Starring Steve Coogan
Written by
Peter Baynham
Steve Coogan
Episode 1 – A Room
With An Alan
[Radio Norwich. Alan sits behind the mixing desks in the radio studio, wearing a pringle sweater.]
Alan Partridge: That was Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell, a song in which Joni complains they ‘Paved paradise to put up a parking lot’, a measure which actually would have alleviated traffic congestion on the outskirts of paradise, something which Joni singularly fails to point out, perhaps because it doesn’t quite fit in with her blinkered view of the world. Nevertheless, nice song. It’s 4:35am, you’re listening to ‘Up With The Partridge’.
[Plays cock crowing, followed by a trademark
‘A-ha!’]
Alan: And now it’s time for Alan’s ‘Fact of the Day’. Crabsticks do not actually contain any crab, and from 1993 manufacturers have been legally obliged to label them ‘crab-flavoured’ sticks. Another one of those same time tomorrow.
[Plays jingle, elderly male voice – “Radio
Norwich, the best music”]
Alan: Pray silence please, for the Electric Light Orchestra.
[Title Music, ending with a short monologue
from Alan in his car, talking about his driving gloves: “The string-backs
just give you a bit of extra purchase”]
Alan: Time now to hand over to mine breakfast host, Mr. David Clifton. Good morning to you, sir!
Dave Clifton: And good morning to you, Mr. Alan Partridge, sir! And I heard your phone-in, and I liked your chat with the guy from Swaffham. Er, he was a wacky fella!
Alan: Yeah, yeah, he was. I... I actually think he was a bit simple.
Dave: Er, heard you laying into the criminals again there Alan. Vandals got to your car again?
Alan: ‘Fraid so, third time. Scum. Sub-human scum.
Dave: OK! It’s seven a.m., wakey wakey it’s the breakfast show. Here’s Yazoo.
[Music plays, Yazoo]
[Tracking shot of Alan’s Rover 800 driving
down an A-road. Its metallic bodywork is graffitied with the words ‘Cock’,
‘Piss’ and ‘Partridge’ in large, black lettering]
Alan: [In car, speaking on hands-free headset] Lynn, message from Alan. Something to pitch to Tony Hayers at BBC lunch, Friday. Idea for film extravaganza. Plot, thus: Malcolm McDowell is trapped in the future. He’s being pursued by a cyberpunk from the past, played by Rutger Hauer. Erm, terrible idea. No one will watch that. I’ve not thought it through, Lynn. I’ll call you back.
[Car pulls into the forecourt of the
Linton Travel Tavern. Alan jogs up the steps to the lobby singing ‘Killer
Queen’ by Queen. Inside the lobby, still singing loudly, he walks up to
reception. The manager, Susan, smiles at him as he approaches.]
Alan: Guaranteed to blow your mind!
Susan: Good morning, Alan! How are you today?
Alan: Classic Queen! I’m very well, thank you, how are you?
Susan: I’m fine.
Alan: I like the, I like those earrings. Are they gold?
Susan: Yes, they’re rose gold.
Alan: Well that’s not really gold, is it? But, er, they’re very nice. Like little tears, little wax tears dripping from you’re ears because they’re sad. Don’t cry, ears! You’re on the side of a lovely head!
[Susan giggles. Alan sighs – “ahh” – smiling
at her]
Susan: Good show this morning?
Alan: It was a belter! Did you hear it?
Susan: No.
[Alan’s face falls.]
Alan: Oh. Any messages?
Susan: Just the one. From Bill Oddie.
Alan: Did he leave a message?
Susan: No.
Alan: No, he never does. Right, well, I’m afraid, Susan, I’ve got some very bad news.
Susan: Oh?
Alan: [Shouting] I’m leaving you, you cow!
[Susan looks bemused, and slightly scared.
There is an awkward pause.]
Alan: Sorry, bit of a joke there. Backfired. No, I’m basically just saying that I’m going to be checking out at the end of the week.
Susan: Are you going back to your wife?
Alan: No! No, God, Carol? No, God, no. No no. She’s living with a fitness instructor. He provides all her, er… sexual, er… intercourse.
[Alan picks at the back of his ear.]
Alan: Sorry, I’m er… dry skin. I’m flaking again. I’m sorry about the cow earlier, by the way. You’re not a cow. And if you were you’d be a lovely Jersey, ripe for milking.
[Sophie, a hotel employee, appears behind
the desk]
Alan: [To Sophie] Just talking about cows. D-Do you like milk?
Sophie: No.
Alan: Oh. [To Susan] Actually, can I talk to you? There’s rather a delicate matter…
[The phone rings.]
Susan: Oh, excuse me. Sophie, could you deal with this?
[Sophie looks worried.]
Alan: Er, Sophie…
Sophie: Mr. Partridge?
Alan: As you know, at the end of the week, I’m meeting Tony Hayers, at the BBC. And, he is Mr. Numero… one…. And the problem is I’ve got some rude daubings on the side of my car.
Sophie: Can you still drive the car?
Alan: Well, yeah, yeah, obviously. I mean that’s not… do you know what it says on the side of my car?
Sophie: Tosser?
Alan: No. Well, you’re in the right ballpark. No, it actually says ‘Cock’, ‘Piss’, ‘Partridge’.
[Sophie turns away, trying not to laugh.
Susan returns from the phonecall.]
Susan: [Brightly] Is everything alright?
Sophie: Mr. Partridge, erm… has got some rude… graffiti… on –
[Sophie runs out the back of reception,
trying to control her hysterics.]
Susan: [Alarmed] Graffiti? What, in the hotel?
Alan: No, no, God. There’s never any graffiti in the hotel. Although in the Gents a couple of weeks a go I did see someone had drawn a lady’s part. Quite detailed. The guy obviously had talent, that’s the tragedy. But no, it’s not the… it’s on the side of my car; it says ‘Cock’, ‘Piss’, ‘Partridge’.
[As Alan says ‘Cock’, ‘Piss’, ‘Partridge’, Sophie attempts to return, and has to immediately turn back.]
Alan: [Distracted by Sophie] Which is… which is illegal. Is she new?
Susan: Yes, she is.
Alan: I mean, I’m basically driving around in an obscene publication. I’d love to get my hands on the bastard. Or bitch, might be a lady. [Smiles]
[Sophie returns, still grinning.]
Sophie: Susan, can I take 5 minutes?
Susan: Yes, of course.
Alan: [Disapprovingly] Nipping off for a fag?
[Alan walks towards the lift, shaking his
head. As he does, Susan shouts after him]
Susan: Don’t worry about your car, Alan. I’ll get Michael to sort it out for you.
Alan: OK.
[Alan meets Michael coming out of the lift]
Alan: Oh! Talk of the devil!
Michael: Morning Mr. Partridge.
Alan: Yeah, Michael, I was just saying to Susan. Bit of a job for you. Unfortunately some vandals have sworn all over my car again.
[Michael shakes his head and sighs. He
speaks with an impenetrable Geordie accent.]
Michael: Vandals, eh, Mr. Partridge? You know, it makes you wonder what it’s all about.
Alan: Aboot?
Michael: Aye. You know, vandals. You know, what is it all about?
Alan: Oh, about. Sorry, sometimes it’s difficult to understand the Geordie… people.
Michael: [Even more impenetrable] You know, what I reckon is, if they had themselves proper jobs, they wouldn’t be up to all this, you know, larking every night.
Alan: [Slightly annoyed] What?
Michael: What I’m saying is, like, if they had themselves proper jobs, you know, for them to go to, they wouldn’t do it. You know, a lot of them’s from broken homes.
Alan: I’m sorry, that was just a noise. All I got there was broken homes. And a broken home is not an excuse for evil. Look at you - do you go around drawing, I don’t know, peephole bras on the wall?
Michael: Aye, but it was different for me, like, cause, you know, I was in the army when I was seventeen.
Alan: [Stepping into the lift] Well there you go. They taught you a trade. Minor repairs.
Michael: Aye. That and killing.
[On hearing this, Alan jams open the doors just before they close, and emerges with a fascinated look on his face.]
Alan: Really?
Michael: Oh aye. I’ve seen some terrible things, mind.
Alan: What, like three men burning in a tank, going ‘uuurghhh’?
Michael: You wouldn’t want to know, Mr. Partridge.
Alan: I’ll be honest, I’m pretty curious. I mean, I’d basically like to understand man’s inhumanity to man… and then make a programme about it. Anyway, regarding the graffiti, if you could… [mimes shooting a handgun at the ground a few times] kill that, then [imitates Michaels accent, badly] I’ll see you reet, me old fishy on a dishy.
[Alan steps back into the lift]
Michael: I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll do, just like, a quick fix on it for now, and-
Alan: [Interrupting] You’ve gone again!
[Cut to Alan’s room, close-up shot of an article in the Guardian newspaper, headline “Hayers to sweep away ‘dead wood’ at BBC”. Alan is sitting on the side of his bed, reading the article. He sighs. His hotel room has been personalised with an expensive looking hi-fi, on top of which are framed photos of Roger Moore and Jet from Gladiators. Getting up, he speaks into his personal Dictaphone]
Alan: Idea for a programme, ladyshapes with Alan Partridge. I look at the changing shape of ladies through the ages, from fat, chubby ladies of the Renaissance, to hard-faced Cromwellian sourpusses, right up to twentieth-century well-toned women like [picks up picture of Jet] Sharon Davies and Jet from Gladiators.
[Still holding the Dictaphone, Alan sighs
and lies flat back on his bed.]
Alan: Jet from Gladiators to host a millennium barn dance at Yeovil aerodrome. [He puts the Dictaphone down for a second. A worrying thought then occurs to him and he switches it on again.] Properly policed. It must not, I repeat not, turn into an all-night rave.
[Alan switches the Dictaphone off. He sighs, and as he lies on the bed music fades in and we cut to a fantasy daydream sequence in which Alan, dressed in a pringle sweater and leather thong, dances on the stage of a seedy nightclub under various coloured lighting. In front of the stage is a small table at which sits Tony Hayers. Alan moves towards him.]
Alan: Would
you like me to lap-dance for you?
[Tony Hayers offers the gyrating Alan a ten-pound note]
Alan: [Shaking
his finger] Uh-uh. I want a second series
[Cut back to the hotel room. Someone is knocking at the door. It is Alan’s PA, Lynn. Alan wakes up, startled.]
Lynn: Alan?
Alan: [Clenching his fist, still
half-asleep] Mmm – fight you! Sorry-
[Alan shifts to the end of the bed]
Alan: Come
in! Door’s open.
[Lynn walks in]
Lynn: Just
me.
Alan: There’s
tea in the pot.
Lynn: Oh
good.
[They both wait for a second, then Lynn realises Alan is waiting for her to offer him a cup.]
Lynn: Do
you want a cup?
Alan: Thank
you. What have you got for me, Lynn?
Lynn: Well, I’ve arranged for you to see a show
house at ten o’clock.
Alan: Good.
Got my fungal foot powder? [Alan takes the powder from Lynn and dusts
his feet with it] Ah, it’s a lifesaver, you
know. I’d effectively be disabled if it weren’t for these.
Lynn: I
also rang all the companies on the product list you gave me. Foster’s Menswear
said yes, if you get the second series, and you wear one garment a week on air.
Monza said ‘no’ to a free caravan and ‘yes’ to a towbar.
Alan: I’ll
take it. Dolphin Bathrooms?
Lynn: No,
they said they didn’t do that sort of thing.
Alan: That’s
rubbish. I know for a fact Martin Lewis got two power showers out of them. One
for him and one for his brother-in-law. Right, dry skin cream. I’m having an
attack of the old flakes again. This morning, my pillow looked like a flapjack.
[Walks to bathroom] OK, Lynn, quick
practice for this meeting with Tony Hayers this Friday. You be Tony Hayers.
Hello, Tony! How are you?
Lynn: I’m
fine. How are you?
Alan: Oh,
very busy. I’ve been working like a Japanese prisoner of war. But a happy one.
Lynn: Good.
Would you like a second series of your chat show?
[Alan pokes his head around the bathroom door.]
Alan: I
think he’ll be a bit tougher than that, Lynn.
Lynn: We
might give you a second series.
Alan: Yeah
that’s about right. OK, smalltalk. Would you like a Cuban cigar, Tony?
Lynn: Yes
please.
Alan: Rolled
on the thighs of a virgin.
[Lynn looks uncomfortable. Alan pops his head round again]
Alan: I’m
being bawdy, Lynn. Enjoy it.
[Lynn makes strange grunting noises. Alan comes back from the bathroom with cream on his face and sits on the bed]
Alan: Well,
he might make that noise. Be a bit weird. Right, you said you might give me a
second series. Why is there any doubt?
Lynn: Things
have to be compartmentalised, Alan. For example, in this drawer you-
[Lynn opens a drawer next to her in the cabinet and freezes. Alan slowly gets up from the bed, looking embarrassed.]
Lynn: You,
erm, have, erm… things… Sometimes you can have too many things…
Alan: Er,
abandon that, Lynn, it’s not working. [He shuts the drawer and goes back
to sit on the bed]. OK, doomsday scenario. You,
Tony Hayers, have decided not to give me another television series. Why? Be
tough.
Lynn: Well,
Alan, the ratings for the first series started poorly and went downhill from
there.
[Alan looks unhappy]
Alan: Are
you being Lynn or Tony?
Lynn: Tony.
Alan: Be
Lynn again. Can I have a second series?
Lynn: Well
who am I?
Alan: [Agitated] Just say yes!
Lynn: Yes!
Alan: Thank
you. [Points at the drawer] They were
there when I moved in. [Walks out]
[Cut to tracking shot of Alan’s car, again on an A-road somewhere near Norwich. Lynn and Alan are listening to Radio Norwich on the car stereo. Alan is driving, Lynn sits next to him.]
Radio
Norwich: [Same elderly
man’s voice] From Swaffham to Cromer on 106.5
and now in Hensbury on 106.9FM, you’re listening to Radio Norwich.
[Alan’s car pulls up outside a large, detached, modern redbrick house with a For Sale sign in the front garden. Inside, Alan is being shown round by the Estate Agent.]
Estate
Agent: Living room…
Alan: Oh
I like this, yes. Certainly enough room to swing a cat in here, isn’t there?
EA: Swing a tiger in here, really!
Alan: You
could, couldn’t you! [Seriously]
Wouldn’t want to, though. Not unless it had been stunned. Even then it’s going
to weigh the best part of a tonne.
EA: [Looking past Alan to Lynn,
who is hovering in the background] Do you like
the room?
Lynn: Oh,
it’s very nice.
Alan: Lynn’s
not my wife. She’s my PA. Hard-worker, but there’s no affection.
EA: You’d be living alone, then?
Alan: Yes.
In fact, you know, the best thing I ever did was get thrown out by my wife! [Snorts
with false machismo] She’s living with a
fitness instructor. He drinks that yellow stuff in tins. He’s an idiot! Erm, is
there a neighbourhood – sorry I’m very close to you there [steps back] – is there a neighbourhood watch system?
EA: I think so, yeah.
Alan: Right,
well, I’ll do my stint. I’d want expenses, though. Otherwise people start
taking liberties, before you know it you’re mowing their lawn.
EA: Shall we have a look at the rest of the house?
Alan: Yup.
[Alan barges Lynn out of the way and steps in front of her to meet the Estate Agent at the door.]
Alan: One
more question. On the way here, quite nearby, I did see a community centre with
a mural on the side.
EA: School for the deaf.
Alan: Right.
That mean, there will be noise or there won’t be noise? Difficult
one to figure out, that. But they’re just deaf, they’re not deaf offenders?
EA: They’re just deaf.
Alan: After
you.
[Alan follows the Estate Agent out of the door, but just as Lynn tries to walk through Alan holds his hand up to her face]
Alan: Er,
not you Lynn. Stay here, get on the phone, pester Debenhams for free lamps,
free lampshades, anything you can blag. [Shuts door].
[In the kitchen.]
EA: The kitchen, obviously…
Alan: Oh
lovely. Has this kitchen been distressed?
EA: Yep, it has, yes.
Alan: Right. What’s this? It’s a cast-iron egg-tree, lacquered. Is that included? I mean, it’s not a deal-breaker but I would like to know.
EA: Everything you want to keep here could be kept. It’s…
Alan: …optional.
EA: As you wish, certainly.
Alan: What’s
this little sink here?
EA: That’s a rinser.
Alan: Yeah.
Get rid of it.
[In the bathroom.]
EA: Bathroom…
Alan: Do
you know what this bathroom says to me? Aqua. Which is French for water. It’s
like being inside an enormous Fox’s Glacier Mint. Which, again, to me is a
bonus.
[In the dining room. Alan is fiddling with the table. He succeeds in opening it up]
Alan: Yes,
it’s an extender! Fantastic. That is the icing on the cake. Do you know, if
King Arthur had had an extender on his table…
EA: It’d have been a different story, really, wouldn’t it?
Alan: Well
it wouldn’t have been round!
EA: No.
Alan: …for
kick-off.
[They are both now walking up the stairs.]
Alan: It’s
very Cluedo this house, isn’t it? Colonel Mustard in the en-suite bathroom with
the lead pipe. Battered.
[Upstairs bathroom.]
Alan: I
do like that toilet. It’s very futuristic, isn’t it? Very, sort of,
high-tech, space age. I can imagine Buck Rogers taking a dump on that. In the
twenty-first century. Can I… have a go?
EA: Sure. Help yourself.
[Pause]
Alan: Can
I have a go on the loo?
[Another short pause before the penny drops]
EA: Oh! Sorry, sorry.
Alan: I’d
prefer to go alone.
EA: Sure, sure. [Turns to leave]
Alan: Most times. [Closes the door after the Estate Agent.]
[Cut to the lounge downstairs, where Lynn and the Estate Agent are waiting in silence for Alan. Alan then bursts in through the double doors.]
Alan: It
flushed on the first yank! I love this house!
Lynn: Alan?
Alan: One
yank, gone!
Lynn: Alan,
that was Tony Hayers’ office on the phone. They’ve put the meeting forward to
12:30 today.
Alan: When
did you get this call?
Lynn: Three
minutes ago.
Alan: So
why didn’t you tell – what have you been doing for three minutes?
Lynn: You
were on the toilet.
Alan: Was I on that long? [Lynn and Alan both turn to the Estate Agent]
EA: It was in that area.
Lynn: We’re
going to have to zip.
Alan: Right,
OK.
[Lynn helps Alan put his jacket on.]
Alan: One
more question about the house. Petrol stations nearby?
EA: Shell, about a quarter of a mile away.
Alan: Right,
does it have a mini-mart?
EA: Mini-mart?
Alan: Scaled-down
supermarket, fits inside a petrol station. Sells pies, anti-freeze…
EA: Yep, it’s got one of them.
Alan: In
that case, you’ve got yourself a deal! I’ll take the house.
EA: Well, are you going to make an offer?
Alan: Oh,
yes of course. Erm, how much is it?
EA: It’s on at three hundred and twenty-five thousand.
Alan: Will
you take three hundred and twenty… four?
EA: Yeah.
[They shake hands.]
Alan: How
many bedrooms has it got?
EA: Five.
Alan: Five,
cor. My five-bedroomed bastard house. Great, Lynn, let’s go off to the BBC. [To
the Estate Agent] I’m going to be back on TV, I
don’t know if you – did you use to watch my TV show?
EA: Oh yes.
Alan: Did
you like it?
EA: I loved it.
Alan: [Opening his arms wide]A-haaa!
[The Estate Agent looks confused. He clearly never saw the show. Alan leaves awkwardly.]
[Shot of Alan’s car entering the car park at BBC Television Centre. The graffiti is still there, but has been crudely altered with purple spray paint to read ‘Cook’, ‘Pass’, ‘Babtridge’.]
Lynn: What
if Tony Hayers sees ‘Cook’, ‘Pass’, ‘Babtridge’ painted on your car?
Alan: Don’t
worry, Lynn, I’ll play it down.
[Inside the BBC restaurant, Alan walks in alongside Tony Hayers. A waiter greets them.]
Alan: …and
it says Partridge, I can understand, but then it says ‘Cock’, and ‘Piss’.
Waiter: A
table for two, sir?
Alan: Yes…no, sorry, you… [gestures towards Tony Hayers]
Tony
Hayers: Yes, in the name of Hayers.
Waiter: If
you’d like to follow me.
[Walking past quiet diners, Alan continues his story in a loud voice.]
Alan: We
managed to rectify it, though, because it now says, by adapting it, ‘Cook’
where it once said ‘Cock’, and it says ‘Pass’ now where it once
said ‘Piss’, so it’s slightly less rude.
[The two are now seated at their table. The waiter goes to hand Alan the menu.]
Alan: I’ll
have a pint of bitter.
Tony: A
mineral water for me, please.
Alan: Actually
I’ll have a mineral water, too.
Waiter: Will
you be having wine with your meal?
Tony: Not
for me.
Alan: No,
no. [Sighs] All this wine nonsense! You
get all these wine people, don’t you? Wine this, wine that. Let’s have a bit of
red, let’s have a bit of white. Ooh, that’s a snazzy bouquet. Oh, this smells
of, I don’t know, basil. Sometimes you just want to say, sod all this wine,
just give me a pint of… mineral water.
Tony: I
don’t think wine’s an elitist thing anymore, you can get good wine in Tesco’s
now. I’d love to make a genuinely popular wine programme.
Alan: Can
I just shock you? I like wine. Despite what I just said earlier. At any one
time I have nine bottles of wine in my house.
Tony: Really?
Alan: Interesting
fact.
Tony: Well
it’s my weakness I’m afraid. I’ve got a cellar.
Alan: So
have I. There’s no wine in it, just a couple of bikes, some smokeless fuel, and
an old bag of cement. Gone hard.
Waiter: Are
you ready to order?
Tony: Yes
I think I’ll have the Fettucini a’la Arabiata please.
Alan: And…
can I have the same, please? But with different shaped pasta. What do you call
those pasta in bows? Like a bow-tie, but miniature? Like an action man bow-tie.
Tony: Farfalle.
Alan: Yeah,
that with action man bow-tie.
Waiter: