Add-on Alan 2
[1]
[Radio Norwich.]
Alan: That was Phil Collins with ‘Against All
Odds’, from 1984 – a year predicted by George Orwell in his book of the same
name. It’s interesting, isn’t it, that we all used to be so concerned about the
idea of Big Brother and surveillance cameras, and yet, I think, since that time
we’ve discovered that perhaps they are the best weapon in the battle against
street thugs. So thank you George Orwell for prompting the idea of surveillance
cameras! One thing George didn’t predict was that nine years earlier Mike
Oldfield would come crashing into the charts with Portsmouth.
[2]
[Alan is
sitting on the end of his hotel bed, talking to Lynn.]
Alan: Lynn, I am a national broadcaster trapped in the body of a regional disc jockey. There’s no operation that can save me. Not on the NHS, anyway.
[3]
[Radio Norwich]
Alan: Actually, I’ve just forgotten to do ‘Alan’s Fact of the Day’, which is - ‘Dick Turpin was under five foot’. Another one of those same time tomorrow.
[4]
[Hotel
reception. Sophie and Susan are behind the counter. Alan and Ben stand in the
lobby.]
Ben: [To Alan] Ah – did Sophie tell you? Mr. Penishead called.
[Sophie
bends over double with silent laughter. Susan rolls her eyes.]
Alan: [Annoyed] What did you just say?
Ben: Mr P. Nesshead called
Alan: That’s not what you just said.
Ben: What did I say?
Alan: You just said Mr. Penishead.
[Ben
giggles and walks off.]
Alan: That swagger’ll go when he hits thirty-six.
[5]
[Alan is
driving down the Norwich ring-road with his hands-free car phone on. He looks
earnestly into his rear-view mirror.]
Alan: This little swine’s trying to get me on the outside.
[Alan
indicates, then pulls out in front of the offending car.]
Alan: No way, Jose. No way. No way. No way. Two can play at that game, Mr… Loud Trousers. Look at him! Like a sodding… lunatic. Only in a Renault Five. Sorry, Lynn, ignore all that. It’s all extraneous information.
[6]
[Radio
Norwich. Alan and Dave Clifton face each other in the studio.]
Dave: You look, actually, a little bit catatonic, there, Alan.
Alan: Is that good?
Dave: Er, no. Not if you’re a radio DJ.
Alan: How’s your life? Is it, er…
Dave: It’s very good, thank you very much. On the up, I think you could say. Had one or two little offers, don’t want to speak too much about those, but –
Alan: Off the sauce, then?
Dave: Well, obviously, as you know, that’s all behind me now, and, you know, it’s just good to get on with life. And anyway, I wouldn’t throw stones in glass houses, Alan.
Alan: Don’t live in a glass house, mate. Made of bricks.
Dave: Ha ha ha! Got an answer for everything, haven’t you? Ha ha ha.
Alan: Yeah.
[7]
[The hotel
lobby. Ben and Alan stand in front of reception. Sophie is behind the counter.]
Ben: Do you know that you’re the only guest in the hotel?
Alan: Yes?
Ben: Yeah, well we could put you up in
the honeymoon suite, if you like. It’s got a good big bed in there, hasn’t it [Ben
steals a mischievous glance at Sophie].
Sophie: Mmm.
Alan: No thanks. My room’s got a big bed, too.
Sophie and Ben: Oh yeah.
Alan: You’re disgusting.
[Alan
walks off towards the lift.]
[8]
[Alan is
driving down the Norwich ring road in his graffitied car, talking into his
hands-free car phone.]
Alan: Hello, is that Roadhog? This is Alan Partridge. I’m calling to arrange delivery for a Castrol GTX bomber jacket in tan. Certainly, it’s four hundred London Road, Linton. That’s the Linton Travel Tavern. Right at the Esso garage on the A12, yeah. Don’t go left, you’ll end up in Mike Oldfield’s estate. If he thinks you’re a poacher he’ll shoot you.
[9]
[Alan and
Lynn are in the hotel lobby. Lynn is staggering under the weight of a box of
Alan Partridge tie and blazer badge packs and wagon wheels.]
Alan: Lynn, I want to impose a dress code for this afternoon, so no trainers, no ripped jeans, unless it’s ladies wearing ripped jeans in a sexy way – not women who’ve clearly let themselves go – and, er, no shorts. Anyone wearing shorts is probably slightly mentally disturbed.
[10]
[Radio
Norwich. Alan and Dave Clifton during the handover.]
Dave: Actually, Alan, it must be terrible for you. You have to get up at two o’clock in the morning to come in and do the graveyard shift, which is, quite frankly, a thankless task.
Alan: Actually, I think there’s kind of a serenity. I mean, the good thing is about doing the earlier show –
Dave: Yes, what is the good thing about doing the earlier show? I would really like to know!
Alan: Ha ha ha ha ha! Well, no, seriously, it is good insofar as you can tackle issues with a bit more substance, rather than just sort of having to skim over the surface superficially as you do in more kind of primetime slots.
Dave: And when are you going to do that? Ha ha ha.
[There
is a rather awkward pause.]
Alan: I already have.
Dave: Yeah, I suppose you have. Yeah, it’s actually – no, it’s great –
Alan: You’re out of order, there, Dave, actually.
Dave: No… yeah, alright, no.
Alan: Bang out of order.
[11]
[Alan is
driving in his vandalised car, dictating to Lynn, who is sitting in the
passenger seat taking notes.]
Alan: Idea for a mountaineering drama entitled ‘Bonnington’, with Brian Blessed in the title role. It’s filmed on location, on Everest, with close-ups on Scafell Pike. No-one will know the difference, we’ll just paint the rocks white. I also know for a fact that Brian Blessed can act at high altitude without oxygen.
[12]
[Alan is
in his hotel room, talking into his Dictaphone.]
Alan: Idea for a programme entitled ‘Roman Hobbies’. Self-explanatory.
[13]
[Alan is
in his car, talking into his car phone between taking bites out of a chocolate
bar.]
Alan: ‘The History of Chocolate’, a light-hearted look at confectionary through the ages. The full chocolate gamut, erm, the Ripple versus Flake debate, chocolate banjos – what went wrong…
[14]
[Alan in
his car, talking into his car phone.]
Alan: Er, I think that is the worst idea I’ve ever had. Yeah, yeah – it even beats ‘Glass-blowing with Aled Jones’, remember that?
[15]
[Hotel lobby.
Sophie and Susan are behind reception, Ben and Alan stand in front.]
Susan: So, is everything looking good for your show this afternoon, Alan?
Alan: Er, yeah. I could just do with a few more bums on seats.
Sophie: I’ll make sure mine’s there.
[Sophie
slaps her behind dramatically.]
Alan: I’ll do that for you! Although I
suppose he does [nods towards Ben].
Sophie: He does, yeah.
Alan: Do you?
Ben: Yeah.
Alan: Do you… do you like it?
Sophie: Yeah.
[16]
[Alan, Jed
Maxwell and the men from RTE are driving towards Jed’s house in Alan’s car.
There is a long, awkward silence.]
Alan: [Sings] Tainted love…bam bam…
tainted love…
Paul: How long have you lived here, Alan?
Alan: Ooh… twenty… years.
Paul: Twenty years? Really?
Alan: Well, er…
Aidan: What kind of house is it? I mean, is it detached? Tudor?
Alan: It’s hard to say.
[Alan
looks desperately over towards Jed, who nods back at him.]
Alan: Yes, it is.
Paul: It’s hard to say?
Aidan: It’s a detached tudor?
Alan: Yyyyy – [Jed shakes his head] no. It’s… detached? [Jed nods] But not Tudor [Jed shakes his head]. It’s detached but not tudor. [Jed is gesturing some further piece of information] It’s quite low. It’s low – [almost shouting] it’s a bungalow! I’m so glad it’s a bungalow. It’s a bungalow. All that stairs nonsense.
[17]
[Alan is
commentating at the Swaffham fayre.]
Alan: An ice cream van there. The swirly ice cream, I don’t know if you know, was invented by Margaret Thatcher, when she studied chemistry at Oxford. Just one of the wonderful things she did before she was betrayed.
[18]
[Alan is
talking to Susan over the counter in the hotel lobby.]
Alan: I’m going to judge the vegetable competition. I wish I was judging you, Susan.
Susan: I’m not a vegetable, Alan.
Alan: Oh no! No. And if you were, you’d be a lovely Swede. I’d chop you up and put you in a casserole. A lovely, succulent, Susan swede casserole. Marinated in your own bathwater.
[19]
[Alan is
flicking through Lynn’s Littlewoods catalogue in the hotel lobby.]
Alan: [Shaking his head] Where do they get these men from? They look like idiots. I mean, who goes around leaning on another man’s shoulder pointing… in his underpants? He’s probably saying “Oh look, over there, there’s another man leaning on another man’s shoulder”.
[20]
[Alan’s
fantasy dream sequence. He is dancing onstage with Tony Hayers in the
audience.]
Alan: Tony Hayers… deceased. Ooh, the chances of me having a second series have increased dramatically.
[Tony Hayers has turned into a coffin.]
Alan: Yeah, nice coffin. Is it from a sustainable forest? You ought to preserve the surface with Cuprinol or some other polyurethane-based lacquer, or it’ll go dull.
[21]
[At the
funeral, Alan is talking to Tony Hayers’ widow.]
Jane: Thank you for the travel clock.
Alan: Oh, you got it? Littlewoods are very quick, aren’t
they?
Jane: They are, yes.
[22]
[Alan talks to Chris Feathers at the funeral.]
Chris: Oh, and thank you for the hamper.
Alan: Well, Chris, least I could do. Least I could do. You know what they say, you know, in times of sadness it’s always nice to have … a bit of soft cheese.
[23]
[The
fantasy dream sequence. Alan dances for Tony Hayers’ coffin.]
Alan: We had our differences, but at the end of the day, you died.
[Alan
laughs manically.]
Alan: Ha ha ha ha… you can see the point, though, can’t you? See the irony? Ha ha ha ha….
[24]
[At the
Swaffham fayre, Alan swats at wasps around his head.]
Alan: Wasps. I shouldn’t really be here today. This field should have been fumigated.
[25]
[Radio
Norwich. Alan tucks into a currant bun while a song plays. The CD starts
skipping while Alan’s mouth is full, so he spits a mouthful of half-chewed
currant bun into his hand.]
Alan: Sorry about that – little techno problem, but ‘techno notice’ as I say ‘go to hell’ to Softcell and instead let us listen to ‘Dark Phase’, an as-yet unsigned Norwich-based band who keep sending me their CD’s and describe themselves as a Roxy Music for the nineties. This is their title track, and it’s called ‘Sophisticated Saxophone Woman’.
[Some
vaguely reggae-ish music starts playing, to Alan’s obvious distaste. He then
scoops the half-chewed currant bun back into his mouth.]
[26]
[Alan
driving and talking into his car phone.]
Alan: Just get me a drum of dental floss, will you? I’m having a plaque attack – my breath smells like a big cabbage.
[27]
[Alan is
driving along an A-road and has to swerve to avoid another car, stationary on
the hard shoulder.]
Alan: Jesus Christ! Unbelievable. He’s reversing up a sliproad! Is it that important that he sells that many shirts?