ve often wondered, right, why is it that they put the perfume in the monkey’s eyes, right? Why not just put it on it’s wrist, like, you know, posh ladies in the department stores?
Alan: It’s just cruel, isn’t it. Mind you, if you’ve been to Knowsley Safari Park and they’re pulling the wipers off your windscreen and nicking your hub caps, you lose sympathy.
Michael: I’ll tell you what, maybe the monkeys is trying to collect enough parts together to make a complete car, right? And they’ll all just pile in it and break through the gates and escape.
Alan: [Nods in agreement] It’s a frightening thought.
Michael: Aye. Is this making you feel any better?
Alan: Not really, no. Yeah, you’ve done some crazy things in your life.
Michael: Aye.
Alan: I wish I’d been a bit more spontaneous, you know. Sometimes I feel like just going out and, I don’t know, stealing a traffic cone, putting it on my head and saying "look at me, I’m a giant witch!"
Michael: Aye. You should just do it, you know. Go and steal a cone, man.
Alan: Oh, I can’t. That’s outrageous.
Michael: I’ll come with you!
Alan: Yeah?
Michael: We can be like Thelma and Louise! We’ll just steal a traffic cone and then just go off somewhere!
Alan: I don’t want to go off anywhere. I just want to steal a cone and sort of wave it around a bit, you know.
Michael: Aye, I tell you what, I could hold it up to my mouth like a Tannoy, right –
Alan: [Interrupting] A speaker system.
Michael: Sorry. I could just hold it there and shout "STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO!"
Alan: [Looks uneasily at Michael for a second, then smiles.] No, it’s a good idea. I mean, I could get Lynn to drive us there. She’s fully comprehensively insured, she’s a named driver! Let’s go!
Michael: Away the lads, man! Come on!
Alan: Right!
[Michael leaps over the bar and runs off. Alan puts down his drink and follows him. Cut to Alan being questioned by two policemen next to his car, by the side of a Norwich A-road. It is dark. Alan looks very anxious.]
Policeman: [Talking into his radio] Yeah, we’re questioning one bloke. The other bloke… he seems to have disappeared. There’s a woman in the car. Out.
[Lynn is sitting in the drivers seat, also looking very worried. The policeman turns to Alan.]
Policeman: So, let’s get this straight. Your wife was driving?
Alan: Yes.
Policeman: You felt a bit sick?
Alan: Mmm-hmm.
Policeman: So you asked for her to pull over so you can get a traffic cone to be sick into?
Alan: Yes.
Policeman: Why?
Alan: I didn’t want to be sick on the road. The cars might, you know, skid on it and crash.
Policeman: There was another fellow with you. Where’s he gone?
Alan: He ran off over there [points up the dark embankment]. He got scared and ran away. He was in the army and I think he saw people being blown up, all [makes a face] like that, and, erm…
Policeman: Do you want to know what I think? I think you’ve got a very vivid imagination.
Alan: [Suddenly extremely anxious] I wasn’t trying to steal a traffic cone!
Policeman: I’m not saying you’re stealing it. I’ve not said that. Why are you saying that? Why are you saying steal?
Alan: Because to an innocent bystander, it could – may – look like traffic cone theft. And I am an innocent bystander, and to me it looks like traffic cone theft.
Policeman: But it’s not.
Alan: But it’s not [he nervously itches his chin].
Policeman: What’s your name?
Alan: [Slightly wobbly voice] Bill.
Policeman: Bill?
Alan: Caarr. Bill Carr.
Policeman: Where do you live, Bill? What’s your address?
Alan: King Road…King Road…
Policeman: Is there a number?
Alan: Ten! King Road in… Ipswich.
Policeman: Where are you going now?
Alan: I’m going to go home, and just probably go straight to bed and keep out of trouble.
Policeman: Good, good. We’ll let this go, but I don’t want to see you here again, alright?
Alan: OK, thank you.
[The policemen walk off. Alan gets into the back of the car.]
Alan: [To Lynn, quietly] Right, go. Just drive away. Drive away normally.
[Lynn is panicking. She struggles to start the engine, but the immobiliser is still on.]
Alan: Stop panicking! Start the engine.
[Lynn holds her face in her hands for a second, then tries again. This time she manages to set the car alarm off.]
Alan: Oh, [shouting above the noise] you’ve set the alarm off! Lynn!
[Alan leans into the front seat to switch the alarm off for Lynn.]
Alan: Lean back. What are you doing? Stay still.
[Alan switches the alarm off and starts the engine. Then he sits back. ]
Alan: I was technically in charge of a motor vehicle, then. I could have been done for drink driving.
[They drive off. Back at the hotel, Alan and Lynn walk forlornly into the lobby. A close-up of Alan’s miserable face leads into a fantasy daydream sequence in which Alan dances on the stage of the same nightclub, only this time he is wearing platform shoes and a Pringle jumper with holes cut in where his nipples are. Tony Hayers watches him from a table.]
Alan: Would you like me to lap dance for you? Ooh, my peephole Pringle is modelled on an SAS balaclava. Sweet feet.
[Close up of Alan’s feet as he twirls on stage. The next time we see his torso two traffic cones are filling the holes in his jumper, Madonna-style.]
Alan: Do you like my cones? They’re little ones, I got them from a cycling test centre.
[Tony Hayers is seen drinking out of a mini traffic cone.]
Alan: I’ve got a clean licence. Yours is dirty! You’ve got six points, I’ve got two [He places two fingers on the points of his traffic cones]…points.
[Back in reality, Alan wakes up and turns to Lynn.]
Alan: Oh dear. Tonight I was that close – that close to being infamous. I don’t want to be infamous. I want to be… [he pronounces it as in infamous] famous. [Then normally] Famous. Like the Rudyard Kipling poem, ‘If’. You know that? ‘If’ you do X, Y and Z, Bob’s your uncle. Do you want a lift to the cab rank?
Lynn: Oh, yes, thank you, I would.
Alan: Mind you, it’s only a fifteen minute walk, isn’t it?
Lynn: Yes.
Alan: Right, well, be careful because there’s no lights on the duel carriageway.
Lynn: Right.
[Lynn walks out. Alan meets Michael on the way to the lift.]
Alan: [Friendly] Ahh, there you are! Ha ha ha.
Michael: Aye-aye, Mr. Partridge.
Alan: That was a bit of a close shave, wasn’t it?
Michael: Aye, it was a bit, yeah.
Alan: You disappeared pretty sharpish.
Michael: Aye. Scolded cat, man. I was away!
Alan: Erm, can I have a couple of eggs for breakfast tomorrow?
Michael: Aye, certainly.
Alan: Yeah. [Angrily] And I’d like you to lay them, you chicken.
[Alan storms off into the lift. He is joined by Susan.]
Susan: Oh, hello Alan.
Alan: Hello, Susan. Third floor?
Susan: Third, yes, thank you.
[Alan and Susan stand side by side in silence. Alan keeps making furtive glances at Susan, who stares ahead. After a few seconds, the lift arrives at Alan’s floor. He starts to walk out.]
Alan: Right, well.
Susan: [Smiling] Are you getting out here, or are you going all the way with me?
Alan: [Anxiously] I’m getting out here.
Susan: Right. Goodnight, Alan.
[The lift doors close.]
Alan: This country.
[He walks off. Cut to Radio Norwich.]
Alan: That was The Police ‘Doo Doo Doo Daa Daa Daa’, their gibberish classic, and my tribute to Her Majesty’s police. It’s nearly seven o’clock. This is Dave Clifton.
Dave: Yes, indeed! Good morning, my name’s Dave Clifton, and there goes Alan Partridge, cone but not forgotten!
[Alan forces an appreciative groan, and laughs.]
Dave: You off to see a film, like Cone-an the Barbarian?
Alan: [Slightly annoyed, but still playing along] Yeah, good one.
Dave: Then watch a bit of TV, eh? Like Cone Dancing?
Alan: Yeah. Not so good, but fine.
Dave: Oh, come on Alan. What’s the matter with you? Cone’t you take a joke?
Alan: Oh, fuck off.
[Dave stares in shocked silence for a second, then regains himself.]
Dave: Actually, I am speechless. Dave Clifton is actually speechless. I don’t believe you just said that.
Alan: You don’t sound it. I wish you were.
Dave: Well I am. Now, I really don’t know what to say. I find it really difficult to find a way –
Alan: [Interrupting] Try saying nothing!
Dave: You and I both know that dead air is a crime, and I think it’s terrible that you have to fill it with swearing on your show.
Alan: Unfortunately, Dave, you are bang wrong. It’s one minute past seven, it’s your show, you’re responsible for the output, I am technically a guest and you’ve failed to control me. Read the small print on your cone-tract.
[Dave looks annoyed.]
Dave: From ‘Go West’ –
Alan: – Fanny –
Dave: This is ‘Call Me’.
[Music plays. Fade to black. The credits roll over Securicam footage of Alan’s brush with the law. We see the Rover 200 pull up by a line of traffic cones and Alan and Michael jump out. They grab a traffic cone each. Just then, a Police van pulls up. Michael drops his cone and dashes off, but Alan carries his slowly towards the car, where he places it on the ground. He backs off, looking anxious, as the police approach him.]
-
CAST
Alan Partridge Steve Coogan
Dave Clifton Phil Cornwell
Susan Barbara Durkin
Michael Simon Greenall
Ben James Lance
Lynn Felicity Montagu
Sophie Sally Phillips
Tony Hayers David Schneider
Policeman Hugh Parker
Additional Material written by The Cast
Casting Director Andy Pryor
Music John Whitehall
Studio Resource Manager Patrick Steel
Senior Electrician Hugh Madden
Vision Mixer Barbara Hicks
1st Assistant Director Sam Dawking
2nd Assistant Director Alice Mayne
Stage Manager Jane Denholm
Location Manager Dee Gregson
Floor Manager Michael Matheson
Production Accountant Penny Anderson
Production Co-ordinator Emma Ramsay
Script Supervisor Hayley Boyd
Props Master Andy Beales
Art Director Jo Sutherland
Production Buyer Laurie Law
Costume Designer Marcia Stanton
Make-up & Hair Designer Christine Cant
Editor Nick Arthurs
Dubbing Mixer Dave McGrath
Cameras Colin Aitken
Andrew Ribeiro
Gary Sterne
Simon Tooley
Sound Supervisor Nick Roast
Lighting Director Rob Kitzmann
Production Designer Dennis De Groot
Line Producer Alison MacPhail
Head of Production Sally Debonnaire
Executive Producer Peter Fincham
Director Dominic Brigstocke
Producer Armando Iannucci
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Thanks to Chris Pople cpople@nationwideisp.net for donating these Alan Partridge scripts. All respective copyright acknowledged. This site © Copyright 6th August 1999 Gary Mc Keown. gary@gazmac.freeserve.co.uk