Alan Partridge – text interviews and that

Alan Partridge on teen years, getting older and why, in a way, he’s always been a chat show host

Alan Partridge has been a constant on our TVs and airwaves for over 30 years. Even when there have been tricky, sometimes Toblerone-flecked, years in the wilderness he has bounced back

Alan Partridge was born on 2 April 1955 in King’s Lynn. After a long, unpaid stint on hospital radio station Radio Smile at St Luke’s Hospital, Norwich (1975-’83), he became a radio traffic reporter and, by the late 80s was a sports reporter on Radio Norwich, honing the enthusiastic commentary style which would later serve him so well on the BBC shows On The Hour and The Day Today.

In 1994 Partridge was given his own chat show, Knowing Me, Knowing You, at his beloved BBC. It sadly ended in tragedy when he accidentally shot and killed restaurant critic Forbes McAllister on air.

Scene from I'm Alan Partridge
With assistant Lynn, girlfriend Sonja and friend Michael in season 2. Image: BBC Pictures

The following year, he suffered a bitter personal blow as his wife Carol, mother to his two children Fernando and Denise, left him for her fitness instructor. This may have contributed to his a breakdown while filming his Xmas TV special Knowing Me, Knowing Yule, during which he punched BBC Commissioning Editor Tony Hayers with a turkey.   

Alan Patridge’s stint as a long-term guest in the Linton Travel Tavern was immortalised in 1997, when the first series of the fly-on-the-wall documentary I’m Alan Partridge was aired. The second series followed in 2002, focusing on his relationship with his Ukrainian girlfriend Sonja Puchkovskaya (right), and telling all about his harrowing Toblerone addiction.

Big Issue cover

After a wilderness period, which saw Partridge attempt to rebrand as a life coach, he returned to his roots in 2011, presenting Mid Morning Matters, a North Norfolk Digital radio show. Back on track, a number of documentaries followed – among them tributes to his home county (Welcome To The Places Of My Life) and Britain’s class divide (Alan Partridge’s Scissored Isle – as well as his autobiography I, Partridge: We Need To Talk About Alan.

Partridge appeared on the cover of Big Issue in 2017 alongside The Thick of It’s Malcolm Tucker to discuss Brexit. The pair don’t get on very well, even when Partridge recommends mindfulness to the angry spin doctor – “I know three people who’ve given it a go. One of them killed himself, but it worked wonders for the other two.”

 

In 2019, he made his BBC return with This Time, a current affairs programme. Highlights included him performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a mannequin called Eileen (“Come on, Eileen!”) soundtracked by Queen’s Another One Bites the Dust and meeting an lookalike who sang Irish republican songs on air. Following the second series, Partridge opted to move into podcasting with The Oasthouse, now on its third series.

Speaking to The Big Issue for his Letter to My Younger Self, Alan Partridge reflects on a life which has brought him professional success, but on a personal level has been a bit of mixed bag, if we’re being honest

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Paint a picture for us – what kind of teenage boy were you?

I wasn’t your typical teenager. Whether it was because my mum cut my hair or because I wasn’t allowed to sit in the front seat of the car until I was 15, I retained a wonderfully childlike quality long into adolescence. I’d spend weekends – not sniffing glue or kissing with tongues – but collecting conkers or drawing pictures of the Red Arrows or writing letters to the Red Arrows. 

The day before my 15th birthday, I had my passing out parade at the Scout hut. I shook hands with every Scout there, saluted the Scout Leader, lowered and folded the flag and then, while the others ran off to the recreation ground to hoik up a rope swing, I walked in the other direction – needing to find myself. I walked for what seemed like miles but was probably just kilometres until, in the window of a charity shop, I saw a denim jacket and knew I had to have it. I bought it, tossed my neckerchief into a river and donned the denim. Even though it was a woman’s jacket initially made for a female darts team, wearing it transformed me. Suddenly I had swagger, attitude and beef. If clothes maketh the man, then that denim jacket sure madeketh me. 

The voice of Radio Norwich. Image: Jackie Di Stefano/Shutterstock

What were your main concerns and preoccupations?

Throughout these years, scouting always came first – had to, we’d sworn allegiance to Lord Baden Powell and Her Majesty the Queen and I’m sorry but that meant something. But after leaving the Scouts due to my age, my world opened up. Suddenly my eyes were opened to music, girls, cars and yes, the odd illicit substance! While drugs per se didn’t arrive in Norwich until the late ’70s, I’d learned that you could open the cola mixer tap in the school canteen and pour out some syrup to get a sugar rush. High on the cocktail of vegetable extracts, me and another boy would spend afternoons giggling and talking at 100mph, or 70mph certainly. 

All good fun but soon I began to fixate on these stolen gulps of sugar. I’m not saying I became dependent – that would trivialise substance issues – but I sure wanted it very much. One day it dawned on me: I barely recognised the boy I had become – one who said ‘yeah’ instead of ‘yes’ and ‘what’ instead of ‘pardon’, a boy who could barely remember how to even draw a Red Arrow. I knew I had to beat this. Fortunately, one weekend, the canteen changed the mixer to something called Trident Cola which tasted absolutely rancid.  

Season one of I’m Alan Partridge. Image: BBC Pictures

How did you get on with the opposite sex?

Was I a hit with the girls? Not really. My mother told me that holding hands with a girl could cause her to fall pregnant, but she didn’t explain it was a joke for several years and even though I knew it probably wasn’t true, the holding-hands-pregnant thing did retard my confidence around girls. 

Things changed one hot summer. I had always suffered from nosebleeds and would regularly have to sit with the school nurse until they subsided. One day, a new girl – who was also having a nosebleed – plonked herself next to me. We sat in silence that afternoon and on many other afternoons thereafter; over time, a bond began to form and soon we’d find ourselves sitting outside the nurse’s office, silently holding each other’s hand while our remaining hand clutched tissues to our respective noses. 

Everyone called her Bloody Mary, but I later found out her name was Helen. She moved away over the holidays and, though I’m sad we never spoke, I cherish those quietly companionable nosebleed afternoons.  

Did you always have an ambition to be a chat show host? 

In a way, I’ve always been a chat show host, forever peppering parents and teachers with questions and conversation-starters. From slightly annoying ones like “Are we nearly there yet?” or “Why does dad make a murmuring noise when he eats?” – to deeper, more existential queries such as “Does God see women getting undressed?” As I grew older, people began to say, “What is this, some kind of interview?” and I realised that I had matured into a very accomplished interlocutor. I’d see the likes of Johnny Carson and David Frost on the TV and realise that if they could earn fame and fortune asking questions, then so could I.  

And I did. Without being vulgar (I know this is a magazine for the homeless) I have earned more than £150,000 in 18 of the last 25 years.

Alan Partridge with three women dressed in Santa outfits
Hosting Knowing Me Knowing Yule, 1995. Image: Everett Collection Inc / Alamy Stock Photo

If you could time travel back to your younger self and use your hindsight to give him some useful advice, what would you tell him?

Believe me, if I could travel back in time, I have a list of things I’d do before I doled out advice to myself. Kill baby Hitler, shake hands with Moses, ride a dinosaur, not shoot a man on live TV. Having completed my list, sure, I’d sit down with the slightly younger me and offer some advice. Namely: do not buy crypto, no matter how many times the ad appears online. And when going through a divorce, find your own lawyer, do not use the one your ex-wife suggests. She has a vested interest in you having a bad lawyer. It’s obvious. 

Do you think the BBC has always treated you well? Have you always been shown the respect you feel you deserve?

I have no beef with the BBC. Interestingly, I’m one of the few broadcasters to have been sacked by the corporation twice. The last time? Well, you might think I’d be upset at what was a pretty clear-cut case of unfair dismissal. After all, I was grieving the death of my big dead dog Seldom. I needed and deserved sympathy. None came. And yet, I forgive them. 

But their cruel treatment of me is one thing; their decision to snub the death of Seldom is quite another. In the weeks before Seldom died, the crew of This Time had held one-minute silences for Gerry Marsden, Captain Tom, Prince Philip and Michael Apted – three of whom I have heard of. When I asked that the same honour be afforded my dead dog, I was given short shrift. Seldom’s death went unmarked by the corporation. I can forgive a lot but that? That, I will not, cannot and shall not forgive, ever. I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever forgive them.

Alan Partridge
1998: Presenting a Brit Award to “the talented and not unattractive” All Saints for best video. Image: JM Enternational/Shutterstock

What have you learned about yourself as a husband and father along the way?

It’s important to remember that being a husband or a father accounts for only a small part of who you are – something my ex-wife Carol never fully understood. At social functions, she’d sometimes embarrass me/herself by answering the question “And what do you do?” with the words: “I’m a full-time mum.” I would quickly laugh and explain to her that a mum isn’t a job, and that she was technically unemployed. Because I was employed, I was able to bring in fresh or American ideas from the world of broadcasting and business and deploy them in a domestic setting, something I was keen to impress on Carol during her annual review. 

This imposed some welcome structure on the family unit, with me re-imagining my wife and kids as members of a TV crew. Myself as presenter and executive producer; Carol, the huffy floor manager, wayward son Fernando was every inch the gobby cameraman and daughter Denise – who had a hormone defect that reduced her to tantrums most days – was the make-up lady because that’s a thing that make-up ladies do. It all worked beautifully. Yes, the marriage ended in a painful divorce and I became estranged from my kids but I don’t think anyone is suggesting that was my fault. It was Carol’s fault. Carol and the kids.

How does the pressure of your job sit with you? Do you enjoy being a celebrity?

Nightclub and tits impresario Peter Stringfellow used to have a saying, “A diamond is just a piece of coal put under pressure”. Odd from a man who buckled so cravenly under financial pressure that he declared himself bankrupt not once but twice. Still! There’s something in it. And I like to think I thrive under pressure, as long as I’ve had a nap and a snack. And make no mistake, being in the public eye –  I almost said ‘pubic’ then! Horrible! – being in the public eye, does bring a certain amount of pressure. People want to approach and chat. They take photographs. They tut if you snap at a waitress. 

Fortunately, my assistant understands the pressures of fame and creates a ring of steel around me to limit interactions with the public. She’s my first line of defence, bodychecking anyone who gets too close like a Baptist linebacker and on one occasion smashing a sightseer’s camera. I find that hugely comforting.

Alan Partridge
Alan Partridge’s Scissored Isle, 2016. Image: Sky TV/Colin Hutton

What advice would you give your younger self about getting older?

Put simply, ageing is drying. You’re drying out with every day that passes. Your hair goes wiry, your skin gets chapped, lips crack, feet itch, bum wrinkles, odour gets musty. The trick to staying young? Moisture, moisture, moisture. Eliminate dryness aggressively and often. Conditioner, skin lotion, coconut oil, lip balm, lacquers, creams, ointments and mists. Get wet and stay wet. 

If you could re-live one day of your life so far, what day would it be?

We actually had this exact conversation over Zoom, me and a few broadcasting chums. I said the happiest day of my life – the day I’d love to relive – was the day I met Princess Anne. Others had their own favourites: James May said his was the day Clarkson punched that producer; Deborah Meaden said it was the day she moved into a new house and found two grand in a child’s shoebox; Les Dennis said the first time he slept with Holden, and Jake Humphrey smiled to himself and said the best day of his life hasn’t happened yet. Well, we all wet ourselves. The guy talks bollocks. 



Hello mate!

Just a quick one, mate. I’ve written another searing memoir and just thought I’d send a few copies to a few of my closest mates.

Obviously, mate, you come pretty high on that list. So here’s yours. A little gift from one mate to another (mate). Nothing more than that.

Anyway, that’s all it was. Hope all’s well with you, mate. Cheers, friend. All the best, buddy. Speak soon, pal. Bye.

Oh! Shit, nearly forgot to say… if you do enjoy the book and you did wanna, say, holler about it on TV, radio, social media, amongst friends (large groups only please), or in a national newspaper, then that’d be cool by me, mate. I know what you’re like! And I know what kind of support one mate gives to another mate, which is obviously what we are.

Obviously I’ll do the same for you, mate. If you got anything you’re proud of, bung it my way and after running it by my team I’ll consider, in selected cases, giving the big chops on my socials. No biggie. Why wouldn’t I? We’re mates.

Anyway, enjoy the book and enjoy talking about it to people.

Thanks, mate. Cheers, mate. Bye mate!
 
Thanks again, mate.
 
Alan Partridge.

 


Alan Partridge: Taggart is my Friday night treat

Tuesday December 19 2023, 12.01am GMT, The Times
 
The broadcaster lets us into his cultural life, from how he wishes he had written One Hundred Years of Solitude to his view that Dubai is heaven on earth.
 
The book I’m reading
Nothing at the moment as I recently got a TV in my bedroom.
 
The book I wish I had written
While I love all of Shakespeare’s works, the book I most wish I’d written is One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez, in the original Spanish.
 
The book I couldn’t finish
Delia Smith’s Christmas. A lovely book with great photographs and nice paper stock, but it contains too many recipes and lacks a clear narrative arc or unifying theme — and my God, she likes butter. To be fair, Delia holds her hands up. “I f***ed up,” she says.
 
The book I’m ashamed I haven’t read
Nomad by Alan Partridge. When I finished writing it I was so elated I attached it to an email, whizzed it off to the publishers and only afterwards thought: “I should probably have read that back.” To this day I have never read Nomad back.
 
My favourite play
Ali Baba and the Smoggy Thieves by Peter Greaves, a scathing 2022 panto that entertained kids, but also dealt brilliantly with the proposal to extend the Ulez scheme to outer London. Hilarious yet thought-provoking. “The days of widespread car ownership are behind you!” “Oh no, they’re not!” Yes, very enjoyable.
 
My favourite film
Would rather not say.
 
The box set that I’m hooked on
Taggart. Some detective series fail because you don’t believe serious crimes would take place where they’re set — eg Oxfordshire. But Taggart is set in Glasgow, so that’s never going to be a problem. On a Friday evening, after I’ve rung round to see if anyone’s free for a drink and they’re not, I sit back with a glass of wine, pop the subtitles on and enjoy one to two episodes until I nod off.
 
The lyric I wish I’d written
“As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti,” from Africa by Toto. An oddly unflattering simile since Kilimanjaro at 19,341ft is more than twice as high as Olympus at 9,570ft, but it prompted me to spend an afternoon googling the heights of famous mountains. And if the lyric encourages just one child to google the heights of famous mountains, well you cannot ask for more than that.
 
The instrument I play
During a siege in 2013, I was briefly superb at the bass guitar even though I’ve shown no aptitude for it before or since. These days it’s drums. Other than bread-making and Laser Quest, there’s no better way to stressbust than playing the drums. I’m not a home drummer — neighbours complained — so if I’m feeling tense I just pop over to a friend’s house and hit the kit in his son’s bedroom. I’m free to stay as long as I like unless the boy has homework, in which case I’m to limit my sessions to half an hour.
 
The instrument I wish I’d learnt
Would rather not say.
 
The song that saved me
Streets of Philadelphia by Bruce Springsteen. I heard it played over the end of Tom Hanks’s Aids drama Philadelphia and also at Kraft Foods’ launch of the low-fat cream cheese Philadelphia Light. I cried on both occasions.
 
The place I feel happiest
Dubai. Heaven. On. Earth.
 
The stage show I’m looking forward to
A friend told me that they’re making a stage musical of the film version of the stage musical Cats. If true, I’d love to come along. I’d video it on my iPhone to create a film version of the stage musical of the film version of the stage musical Cats.
 
The play I walked out of
War Horse. I didn’t find the horses realistic and could definitely see people inside. I didn’t boo, I just finished my crisps, then quietly climbed over a family to get to the aisle and slipped away. When the usher asked me why I was going I said I didn’t find the horses realistic and could definitely see the people inside. He said, “Have you tried pretending the people aren’t there?” As soon as he said that something clicked. I retook my seat, opened my Minstrels and was absolutely transfixed by Marianne Elliott and Tom Morris’s spellbinding production. Bravo.
 
Overrated
Lee Child. His books are masterpieces, but sometimes — not boasting — my idea for what could happen in a fight scene is better than his. For instance, there’s one where Jack Reacher knocks someone out with a punch to the jaw whereas I’d have had Jack Reacher use judo because there’s no way the baddie would expect that. And there are other examples too.
 
The last TV programme that made me cry
Doctor Who after a particularly tough Saturday. I’d attended a bake sale to raise money for an extension to the car park at Royal Norwich Golf Club so members wouldn’t have to walk from the overflow behind the ninth, and my cupcakes just hadn’t sold. I’d worked really hard on them and even though a few had got squashed in the car and some of the icing had been dragged off, I still thought they were good. When I got home, hungry and deflated, Doctor Who was on, but my assistant had “tidied up”, so the remote had gone Awol. There was no way of not watching Doctor Who. I sat down, coat still on and just wept. Absolutely awful programme.
 

Alan Partridge on cars, Canadians and Sunday roasts: ‘I’m already about 70% vegan’

As told to 

The broadcaster, newscaster, sportscaster, podcaster and star of Alpha Papa tackles questions about the climate crisis, Strictly Come Dancing and true love

If the call came, would you be the next James Bond? Bigbadsean
Wouldn’t happen. There’s a sequence to the casting of 007. They choose an actor from one of the smaller UK nations, then from a non-British Commonwealth country and finally an Englishman – and repeat. Actor from smaller UK nation (Connery, Scotland), non-British actor (Lazenby, Australia), Englishman (Moore, England). Sequence completed, we go again: actor from smaller UK nation (Dalton, Wales), non-British actor (Brosnan, Ireland), Englishman (Craig, England).

So, you see, I couldn’t be the next Bond. It’ll be James Nesbitt (Northern Ireland), Ryan Gosling (Canada), then an Englishman. Assuming Nesbitt and Gosling do three movies each (one every three years), the earliest I could take the role would be 2041, when I’d be in my 80s. That’s almost certainly too old. While I have ideas as to how the role could be slightly rewritten to accommodate the secret agent’s mobility and bladder issues, even then I think it very, very unlikely they’d choose me. Given all that? Not going to happen … probably not going to happen.

I’m a vegan. What would it take to convince you to become vegan, tooelykwh
I’m already about 70% vegan and have to say I don’t find it that hard. My last Sunday roast? Potatoes, carrots, parsnips, broccoli, cauliflower and beef. So, almost entirely vegan. Same with Nando’s. You’ve got your chips, your macho peas, your corn on the cob – show me a single thing on that plate that’s come from an animal. You can’t. Have another look. You still can’t. In most places, with only a minimum of effort, large portions of your meal can and will be vegan. So, be good to yourself, be good to the planet and go largely vegan today.

What song should be played at your funeral and who should sing? ambandib2005
There’s a homeless busker who performs at St Stephen’s underpass in Norwich. Some say he lives with his mum and pretends to be without a home to monetise the public’s pity for the downtrodden. I’m not sure; he looks homeless enough to me. But his act! A voice like thick honey, Kenneth-Williams-style diction and a set list comprising your Snow Patrols, Stereophonics and a slightly-too-high Goo Goo Doll encore. He’s the best singer I’ve ever heard (so far). And because I’m getting cremated and they position the singer near the furnace doors, he’d get to enjoy the warmth while singing. Even in death I’ll be giving a bit back to the needy. (Song: Pipes of Peace.)

Alan Partridge and Jennie Gresham (Susannah Fielding) in This Time With Alan Partridge
Alan Partridge and Jennie Gresham (Susannah Fielding) in This Time With Alan Partridge. Photograph: BBC/Baby Cow/Gary Moyes/PA

Who would be your ideal partner in Strictly Come Dancing? mesm
I’ve given this a lot of thought and all things considered I’d go for one of the women.

What were the greatest life lessons you learned from your parents? Abadabs
From my father, I learned how to strengthen conkers (soak in vinegar, bake for two hours at 140C/gas mark 1). From my mother, never, ever stop to help a broken-down vehicle – even if they look to be in distress. It’s actually a trap set by robbers.

Have you given up on finding true love? baffledbylife
It makes me laugh when people say that. I feel true love every day: the true love of seeing a flower in bloom, of hearing a bird in song, of a freshly baked loaf or a gambolling lamb. I delight at the first dew of spring and the final leaves of autumn. And my heart positively soars when I’m about to reverse out of a parking space, but then realise the space in front is empty, meaning I can zoom out forwards. So, you see, true love fills my every waking hour. For what it’s worth, I also happen to be in a sexful relationship with a woman. But yeah, like I say, makes me laugh.

Radio, TV, books, films, podcasts. What worlds are left for you to conquer? CarrAgger
I’m increasingly drawn to the world of long-form documentary. What would mine be? Easy: the definitive history of the Vietnam war. Once that’s done – it would take eight to 10 weeks – I might direct a movie. The possibilities of cartoon excite me. There’s an elegance and poetry to animation that’s hard for live action to match. Also, if you have an idea for a scene where a character’s head has to turn round 350 degrees (which I do), animation makes it much easier.

If you weren’t available, who would you choose to anchor the next election night at the BBC? WyzacH
Matt Baker. Next question.

What has been your most rewarding spiritual experience? Aaaaaal
The opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics. I was watching the left-leaning propaganda display with a Welsh woman I’d accidentally started dating, and she asked if I had any Doritos, perhaps because she was hungry or wanted to crunch loudly over the commentary. I nipped to the garage and bought a bag, but didn’t buy salsa as I had a jar in the cupboard. When I got home, I noticed the salsa had gone off in 2010, but we tucked in anyway, since best-before dates are a scam. It was only when we finished that I noticed the expiry date actually said 2001.

The stomach cramps were the first to come, followed by dizzying nausea and soon (lots of) vomit. For the next six hours, we were sick again and again, locked in a double helix of distress and euphoric relief accompanied by the smell of wet wipes. It became a hallucinogenic, out-of-body experience. We found ourselves hugging and laughing, sharing our innermost thoughts, lost in flights of fancy and repeatedly being sick. By sunrise, it had worn off. I called her a cab and emailed my assistant five carefully chosen words: “Get me a cleaner, quick.”

I think of my life as the story of two Alans: the Alan before the time I was sick watching the opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics and the Alan after the time I was sick watching the opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics.

As a man with few equals, who can think on his feet while talking eloquently into a microphone, isn’t it time we heard you commentating on a Cup Final? thedribbler2
It’s a good question and, despite the fact you inexplicably capitalised the words “Cup” and “Final”, one I’m happy to answer. The only football finals I’d be prepared to commentate on would be for the women’s game. I’ll probably take some flak for this, but I happen to believe that women and girls are the future of the sport. Like I say, might not be the cool or popular thing to say, but it’s just what I happen to believe.

As an authority on the benefits of self-reflection and continuous improvement, what are your top three regrets and how did you learn from them? MarkAP
Laughed at wife when face swelled up after bee sting(s); kicked pig; wasn’t great dad. Don’t believe in looking back, so haven’t learned from them.

A 2002 Range Rover
A 2002 Range Rover. Photograph: Goddard Archive/Alamy

From the Rover Vitesse fastback to the Vauxhall Insignia, you have owned some of the truly great modern automobiles. Which has been your favourite car over the years? cy7000
An interesting question, and the answer may surprise you. I could easily reel off the high-class cars I’ve driven over the years: 2022 Range Rover Velar, 2021 Range Rover Vogue SE, Range Rover Sport 4.4 V8 petrol. But years before then, as a younger man in a simpler time, I fondly remember pootling around Norfolk in a humble little runaround. Wasn’t the fanciest nor most expensive, but it had personality, and that matters more than anything to me. I cried when I had to sell it. It was a 2002 Range Rover HSE+.

What’s your opinion on the rise of electric cars? CosmoLang
As Norfolk’s car laureate, it’s my job – my privilege – to promote car ownership and usage across the county. As such, I’m largely fuel-agnostic: what powers our vehicles is less important than that we’re in our vehicles. Remember: Norfolk is a big, flat pancake of a county with fewer public transport journeys available per head, as a percentage of mean population density, than anywhere in the UK. And although I made that statistic up, cars will continue to be central to our prosperity, not to mention our ability to get to work or our racquets club.

Does that make me an apologist for big oil or large petrol? Not a bit. Don’t forget, in the 90s, I was one of the first car-liking public figures to openly discuss catalytic converters, and not just because I liked saying the words “catalytic converter”. And while this isn’t the place to get into the whole he-said-she-said of whether climate change is actually happening, what I will say is that while cars are demonised, other sources of greenhouse emissions get off scot-free. Prime example? Cow trumps.

While I welcome the rise of electric cars, I don’t necessarily see it as the only show in town. With the technology available to make smaller and smaller reactors, we’d be fools to rule out the emergence of the nuclear hatchback.

WFH: A suggested itinerary

 

Apart from the deaths, the greatest downside to the Covid pandemic was surely the closing down of shared office spaces. Working from home was fun for a few days. Sending emails from the bath, eating choc ices while designing a Powerpoint presentation, conducting zoom calls with the contented smirk of a man who is secretly naked from the waist down. All good, honest, British fun.

But it soon became debilitating. Away from the regimented timetable of a day in the office, corporate high-flyers – from COOs to VPs, marketing EMEA – found themselves lost and bewildered in the home, their working day plagued by the petty distractions of home life. Why is the washing machine beeping? Are the bin men usually this loud? Where is the dog, I’m sure we used to have a dog?

Unforgivably, many succumbed to the lure of daytime telly or attended to their children, causing productivity to nose dive.

What’s needed is structure. To that end, I humbly present a daily itinerary that worked for me. Maybe it will work for you.

  • 8am – get up. Smile. It’s gonna be a great day, although that shouldn’t be taken as a guarantee. I don’t know you and your day might not be great, or even good.
  • 8.10 – throw those curtains wide and open the bedroom window six inches, wider if you’re a gassy sleeper.
  • 8.15 – shower/sink wash – debate rages about whether shower should come before or after breakfast. I’m adamant your wash should come first, but I make an exception if it’s a bank holiday or I can’t be arsed.
  • 9.15 – your shower shouldn’t take more than an hour. If it does, film yourself on an iPhone, watch it back and and see where you can trim out some dawdling. Then it’s breakfast. I opt for porridge or eggs but never both as the combined swelling of the digested produce can create a boulder of compacted food that will create problems later in the digestive process.
  • 9.30 – A strong cup of black coffee, with milk. And a hit of Gorilla Brain Powder, a nootropic compound of Asian ginseng, caffeine, and guava created and sold by a friend of mine, a former doctor who was struck off for feeling up patients but whose medical know how has never been in question. You just stir two very heaped tablespoons into your morning coffee – and they’ve got to be very heaped – and some people think it boosts memory, focus, mental stamina and focus. Works for me!
  • 10-1 Work. Set aside the morning for the less demanding grunt work, simple but dull tasks that require little in the way of creative thought. Chances are you’re still groggy from a night’s sleep, especially if you sleep with your mouth ajar, and will be until just after lunch.
  • 1pm. A stretch or a stroll.
  • 1.15. Lunch. An apple, a sandwich, a small chocolate biscuit such as a Penguin, a cup of tea. Another shot of BBMP (BrainBludgeon Mind Powder)
  • 2pm – Work. This is the creative peak of your day. Sit facing a window and let your brain spiral into new, wonderful places. Right now, I’m spending my afternoons trying to devise a TV quiz show, surely the most lucrative line of work in TV, in a time-spent-to-money-rolling-in analysis. After all, we all love a quiz show – whether it’s high brow BBC 4 ones featuring teams of shy librarians or ones for thick people on ITV – and so each afternoon I soak in a bubble bath with a glass of sparkling water and a miniature whiteboard and think up quiz show formats. So far I’ve got Cash Tsunami, Britain’s Cleverest Granny, Quiz Me Good, Quiz Time, Quiz Attack, Quiz UK, Quizzers, Quiz Bang, Quiz Up, Quiz Off, Quizzical, Boffin Time, Children’s Trivia Hour with Alan Partridge and Celebrity Squid Game. One week ago, I came up with a format so special, I stood up in my bath, and did a funky dance, only stopping because my bath is in front of an unfrosted bathroom window and I was making the neighbour’s dog bark. Mind Jammer is an idea that reimagines quiz shows for the TikTok Generation and will make Phil Schofield literally defecate himself. Now’s not the time to go into it in detail but the rules are simple. Get a question right and you have access to the Grid. Plot your course using the numbers along the bottom and the letters up the side. Numbers must be proximate either numerically or geographically but letters can be chosen freely. A correct answer eliminates a tile, assuming you have the corresponding pair. But obviously you can use your power ball only when the answer is in play. Once on the board, contestants can play or nominate until they win or are the only one not to have lost. I’ll provide more detail in a separate post.
  • 7pm Stop work. RELAX

How to make professional connections

 

How to make professional connections by Alan Partridge

A lot of people are surprised to hear I’m a keen advocate of LinkedIn. I’m seen very much as a people person – with good reason. When it comes to professional interaction, I like to do it man to man. A handshake after a game of squash. A clinked pint glass in a gastropub. Back slaps and big laughs through mouthfuls of steak and wine. To me, that’s business.

Whereas LinkedIn users find solace in what you might call virtual connections tappity-tap-tapping smartphone messages on a quiet train or scrolling content at home with the blue light of an iPad illuminating their blankly impassive faces in an otherwise dark bedroom.

What is a friend? Someone you spend a lot of time with, united in the pursuit of a shared objective which you work towards in exchange for money? Wrong – you’re thinking of a colleague. Someone you’re close to then, with whom you shared a bond of affection, warmth and trust, and has the same mum as you. Nope, that’s a sibling. Alright then, someone unrelated to you with whom you enjoy spending time, and who makes you laugh and lets you stroke them. Also wrong – that’s a dog.

Although I’ve enjoyed seriously good online connections with some seriously good LinkedIn users – Beth Greaves, marketing manager at Borrowdale Executive Vehicles; Jim Snell, MD at Snell Animal Feed; Penelope Troome, legal executive at Wardle Wardle & Wardell; Stephen K Gribben III, VP, marketing EMEA at Hoopla Plastic Toys Inc – I honestly think more of you have it in you to function adequately in a social setting. Right now few of you do.

I don’t propose to go into the reasons for that – in some cases, it’s shyness or a Kermit-the-frog-style ‘nerd voice’. In others, confidence isn’t the problem so much as having ripe breath or hairy hands.

Whatever the reason – and as I say, I don’t have time to go into what it may be; it could be simply eating loudly – whatever that reason… and it could even be that you say pacific when you mean specific, again now is not the time to go into any of that. Whatever the reason, LinkedIn users tend to struggle when it comes to giving a good account of themselves in a real-world environment.

Now some of you will take issue with that. ‘I have loads of LinkedIn followers, and I’ve never had a problem making friends.’ And yet you’re reading this right now on LinkedIn, whereas other people, ‘friend people’, aren’t are they? They’re sitting down to dinner with loved ones, hosting a cheese evening with friends from school, talking cars with the guys, cradling a newborn baby or succeeding in business.

No disrespect intended – but good business is about relationships. Ask anyone from Matt Hancock to Aaron Banks and they’ll tell you: where possible, you do business with friends.

I’ve got a lot of time for LinkedIn – it’s a valuable resource when you want to view someone’s mugshot so you know if they’re Hilary a man or Hilary a woman. Or if you need to know if a US contact goes by Steve Gribben of Stephen K Gribben III. Beyond that, it ain’t massively my bag. It’s a forum that often describes itself as a marketplace of ideas. You know what else calls itself a marketplace of ideas? A marketplace. Those covered ones where stallholders wear money belts and the ideas you overhear are generally old or unworkable. 

Alan Partridge sitting on a gate, a field stretches out behind him

So why am I on here? Well, cards on the table, my initial sign-up came in 2019 and let’s call that what it was – a social media strategy devised by the marketing guys at Audible.co.uk who, and I’m guessing here, identified the LinkedIn demographic as the most likely to buy audiobooks. And they’re probably right – you’re guys who want to consume podcasts and books while sitting astride a rowing machine. Or driving to a sales conference in Birmingham. Or power walking before brunch. You’d no more read a book than I’d watch a television programme on ITV2. Knowing all this, the marketing boffins at Audible signed me up, hoping I’d wheedle my way in, butter you up, network with you, and kiss your sweet ass cheeks in the hope you’ll warm to me and listen to my podcast.

But I’ve grown fond of each and every one of you. And since I’m here, I thought why not help a few of you out with The Alan Partridge Guide to Making Connections If You’re A LinkedIn User.

1.    Shave your hands. Hairy-handed men engender feelings such as unease, mistrust, disdain and revulsion. It’s a fact that humans like to be around smooth-handed people. Yet of the men I’ve seen on LinkedIn more than half have hairy hands.

2.    Volume. Normal conversation tends to be be around 60db. Lower if you’re Kirsty Young, a lot higher if you went to public school. But aim for 60.

3.    Learn to sidle. Eavesdrop in a room until you find a conversation you can follow. Latch on, and very very slowly get closer and closer, murmuring agreement louder and louder. Before long you’ll be inside the conversation and might make a friend.

4.    Fresh breath! Expel a gobful of breath into a cupped hand. If it ain’t fresh, get it fresh.

5.    Cut out the Essex. If you’re from Essex, tone it down generally.

6.    Eye contact. But remember to blink.

7.    Think of things to say. It’s no use expecting a bundle of talking points to pop in your head right on cue. Prepare in advance a bunch of conversational jumping off points: how did you get here? Do you own a car? Do you like cars? What’s your favourite car? Does your wife own a car? What kind of car does your wife own? Have them ready.

8.    Be nice. As my mum used to say, it’s nice to be important but it’s more important to be nice. FYI, she was neither.

9.    Hand-stubble growing back? Shave again.

Think yourself creative: a thought piece

Alan Partridge

Broadcaster, Newscaster, Sportscaster, Thoughtcaster, Podcaster
 
No alt text provided for this image

The question I’m asked more than any other – more than ‘are you Alan Partridge’ or ‘is that a wig’ or ‘why don’t you have a Norwich accent’ or ‘have you passed an advanced driving course because you drive like you have’ – is this: ‘how can I maximise my creativity?’

Because whatever your profession, whatever game you’re in, you’re only going to become an industry leader if you’re creative.

Creativity can take many forms. It might be Bernard Matthews’ forensic quest to find efficiencies in poultry slaughtering that would allow him to achieve the fabled ‘ten pence turkey’. Or Gary Barlow’s ingenuity both in writing hit pop tracks or seeking to become ever more tax efficient.

True creativity needs to become a habit. It’s no good sitting down to dream up a logo or TV format and thinking you could just summon creativity at the flick of a switch. You need to train that muscle, like Ross Kemp does with his glutes. That means thinking creatively the moment you awake. Think about the way you get out of bed. You always get out of bed the same way – flopping one side of the duvet up, letting both legs dollop over the side, before planting the feet and standing up. Spend a few minutes thinking of another way to leave the bed, a different way to leave the bed. Roly poly off the end; stand on it and jump to the door; have an obese friend jump onto the mattress in a way that catapults you up and out, I don’t know. Just think, see what occurs.

Okay, it’s breakfast. You’d normally slop a bowlful of porridge out of a pan and sit down to eat. Is that it? You’re just going to dole it mouthwards while you stare at the wall? Use your noodle and be creative. Why not use the porridge to exercise the mind muscle. How would you describe porridge to someone who’d never encountered it? What words would you use? Slop, paste, gunk, hot, claggy, silken, gruel, oaty, food, nice, eat, tummy, carbohydrate, coagulated. Any others? Already, your cogs are whirring. You’re in a creative mind space. Why not make a face from the components of the bowl. Two blueberries for eyes. A smear of banana could make a cracking little smile. Almond ears. If it’s thickened enough, use the sharp edge of the spoon to slash a nose down the middle. There it is, think outside the box, be different, be you, be best.

You dress. What were you thinking, shirt and tie? How about just a shirt, open to the sternum? Or a polo shirt with a tie? Or a ribbed, turtle neck sweater in an unusual colour? Cravats can be a great way to explore your creative side. Ditto a beret. Try something different. For crying out loud, be creative.

Time for that video call. Why not do that a little differently – after all they can only see you from the chest up. Why not host the call while sporting some ladies shoes, or scratching your feet with a pumice stone, or doing some lunges? Again, try to be creative. I don’t know how many times I have to say it.

I could go on.

This is an extract from Forward Solutions: An Imbecile’s Guide by Alan Partridge, published here with the kind permission of Alan Partridge. Copyright Alan Partridge. Alan Partridge. 

 

Alan Partridge On The New BBC Series Of This Time…

Alan, welcome back! For the uninitiated, what can you tell us about This Time?

It’s what’s known as a magazine show, bottling all of the magic of magazine reading and translating that into 30 minutes of TV. Some people sneer at magazines. But imagine a world without magazines, with readers having to make do with books, newspapers and letters. A chilling prospect.

This Time manages to be all your favourite magazines rolled into one. As informative as the Reader’s Digest, as sassy as Bunty, as entertaining as Private Eye pre-Hislop, as debonaire as Conde Nast Traveler, as fair-minded as The Spectator.

Our goal? To deliver telly people talk about – what BBC execs still refer to as water cooler TV, even when you point out everyone works from home these days so office water coolers are just stagnant receptacles going mouldy round the nozzle.

What kind of subjects does the show cover?

What doesn’t it cover!

But what does it cover?

Well, we’ll cover current affairs, hot button topics, global issues, everyday niggles, some very light politics – pitched at or below GCSE level – all held together with good old fashioned chat, which by the way is baked into the format. We underfill the show by about 30% to allow for nattering. So over the half hour, expect around 20 minutes of content. And the rest of it is left slack to keep the show fresh.

Describe a typical day working on the show.

I like to arrive at the BBC early.

I often bring in a box of doughnuts for the team and say ‘dig in’ while I stand beside the box to ensure no one takes more than their allocated one. It’s a shame I need to police it but this is the modern BBC for you.

The editorial meeting will discuss items we can cover in future episodes. It’s all fairly workaday so I like to hurl in more daring ideas – often just semi-thoughts like ‘zero gravity?’ or ‘live from Broadmoor?’ – and yes, 99.9% of them will be quite rightly discarded. But it’s that 0.1% that could one day scoop us a nomination for a National Television Award.

At lunch, I’ll grab a sandwich and go and look down into the atrium occupied by BBC News to see if I can see them ready the One O’Clock News, while my co-presenter Jennie [Gresham] spends time with her phone.

After lunch, another meeting, this one running through that evening’s show. I tend to tune out of this one. It is possible to over-prepare for a show, and render it stale. Instead I prefer to experience parts of the show as a viewer would – which means sometimes I won’t really know who a guest is until they come on, or what Jennie’s report is about or why the man in my earpiece is saying I have to walk to the other side of the studio.

And then it’s all about getting ready for the show. I’ll sit in hair and make up for half an hour and then retire to my dressing room to instantly redo my hair, unmaking all the mistakes the hair stylist wouldn’t have made if she’d been listening.

Then I dress, do 10 push ups, finish the doughnuts if there are any doughnuts left, and wait for the show to start.

Do you have any input on the stories you feature in the show?

Under the producership of our producer Philip, it’s a green light, open door, free-for-all. Got an idea? Pitch it. Doesn’t have to be a topic to be covered in the show. I might go to him and say, the lighting guy isn’t very good, lose him. Or I think Jennie needs to wear more blusher.

Philip is the Biddy Baxter of This Time, a producer who’s helmed the show since its inception. Sadly he’s leaving because he’s got a younger girlfriend and she wants to go travelling. But we’ll certainly miss him. He’s wonderfully hands off which means he’ll leave you to write your own autocue or deliver video packages without always running them by him

And while things might change under the new producer whoever he (or she!!!!) is, they might not.

What’s it like presenting alongside such a popular presenter as Jennie Gresham?

A keen tennis player and childless, Jennie likes nothing more than catching up on the soaps, reading the Guardian newspaper or shopping for the latest iPads. She’s modern, sassy and wants it all!

It’s fair to say we approach our roles as co-anchors slightly differently. One of us can be seen presenting umpteen other BBC shows from Walking the Lakes with Jennie Gresham to The Unexplored Brontes with Jennie Gresham to Inside John Lewis with Jennie Gresham to Jennie Gresham’s NHS Heroes. The other one prefers to dedicate him- or herself exclusively to This Time because he/she happens to think the show and our viewers deserve that, but each to their own.

How would you describe your working relationship?

We’ve had our ups and downs – it’s like a marriage. Very like a marriage in that we sit next to each on a sofa, we don’t face each other when we talk and there’s no sex or suggestion of sex.

Are we friends? Well, are Ant and Dec friends? Are Holly and Phil? Are Richard and Judy. No, of course not. But we dovetail, at least I do.

And the rest of the team?

Roving reporter Ruth Duggan is a hugely popular member of the team, her charismatic smile redolent of public figures such as Priti Patel. Off air she has a tendency to mutter but on air she’s clear and informative. Yes, I like Ruth very much. Are we bosom buddies? No. She’d probably mutter that ‘bosom buddies’ is sexist and no better than saying ‘mammary mates’ or ‘chest chums’. But that’s part of her wonderfully dry sense of humour. Yes, I like Ruth very much.

Simon Denton is our social media man. His role has slightly expanded, as has he due to inactivity during lockdown. He’s keen to take on more of a presenting brief, but that’s something we can revisit at the back end of next year or the first half of 2023. And talk about funny! From puns to quips to voices (he now has ten voices) to wry sideways looks at things, this guy comedically has it all and provides some welcome light relief, particularly after Ruth’s been on.

And then there’s crew who I won’t name. They’re broadly fine.

As for me, I’m just an old codger who potters in his garden and happens to be good at advanced driving.

How has the show continued amid the Covid pandemic?

We’ve coped manfully and womanfully. We even have a studio audience for every show. They have to socially distance when the camera is on them but out of shot they can do what they like. For the crew though, it’s a different story. Temperature tests on entry, no sharing water bottles, compulsory masks and of course regular testing which I’ve not enjoyed.

I’ve had an overactive gag reflex ever since a drinking game I was made to play on a stag do. This makes Covid testing an ordeal. I’ve had to develop a routine to stave off panic. I numb the throat with an anaesthetic spray, eliminating as much sensation as possible. With my tonsils deadened, I blindfold myself, put on a loud piece of music, open my mouth and count to 500 hundred. The covid tester has until then to sneak in, swab, and leave. If they’re not heavily odoured, I can get to 500 without even knowing I’d been tested. It’s a rigmarole, but it works.

This Time saw you return to presenting on the BBC after 25 years, how did it feel to be back on BBC One after such a long time?

It’s like stumbling across a long-discarded pair of trousers in the back of your wardrobe. You’d grown out of them decades earlier but now due to a new fitness regime and gastric flu that means you can’t keep food down, they fit again. You put them on, savouring the snug grip of waistband on midriff, perhaps parading up and down the landing like it’s a catwalk. Obviously, chances are you’ll regain that weight and outgrow the slacks again, but right now? It feels intensely satisfying. That is what it feels like to be back on the BBC. I can’t put it any clearer than that.

I’ve now had the pleasure of presenting the show since 2019 and for billions of households up and down the country, I’m now part of the furniture – one of the good ones such as an elegant sideboard or a sleek TV/stereo unit.

Was there a particular guest that stood out for you in this or the previous series?

I think what you’re asking is ‘what makes a good guest’. And that’s a great question. A good guest is famous, with two anecdotes, speaks quickly (eg someone Scottish) and clearly (eg someone not Scottish), and listens. A lot of them don’t listen, that’s the problem. They think it’s all about them. They don’t listen, they need to listen more.

Alan, many well-known gameshows have returned to the airwaves of late. Jeremy Clarkson now hosts Who Wants to Be A Millionaire and Gino D’Acampo heads up Family Fortunes. Are there any classic gameshows from yesteryear you would like to revive/reboot and host?

No.

This Time with Alan Partridge returns to BBC One on Friday 30th April at 9.30pm


 

 

Alan Partridge on his new podcast: ‘This is the real, raw, be-cardiganed me’

Rich Pelley
He’s back – sporting a post-lockdown haircut and hosting a new podcast. Britain’s No 1 raconteur talks about his new hat, driving a Vauxhall, and why Boris Johnson looks like the evil rabbit in Watership Down
Wed 2 Sep 2020

Turn right out of Norwich railway station, take the number 12 bus, change at Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital, ride eight stops on the number 4 towards Swanton Morley, walk 1.1 miles, and you can’t help but spot the twin louvred conical towers of the oasthouse that Alan Partridge calls home. It is from this very oasthouse that Partridge – raconteur, national treasure, wit – broadcasts his brand new podcast, From the Oasthouse: The Alan Partridge Podcast, and to which Partridge has invited the Guardian.

Partridge bounds out to greet me in what appears to be an effusive show of hospitality. He offers a handshake before snapping it back into a more pandemic-appropriate wave. “I am so fine with social distancing,” he says. “Remember, I work in television where you’re forever mauled, hugged and leant on by over-pally floor managers or cackling makeup ladies. Now I can say, ‘Get your hands off me!’ without appearing in any way rude.”

He glances at my bag before lowering his voice. “I’d ask that you remove any sandwiches and if you’ve handled any such snack in the last hour, wash your hands quietly and well.” His dog, he explains – an enormous brown mastiff called Seldom – adores sandwiches.

“Less than 0.1% of mastiffs attack,” says Partridge as we sidle past the animal. “Unfortunately, Seldom’s the whole of that 0.1%. The kindest thing I can say is that he’s a statistical anomaly.”

Twenty minutes later, with the dog sleeping off a meal of ham and boiled eggs, we sit down at the kitchen table. Does Partridge trust the press, I ask? Was he involved in the phone hacking scandal? “I was concerned enough at the time to have a friend leave a fake message on my voicemail discussing the fact that a high oestrogen count had given me breasts that I was only able to hide with extensive strapping. I wanted to see if it got picked up by a paper. To this day there’s never been a story published suggesting Alan Partridge has tits.”

Alan Partridge in person is just as you’d imagine Alan Partridge off the telly. He’s managed his first post-lockdown haircut. “No longer having to worry about the volume and lustre of my hair, I became a hat man, something I’ve always wanted to try,” he says. “So I’d buy a hat online and then spend a day wearing it. It was only when I answered the door to a smirking Ocado driver while wearing a Jamiroquai hat that I had a moment of clarity…” He’s sporting a fetching pair of burgundy trousers. “They’re not burgundy,” he corrects me. “They’re ox-blood. Sometimes I’ll just see a colour and think, ‘I want to wear that.’ So I’ll pick it out of a Dulux colour chart and send my assistant to the shops.”

What’s the format of his new podcast? “Format is the death of chat,” counters Partridge. “Podcasts are strangled by format – talk about your favourite meal, tell us about the adverts you enjoy, tell us about the last time you cried, watch Doctor Who with me. Mine is different. I just yank back the curtain, drop the facade, peel back the warm hood of celebrity and reveal the real me, the raw me, the true me. A be-cardiganed, cuppa-tea-swigging, pair-of-slippers kind of Alan.”

This is one of half a dozen times Partridge mentions tea or cardigans, as if keen to project the air of a man at ease with himself.

“Five years ago, I was swanning around in a complimentary Kia, my name emblazoned on the side, the talk of Norwich – Johnny Big Bollocks,” he says. “Today…?” He nods outside to a silver saloon. What’s he driving, I ask? “Oh, a Vauxhall, but who cares really? After the year we’ve been through, there are more important things than how much you earn or what racquets club you’re a member of or how sweet your wheels are. And people say, ‘That’s the Insignia GSi, isn’t it? Nine-speed automatic with paddle shift? Keyless entry, e-boost hydraulic brakes, heated front seats with massage functionality?’ And I just chuckle. Some even peer through the window and say, ‘Tell you what, Alan, for a 40k car, this is specced to absolute buggery.’ And I just shrug and, again, chuckle.”

Has Partridge been inspired by any other podcasts? “Less other podcasts, more by the excellence we see all around us: a dog leaping to catch a stick, a ballerina doing a brilliant ballet, a forklift truck driver steering one-handed while smoking.”

Having said that, he admits to enjoying the true-crime genre (“Nothing beats settling down with a glass of wine and a plate of sandwiches to be entertained by the ins and outs of a man found battered to death in a hedge”) and is considering using a second series of his podcast to explore the disappearance of a friend who fell from a pier in 2013, never to be found. “I’m just waiting to hear from Audible as they’ve yet to say they definitely want a second series. I’m not worried. It’s just that they said they’d call and thus far they haven’t. It’s fine. They’ve not not called. They’ve just not called.”

Alan Gordon Partridge is allergic to shellfish and was born in King’s Lynn, Norfolk. At school he was nicknamed Smelly Alison Fartridge. “Bullying suggests weakness. I wasn’t bullied. I allowed some pretty dysfunctional kids to reveal their dysfunction through the medium of hitting me. And now everyone knows they’re dysfunctional and I’m clearing a six-figure salary. So remind me – which one of us was bullied?” Partridge found fame presenting the sports on Radio 4’s On the Hour and BBC Two’s The Day Today. Does he still have an interest in sport?

“Does anyone? Once upon a time, the theme from Grandstand by Keith Mansfield would waft through from the living room and every household in Britain would drift to the sofa, like a snake-charmed snake to a snake charmer. But as the BBC lost the rights to blue-riband events, the music developed a sarcastic feel, the bombast that had once led into, say, the Monaco Grand Prix jarring badly with live canoeing from Wiltshire or the Masters snooker from wherever the Masters snooker is from.”

A TV presenter claiming to prefer radio is like a Hollywood actor claiming their first love is theatre – a clear lie
On his chat show Knowing Me, Knowing You With Alan Partridge (KMKYWAP for short), Partridge accidentally shot dead a guest during a segment on duelling pistols. During TKMKYWAPCS (The Knowing Me, Knowing You With Alan Partridge Christmas Special), he accidentally punched chief commissioning editor of BBC television Tony Hayers with a turkey. Partridge then pitched Cooking in Prison, Youth Hostelling With Chris Eubank and Monkey Tennis. Yet F*** Off I’m Fat, Anthea Turner: Perfect Housewife and World’s Craziest Fools, presented by Mr T, have aired on BBC Three. Is he bitter?

“It’s interesting,” muses Partridge. “I proposed those shows in strict confidence at a private luncheon with Tony Hayers. Somehow, the world and his dog now know about them so I know Hayers must have betrayed my confidence and told people. Does that mean he deserved to die in a tragic accident just weeks later? Yes, I think it does.”

Partridge then presented Up With the Partridge and Norfolk Nights on Radio Norwich (“A TV presenter claiming to prefer radio is like a Hollywood actor claiming their first love is ‘the theatre’ – a clear and obvious lie”), and Mid Morning Matters on North Norfolk Digital, the same radio station where he was later held hostage at gunpoint by fellow DJ Pat Farrell. He returned to live TV in 2019 to co-present BBC One’s flagship current affairs programme This Time, after host John Baskell died. Are there any broadcast media he’d still like to try?

“I’d like to have had a crack at voicing the government’s public information Covid campaign. Nothing against Mark Strong. He has competent delivery and an authoritative voice, but a glance at the numbers suggests Strong just hasn’t worked. I’d love to be considered for the second wave.”

So how does Partridge think the government is coping? “Something special is happening with the Conservative party right now,” he says. “I like Boris a lot, although I’ve never met him. He was going to be at a function I was at a few years ago, but apparently he’d just had another baby and was having a small gathering to celebrate hitting double figures. But he’s persuasive. We’re talking about a chap who’s managed to pass himself off as an energetic, sporty ladies’ man despite being morbidly obese with a kind of … I want to say collapsing face? Like that evil rabbit at the end of Watership Down. What can I say, I like the guy!”

So what was Norwich like during lockdown? “Norwich is used to repelling unwanted plagues – be they germs, people from Suffolk or invading armies. I remember when my kids were teenagers…”

(I interrupt to ask when he last saw his now middle-aged children. “Just before lockdown. They’re shielding so I couldn’t visit anyway. Fernando says he had head cancer and Denise says she’s sometimes diabetic…”)

“Anyway, we’d have an enormous Christmas breakfast then go for a big old walk while Carol cooked Christmas lunch. One year, the kids didn’t want to come – I’d bought them a chemistry set, so I get it – so off I set on my own in my new coat, a lovely warm thing. After several miles, I found a world war two pillbox. It was just fascinating to sit inside, imagine the Germans had invaded and picture British soldiers in here, shouting, ‘Take that, Fritz!’ and whatnot. Anyway as I say it’d had been a very big breakfast and this was a very warm coat and long story short, I woke up and it was 2pm on Boxing Day. I didn’t realise until I got home and Carol had taken down all the decorations. So mixed memories there.”

How’s his love life these days? “Varied. I signed up to an elite dating agency called Echelon, for high wealth/class individuals looking to encounter similar. It’s run by a couple called Wilf and Fi who provide a tightly curated list of potential matches. I was in a very happy sexless relationship for 12 months. We’d kiss, cuddle and talk about the garden. Very pleasant. Just nothing genital. Some of my mates said it must be like going out with a mermaid. They were right. Although one that can’t swim.”

He shows me round the house. Recent spoilsports in the oasthouse field have noted that this particular oasthouse does not possess the visible joints nor the vented fireproof floor required of a traditional 19th-century oasthouse and is more likely to have been a game larder.

“It didn’t used to be anything; it’s a new build, so they’re bang wrong,” he snaps. Meaning it never was an oasthouse? “That’s absolutely correct. In fact, if I come to sell it, I legally have to list it as an oast-style house. It only dates back to 2018. I read somewhere you can age brickwork by power hosing it with black coffee but it just made the house smell like a bank manager’s mouth so I had it cleaned off. Either way, it doesn’t look like a game larder and it’s never been a game larder.”

Partridge suddenly jumps up. “Bugger me, I have to collect Lynn from her physio.” Ah, yes. Partridge’s dedicated assistant Lynn, who has worked for him since the 90s. “She’s just started a 12-month driving ban, so I’m having to ferry her around and subtract the petrol money from her wages. She fell asleep at the wheel after an Irish coffee and crashed into a stationary St John ambulance – people you’d expect to be able to cope in the event of a low-speed collision – but their training went out of the window and they went to pieces. It was only when a second St John ambulance arrived that they were able to restore some semblance of order. The judge made an example of her, which I think she was quietly flattered by.”

Just one more question, I ask, as Partridge shows me the door. What’s the difference between an oasthouse and a game larder anyway? “You dry hops in an oasthouse. You mature dead animals in a game larder. Very different vibes. You might show a Tinder date around an oasthouse and kiss her up against the hops. Would you do that next to the corpse of a baby deer or a bunch of garrotted rabbits? I don’t know, maybe you would.”



An Alan Partridge Q&A
Gloucester Live

Alan Partridge is returning to the BBC to fill in for regular presenter John Baskell as Jennie Gresham’s co-host on the popular magazine show This Time. Alan took a few minutes out of his busy schedule to tell us what we can expect…

Alan Partridge, it’s been 25 years since your last BBC presenting job.

It has. But very soon I’ll be parking ma backside on the This Time sofa, just inches from regular host Jennie Gresham, a broadcaster I genuinely admire. If it’s not verboten to say this in the current climate, she’s the thinking man’s thinking woman and provides not just eye candy, but ear candy and even brain candy too at times. She’s that good.

How did your return to live TV come about?

Well, as you may have read, regular presenter John Baskell has become rendered unwell – it’s not my place to divulge the nature of his illness but I believe it’s to do with his heart, brought on by good living and his almost heroic refusal to ever exercise. So with a few days’ notice, I got the call. And although my schedule is as clogged as John’s arteries (get well, John) I consider it my public duty to stand in for as long as John is away. Anyway, it won’t be for long. If John can fight this with a fraction of the vigour he uses to fight for presenting work he knows has already been promised to other people, he’ll be on his feet again in no time.

You’re used to helming your own shows. Have you co-presented before?

I’ve presented daytime radio alongside a man called Simon Denton for several years. But that’s not co-presenting. In relation to me, Simon’s position contractually is one of total subordination. He’s a sidekick – at best. And he knows that.

So no, co-presenting is not a dynamic I’m used to, but I’ve been working on a few things. So when Jennie’s reading the autocue I might turn my head to face her to simulate listening, or frown solemnly if she mentions ‘cancer’, or wait until it’s my turn to speak and then prefix it with ‘That’s right, Jennie.’ Loads of things you can do.

How do you and Jennie get along?

Gotta say, we’ve only just met but already we have a chemistry that sizzles like liver in a hot pan and crackles like a genuine house fire. We joke about it ourselves! I said to her, “Jennie, in the words of Grease, we go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong.” And did she laugh! (Yes.)

What can you tell us about the show? Are you a fan of This Time?

If I’m honest, I’m not super-clued-up on the show itself? I’m not an avid watcher of BBC One, since I don’t like documentaries about supermarkets or period dramas featuring bonnets. But I’ve circled a bit on a This Time press release here that describes it as a ‘30-minute mixture of studio chat, rigorous interview, hard-hitting VTs and a generous helping of fun, covering news, issues and consumer affairs’. Whereas I’m more of a Nazi Megastructures man.

It’s a little more serious-minded than the rest of your output.

I’m cool with that. I pull no punches, push the envelope and punch my weight when push comes to shove – if that makes sense.

How would you sum it up?

Ha! Believe me, I don’t have the time to sit around thinking up marketing taglines for the show. Wish I did! But I suppose if pushed I’d say something like: if you’ve got time to give This Time your time, then it’s time to let This Time spend time making your time a good time on This Time with me, Alan Partridge and I’m sorry I’ve forgotten the woman’s name,

Jennie Gresham.

Thank you.

What changes can we expect with you in the hot seat?

And it is a hot seat. There’s an exposed bit of metal frame that cooks under the studio lights and if you sit right back and your shirt rides up, it scalds you on the back. So you just have to sit forward and/or make your shirt stays tucked in.

And what changes can we expect?

Fear not, I’m not going to eff with a winning formula. But I do have a phalanx of fresh ideas that’ll benefit the show no end, including the introduction of my longtime radio sidekick Simon Denton. Adept at reading out tweets and providing a sideways look at news, he’ll be our social media reader-outer.

Anything to add?

Not really, just please please please please please please please watch the show.

 

 

GQ Magazine


By Alan Partridge


25 February 2019

Twenty-five years. A life sentence. A man freed after 25 years in jail would see the world through quite flabbergasted eyes. What would he make of, say, contactless bank cards or Tinder or Paddy McGuinness? Yes, his would be a fascinating perspective (the convict’s, not Paddy’s).

 

Since I’ve been asked to fill in on BBC magazine show This Time, 25 years after my last BBC presenting gig, it occurred to me I’ve served my own life sentence. Perhaps not the kind demanded by the family of the man I shot dead on air, but a life sentence nonetheless. And like the newly freed convict I mentioned in paragraph one, my time away leaves me well placed to consider how the world (of TV) has changed and turn it into this thinkpiece for GQ.

In it, I will look at the rise of multichannel, HD technology and diversity – the key drivers of what Alan Shearer calls “the medium’s discernible paradigm shift”. I will touch on the BBC’s funding model, the rise of streaming and the insistence of quirky regional accents for on-screen “talent”.

I’ll come to all of these shortly, but first a brief word on refreshments. Because the most obvious difference between then and now is the sandwich selection at lunch!

In the Nineties, we came live from Television Centre in Shepherd’s Bush, but with that building now turned into ace apartments owned by people who don’t live there, the BBC has upped sticks to New Broadcasting House, Central London. Back at TVC, lunch was limited to something-with-chips in the BBC club or a panini from the ground floor cafe. Beyond that, well you were stranded in the no-man’s-land of West London. What could you do? Venture into Shepherd’s Bush, with its chicken shops and outdoor market? Risk a fry-up from a cafe with chairs screwed to the floor?

No. Lunch back then was a miserable affair. Little wonder BBC presenters made do with a liquid diet, rendering them tipsy enough in the afternoons to commit the industrial-scale sexual harassment for which the Corporation is now famous.

Since the Beeb’s relocation, though, we’re bang smack in the heart of London’s lunching district, with a cornucopia of choice for even the most discerning sandwich fancier. Not keen on grabbing a bite in the BBC’s subsidised cafe? Fine. I invite you to walk down Regent’s Street and marvel at the choice of branded sandwich outlets.

Look to your right and you’re greeted straight away by the mustard-yellow sign of an Eat. These guys don’t muck about and it’s little wonder they punctuate the name with a full stop – a reminder, to me at least, (when you’re) full, stop. Now, Eat always sells a good sarnie. The team there opt for a thick-cut granary, a superb all-rounder and the perfect loaf for a really, really satisfying sandwich. If you’ve no meetings that afternoon and aren’t worried about your breath, try the tuna and cucumber, the vinegary flakes of tuna meat set off by chunks of cool, refreshing vegetable. Are its sandwiches perfect? No. The BLT comes with bacon so floppy and undercooked the rind is translucent and resembles silicone jelly. It’s, to my eyes, absolutely disgusting. But that’s a mere blip on an otherwise faultless sarnie setup.

Don’t fancy Eat? No problem! Cross the road and you’re welcomed by the sight of a Pret A Manger (“Ready To Munch”). When it comes to butties, Pret and Eat are two peas from the same pod – a notch up price-wise from your budget offerings – and hard to separate. Perhaps Pret is a smidge more generous with the mayo spoon, perhaps its bacon is given a touch longer in the pan, leaving it less flaccid and see-through than that of its near neighbour. But Pret and Eat are great options and I have no hesitation in recommending them.

Want more? You got it. A few yards south, you’ll find Starbucks, the tax-canny US coffee chain whose sandwich range, while limited, is well worth checking out if Eat or Pret ain’t yo thang.

Those who like their sandwiches hot and round might like to try a “burger” from quick-food giants McDonald’s – and while connoisseurs will quibble at my classifying a burger as a sandwich, I stand by it. It’s meat wedged between bread; and, I’m sorry, that is a sandwich. Try the chicken sandwich (I shan’t add the Mc) for creamy white, piping hot breast meat in a zingy, flour-based coating. Finger lickin’ good.

Back across the road, for those with more money than sense, you can pick up a sandwich from an array of shops that together sound like the members of a bad boyband: Leon, Paul, Joe (& The Juice). The latter in particular isn’t my bag. Staffed by preening take-your-timers, it’s a coffee and smoothie shop for those whose answer to the question “When would you like your drink?” is “In about ten minutes.” But if pushed, you can buy sandwiches from any of them and that’s something to be celebrated.

Think the list ends there? Think again. Toddle into Topshop, take the escalator down past the bras and sandals and what’s this? Another Eat, less than 300 yards from the last one, a quirk of branch strategy for which someone at head office must have been torn a new one. It’s not quite as roomy as the flagship restaurant I mentioned earlier and, being an in-store concession, your sandwich is going to be accompanied by the taste of perfume, but it’s a great option for those in a rush who have ducked into Topshop to use the toilet or hide from an associate.

So that’s sandwiches dealt with. But what of the myriad other changes in the world of television?

Oh, and there’s Boots as well. Lots of people overlook Boots when it comes to sandwiches, but don’t overlook Boots. Although pre-packed on a worryingly vague earlier date, these tasty, well made bread snacks are lightyears better than they were in the past, when their sandwich offering was blighted by a practice known as “central packing| – an all-too-common ruse that sees the filling bunched into the centre of the sandwich. When sliced through the middle and presented in cross-section, it gave the illusion of a plump, generously filled sandwich. It’s only after buying one that you find the filling tapers at the edges down to a barren tundra of unoccupied bread. Whether it was due to my letters or some other reason, Boots are no longer guilty of this and are now a byword for quite excellent pre-packed sandwiches.

So you see, today’s BBC telly makers enjoy a breadth of sandwich choice that their Nineties counterparts could only have dreamt of.

I had hoped to discuss other changes in television but I’ve hit my word count now. Thank you.


Alan Partridge: What I’ve Learned

Norfolk’s finest shares his life lessons

You have to have a thick skin in this business. Dale Winton’s sunbed addiction means he’s developed a teak-tough brown hide. Mine’s not quite as thick. The eczema on my tummy and arms has seen to that.

To get the measure of a man, I try to establish three facts: what they drive; where their holiday home is; how much cash they have on them at any one time. Me? Kia, Cowes, £300. Erm… Four 50s, four 20s, a 10, a five and five pound coins. For the parking meter.

When it comes to charities, my particular favourites are ones to do with Africa. I’ve done more charity raffles for Africans than they’ve had hot dinners.

My greatest fear? Being at a charity event and everyone in a room suddenly having white eyes and robotic voices. I turn and run but they fire lasers at me from their hands and mouths. Somehow, I dodge the beams and find cover behind a cabinet, but I know I don’t have long. With the demonic zombies stumbling towards me, I make my move, sprinting towards the wall and diving headlong into an air duct. Hours later, I have escaped and alerted the Army. But when we return to the charity event, it is a wasteland. Nothing has been spared and as I turn to leave, I glimpse a sickening sight. Amid the ashes is a tiny hand still clutching a teddy bear. A horrible thought and I only hope none of it ever comes to pass.

I used to sleep in Egyptian cotton until the Arab Spring. Now, I open out a sleeping bag and use it as a duvet.

People assume I’m constantly surrounded by celebrity friends, but it’s not like that. I used to Skype chat with Eamonn Holmes every Sunday morning but he started to do it from the bath and I didn’t like that. It wasn’t his flesh – the bubble bath covered that – it was the fact he’d be eating sliders while he chatted to me (they’re basically small burgers). With the suds on his face, he was like Santa playing Pac-Man.

It absolutely staggers me that people keep their eggs in a fridge. Eggshells will maintain integrity at room temperature for at least 21 days but at low temperatures the outer mucoprotein cuticle dries and shrinks, exposing the pores in the calcium carbonate shell. This increases the probability of bacterial contamination by about five per cent. But keep your eggs where you want. It’s your funeral.

I’m a Marmite DJ. Some people love me, others like me. But all respect me.

I am in great shape. I start a different diet every Monday and have taken the batteries out of my TV remote so that I have to physically approach the television every time I want to change channel. It’s annoying but punishes my abs, quads and arse muscles. Can’t remember what arse muscles are called.

Wisdom can be found in many forms. It could be a shaman in a cave. Or a witch doctor in a cave. But it can also be found in the guise of a not-unbusty 65-year-old woman called Lynn Benfield, my assistant. Unkind people say she’s frumpy, dumpy and grumpy, which sounds like three dwarves. Then again, from a distance she does resemble three midgets huddled in her dead mum’s coat.

Wagamama is tasty but I shan’t be going again. Order a noodle soup and you’re presented with chopsticks and a spoon – and a tactical conundrum. It’s down to you to regulate your consumption of solids and broth. Too much of the former and you’re left with a puddle of empty soup; too much of the latter and it’s a cold nest of noodles.

It took so much concentration, I’m ashamed to say I neglected to chat with my guest, Glen. In the end, I thought sod this and went and bought a Whopper.

My best-ever holiday was an all-inclusive fortnight in Orlando. They wanted £1,200 for it but I got them down to £950 and when I got there my room was soiled so I was upgraded to a deluxe which should have cost £1,500 all-in. That’s a pretty tidy saving of £550. You should have seen their faces. And that’s why the fortnight in Orlando was my best-ever holiday.

My autobiography broke the mould. It came with its own suggested soundtrack. I spent three days with my iPod creating a list of songs that would provide the perfect mood music to accompany my life. My publishers said this wasn’t necessary. In fact, they specifically told me not to bother, as they weren’t willing to pay for the production or dispatch of a CD and certainly weren’t going to seek clearance from, or pay royalties to, the artists I’d chosen. I did it anyway.

In 1967, I misdiagnosed myself with cancer of the ball bag. Turned out it was just an infected paper cut on my scrotum. Next question.

What’s the one thing I’d save if my house was on fire? Contents insurance documentation. Those people will screw you given half a chance. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep a copy of the policy for my records, thanks.

A-ha. It’s both my catchphrase and the name of a Swedish, or Norwegian, pop group. I met them once in the bar of the Hilton Gatwick, and we laughed about who owned the copyright! Now, whenever the band release a new LP, Morten [Harket] sends me a copy, along with a photo of himself in a Pringle jumper giving a double thumbs-up. Just realised he might be mocking me.

I am – and always have been – an only child. But I would have loved a little brother to play football with or bully. I’d rush downstairs every Christmas morning and rip open my presents, hoping against hope that one of the boxes contained a human baby. It rarely did. In fact, it never did.

I cry all the time. These days, there’s so much to get upset about: an earthquake in China, a school shooting, divisions over Europe in the Conservative Party. Onions always get me, too. Which is a shame because I have a diet that is incredibly rich in onions. I once broke into tears when chopping a pepper, which I thought was odd until I noticed I’d actually cut the tip of my thumb off.

I had my issues with the BBC. Especially the commissioning editor Tony Hayers. For a man who worked five days a week in the BBC, Hayers was incredibly hard to get hold of. If he wasn’t at the chiropodist or at his daughter’s graduation, he was on holiday in the Gambia or in a broken lift. I mean he was never ever at his desk. People say Idi Amin was a monster. And to be fair, he was. A real bad lad. Can I go now?


 

Alan Partridge: An exclusive interview

Norfolk’s favourite broadcaster talks to GQ about Sylvester Stallone, Ben Fogle and how to “rinse” a charity sale

Alan Partridge has donned his windbreaker and undertaken a personal odyssey. It’s a walk from Norwich to Dungeness A power station – a trip that he insists has everything to do self-edification and nothing at all to do with cash flow. Coincidentally, it forms the subject of his new book Alan Partridge: Nomad. We tracked down the man himself…

 

 

GQ: You didn’t succeed in having the walk made into a TV series. Was it tough to secure the publishing deal?

Do you have rituals that help you to write?

I’ll often loosen up by watching a movie, typically Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot. Sylvester Stallone plays a cop and for some reason he ends up being followed around by his elderly mother, who was in The Golden Girls or Cocoon, or both, or neither. She gets in the way and he becomes increasingly irritated, but together they crack a crime and it all ends well. It’s staggeringly funny.

What was the best anecdote that didn’t end up in the book?

Bumping into the guy from Grand Designs at a go-karting centre and having a chat. (Boring when written down.)

I head to the weekly Saturday morning bring-and-buy sale at St Luke’s Church Hall in Beccles. It’s a magnet for people who like to buy chipped crockery, knackered board games and the shoes of dead people. I tend to go down there whenever I want to take my mind off the pressures of work. I fill the boot with tat from my local Mencap store, then sell it for twice what I paid for it. I absolutely rinse them. You’re supposed to give ten per cent of all your profits to the church’s Africa appeal, but I prefer to give it to my own favourite charity, The National Trust.

Chapter 28 is about your ex-girlfriend. Has she been in touch since the book came out?

Steady on. Do I ask you personal questions? Because I could. Where did you get those shoes? Have you ever done a wee in the shower? Do you have eczema? Why do your eyes look sad when you smile? Not nice, is it? Right, ask me another question.

What was your fondest memory from the book launch?

That’s better. The finger food. Where did you get your shoes, by the way? They’re superb.

I’m still trying to sell Dogs On Fogle to a UK broadcaster. Simple idea: Ben Fogle is given a one-mile head start and pursued by hunting dogs. He has the option of wearing a heavily padded suit. It will protect him, but it will slow him down. So, you see, it’s very strategic. Ben texted me to say he’s getting cold feet about the idea, but he always does this. I think it’s a bargaining tactic.


Alan Partridge: How I became one of Britain’s best-loved travel writers

 

Alan Partridge's travel book 'Nomad' is the "second longest" book he has ever written

 

October 26th 2016
Last week I attended a training day for volunteer stewards at January’s London Boat Show and as an ice-breaker we were all asked what we did for a living. Usually, I’d say ‘broadcaster’ or ‘radio chat-jockey’. But on this occasion, something else flopped out: ‘Travel writer’.

And as my fellow volunteers split into groups to practise carpark marshalling or saying “Please don’t touch the boat, sir”, I stood there, luminous bib in hand, suddenly realising that, yes, I (Alan Partridge) was ‘on the road’ to becoming one of Britain’s best-loved travel writers. In this piece, I shall explain how.

Britain loves a travel writer. One thinks of Bill Bryson and his gentle ribbing of these isles, which although affectionate is a little bit if-you-don’t-like-it-Bill-go-back-to-America for my tastes. Or even Charley (sic) Boorman’s Long Way Round/Down/To Tipperary books, which obviously aren’t for everyone but are enjoyed immensely by people who say ‘modorcycle’ instead of ‘motorbike’.

But travel was a not a genre people automatically attached my name to. While I had done some travel writing before, it was limited to writing postcards to personal assistants, savaging gastropubs on TripAdvisor or emailing sumptuously descriptive directions to my summer BBQ bash (“Turn left at the shop-cum-post office, its jaundiced signage yellowed by the searing Norfolk sun”). But I’d never actually had a travel book published. So what happened? The answer: fate.

Earlier this year I undertook a deeply personal walk in honour of my father. It was a deeply personal recreation of a journey he had undertaken in the mid-1970s, from our family home in Norwich to the Dungeness Nuclear Power Station some 160 miles away. For him it had been a simple drive to a job interview. For me however, several years after his death, it was a deeply personal attempt to understand why he had been the man and, let’s be honest, git he was.

So I was stunned when, in the weeks that followed and with word of my journey echoing through the publishing community like whispers on the breeze, the book offers came a-rushing and a-gushing to my door.

And it was only then, after a period of quiet reflection during an extremely slow haircut, that it occurred to me that, by sharing my experiences, I might be able to help others who had endured challenging relationships with their own fathers, particularly if those ‘own fathers’ had tried, and failed, to land a job with British Nuclear Fuels in the mid-1970s.

The more I mulled, the more compelling a literary proposition my journey became. Because this humble rambler had learnt a little about his dad, a lot about himself and whole heap of heck about this land we call Britain.

Walking the nation had allowed me to get under the skin of the country like the mosquito larvae that once burrowed under my friend Daniel’s skin and deposited their pupae in his cheek.

Sure, my chosen route – Norfolk to Kent – was no Lands End to John O’Groats but, if you picture the British map as a squatting dog, I’d walked Haunch to Heel which, when put like that, is just as iconic. Indeed, Haunch to Heel with Alan Partridge was later the working title of the book (rejected by publisher).

And so I set to work. Thankfully I didn’t have to try too hard to remember the events of the walk. Purely for my own amusement, I’d scribbled down the odd note in a journal after each day’s yomp.

At the time, I’d thought nothing of these jottings so you can imagine my surprise when I returned to the journal to discover it contained almost 70,000 words of publication-ready prose. Being tidy-minded, I’d also broken the journal down into chapters and provided some options for dust jacket copy, while (for a laugh) it seems I’d knocked up a fairly detailed index too.

As I say, this had all been for my own amusement since there’s almost nothing else to do on the road. It’s a sad fact that only 1 in 20 UK B&Bs give their guests access to non-terrestrial television.

So when a walker has napped, eaten his chocolate, napped again, bathed his feet in a cocktail of Radox, Dettol and TCP, slathered them in E45 and wrapped them up in damp towel, what else is he going to do? Watch Emmerdale Farm? Skype a woman? No, he may as well collect his thoughts, jot them down long-hand and email them to a proofreader friend (for a laugh).

Not that I spent every evening of my journey hunched over a type-writer. Much of the wording had already plopped into my mind on that day’s walk. I could often be found writing passages out loud; standing by a field, casually tossing off paragraphs to the cows.

I knew they’d only gathered in the hope that I was the farmer come to top up their feed. But that was okay, because sometimes I’d oblige, hurling a chunk of butty their way, then standing back to watch the frenzy. The cows went absolutely ape-shit. It was hilarious.

The result? Alan Partridge: Nomad by Alan Partridge. At 292 pages it is the second longest book I have ever written. They say everyone’s got a book in them, but clearly that’s not true: it’s meant as an average across the whole population. I have now had four works published, which means that somewhere out there are three other people whose literary dreams lie in ruins.

And my father? Well, I know he’d be too frugal to shell out for a hardback at the Heaven branch of Waterstone’s but, with the paperback due for release just months after the London Boat Show 2017 at ExCeL on 6-15 January (“The best boats, the best people”), I’m sure he’ll be smiling down on me in the early part of next year.


Alan Partridge: I don’t need TV, I’ve got two Nutribullets

In an exclusive epistle, Norfolk’s king of chat has harsh words for the future of the small screen. A golden age of TV? More like a golden shower, he writes

Alan Partridge.
I’ve got the cheese… Alan Partridge. Photograph: Colin Hutton
 

Yet that evening something else caught my attention. It was the sound of braying broadcasters proclaiming that we’re now in a golden age of TV. Well, Oddie and I threw our heads back and roared (me laughter, Oddie anger). It wasn’t just the arrogance of it, but its wrongness. Television is a busted flush. No sensible broadcaster wants to work in it, and I am no exception. Nor, he has asked me to point out, is Oddie.

And so, in this piece, I will debunk the myth that we are seeing a golden age of television. I will go on to demonstrate that radio is the preferred medium for the talented broadcaster. I will summarise these points in a recap paragraph and end on a single pithy line that knits everything together. I will then spellcheck the document. I will email it to the Guardian and will then go into town to meet an acquaintance. Then it’s BodyPump, Tesco Metro, bite to eat and bed.

A golden age? More like a golden shower! If you work in television, you’re probably spluttering something about the mass appeal of Strictly Come Dancing or how cutting-edge Game Of Thrones is, with its sandals and dragons. Personally, I fail to see what’s cutting edge about a dragon. They were used to advertise mouthwash in the 80s. They’ve been extinct for millions of years!

Everywhere you look there are signs of decline. Our newsreaders now stand up, our chatshow hosts don’t chat, our TV detectives take a “series arc” to suss out what Bergerac managed in an hour – admittedly, the kind of canny problem-solving you’d expect from a guy residing in a tax haven.

Of course, put this to a TV exec and they’ll waffle on about appreciation indexes, time-shifted viewing figures, strong online feedback. Talk about mealy-mouthed! But then BBC mouths are some of the mealiest in the industry. And it’s not just their mouths. Face, head, neck, you name it – all very, very mealy indeed.

Alan Partridge’s Mid Morning Matters.
Alan Partridge’s Mid Morning Matters.

But where one empire crumbles, another rises. While TV slides into the abyss, radio rises like a phoenix/new day/beanstalk. Some of the best broadcasters are realising radio is the place to be and are migrating to this medium in their droves.

Am I just saying this because it’s the arena I happen to work in? No! Or maybe because I’m bitter that I no longer work in television? Of course not! I’m in a more contented place than ever. I drive an executive saloon, I take several foreign holidays a year, I have a four-figure endorsement deal with Norfolk’s leading manufacturer of non-recyclable cat litters. What else? I own two NutriBullets. My hair’s still nice and thick. I do have a fat back but I’m able to manage that by not approaching people back-first with my top off.

No, the reason I’ve penned this piece is because I’m genuinely evangelical about digital radio. Enter any DRS (digital radio station) and you’ll find it fizzing with ideas, like liver on a hotplate – or liver on a hot plate. I, personally, come up with over 20 ideas a day; more if I’ve had egg for breakfast (don’t know why).

Then there’s its global reach. Digital shows can be accessed via the internet anywhere on Earth. When I launch a phone-in that asks: “How often should you wash your towels?” or “How long can a dog stand on its hind legs?”, it’s as likely to be enjoyed by a housewife in Hemsby as it is by a factory owner in Guangzhou or a weaver high (or low) in the Andes.

Alan Partridge’s Mid Morning Matters.
Alan Partridge’s Mid Morning Matters.

All of which explains why I was gracious enough to allow Sky Atlantic (a TV channel) to broadcast my forthcoming (radio) show Mid Morning Matters. Perhaps it’s because they Believe in Better, I don’t know, you’d have to ask them. All I know is it takes real humility for them to admit that television, the very medium they operate in, is a spent force that simply isn’t working and that the only thing that might be able to prop up their viewing figures is the webcam footage of a Norfolk-based digital radio show.

I guess that’s also why I was only too happy to go along with their suggestion that they take sole ownership of the rights to the show along with all back-end revenues in perpetuity. After all, don’t kick a man when he’s down, right?

Back at the Goodies shindig, I made many of these points and more. The braying of the execs softened to a whinny as they digested what I had to say, and before long they were listening in rapt silence. It was then I realised they weren’t listening but were watching Bill Oddie pin Chris Packham to a wall. I handed Bill his spectacles. He realised it was Sue Barker, apologised and we sloped back to the car.

I’ve run out of space for the summary paragraph and pithy sign off. Sorry.

PS. Mid Morning Matters is back on Sky Atlantic,10pm, 16 February

ALAN’S PICK OF THE RADIO RENEGADES

Freddy And Ted, Majesty Radio

Breakfast presenters at this Peterborough outfit, Freddy and Ted had a blokey repartee which took on a different hue when they announced their engagement live on air. Controversially, the show now features Snog or Yog, in which listeners guess whether the slopping noises they can hear are the sound of them eating yoghurt or French-kissing one another. Advertisers and parents have run a mile but it makes for urgent, compelling radio.

Judge Solomon, Six Counties Radio

A former barrister, Solomon takes a cue from his biblical namesake with Judge Solomon’s Kids Court, in which he presides as a family court judge and, after hearing from both parents, grants custody to one or the other – with explosive results. His decision carries no legal weight whatsoever but the listeners don’t seem to know that.

Steve Penk, The Steve Penk Wind-Up Channel

If you think Trevor Bayliss invented wind-up radio, think again. Penk is the master of the practical joke and is as creative and daring as ever. He once phoned me to say my daughter had lost an arm in a powerboating accident and it was “touch and go” if she’d pull through. I couldn’t stop crying, even after I realised I’d been “penked”. That’s Steve!



Alpha Papa DVD: Alan Partridge on why he’s grateful to Nigel Farage

Alan Partridge, broadcaster, patriot and hostage negotiator, speaks out about UKIP and the real conspiracy about Operation Yewtree

Catherine Gee

After rescuing North Norfolk Digital from a serious hostage crisis, new hero Alan Partridge has had a few months to reflect on his actions. As Alpha Papa, the accout of his ordeal, is released on DVD, we ask Partridge some hard-hitting questions.

What advice would you give to another DJ faced with a hostage crisis?
“Quit the jabbering.” By their very nature DJs find it hard to button it, but give it too much of this [does a talky-talky gesture with left hand] and an erratic gunman is going to shove his rifle in your goolies in pretty short order.

If they were to make a film of what happened at North Norfolk Digital, who would play you?
If he can strip out some of the more unsavoury elements of his persona, I’d like to see what Rupert Everett could do with the role.

My current role as a local radio D-Jock. Yes, I used to have my own prime-time BBC TV chattershow, watched by millions, with an interview style that I would describe as “like Parky but not as boring”, but who cares? Radio is a much more wholesome medium. My listeners sometimes send me cake. The best I’d get in my TV days were a few pairs of women’s knickers, and I could hardly eat those! I could hardly eat knickers! That’s horrible!

You were a mainstay of the BBC in the Eighties and early Nineties. Are you shocked by recent revelations?
I think the thing I’m most intrigued by is the police’s choice of the name Yewtree. At first I assumed it was a clever code to hint at the fact they were after a trio of Dublin-based broadcasters (“yew tree” being the Irish way of saying “you three”). Then I realised this was one of the worst theories I’d ever developed. So instead I began to look more closely at the characteristics of the yewtree itself, Taxus baccata. What was it about this tree, whose wood has been the material of choice for longbow-making since Medieval times, that seemed such a good fit for an investigation of this kind? Keen to know more I put several calls into both Monty Don and Alan Titchmarsh, though mainly to Monty Don as I think Titch has changed his number. Nothing back yet but I await their responses with some interest. In fact if either of you are reading this now, do pick up the phone, I’d be happy for you to reverse the charges.

What would you be doing if you weren’t a broadcaster?
Definitely not charity work. I used to man the phones for The Donkey Sanctuary (ex-wife had soft spot for donkeys) and quickly came to the conclusion that do-gooders are bozos. No, if I wasn’t in broadcasting I’d most likely have made between eight and ten million pounds in business. I like the idea of some form of consulting, because it’s basically just speaking. It’s also a line of work that would weatherproof me from the risk of having to deal with anyone who didn’t have a degree.

Who is your inspiration?
I’m not going to rattle off a list of local heroes from our bloated public sector because you won’t have heard of them and they don’t inspire me. Instead, I choose Wernher von Braun. The Nazi rocket scientist was reviled for raining V-2s on Britain in the Second World War but proved himself to be a good egg by helping man build a rocket to the moon. This reputation trajectory provides hope and succour to a broadcaster who shot a man dead on live television (Alan Partridge).

Nick Grimshaw’s breakfast show ratings have plummeted. What would you do to save the show?
What you’d call “listener hemorrhage”, I call “stakeholder honing”. I’ve broadcast to audiences of under 200 during half-term holidays but the quality of that audience was absolutely exceptional. Then again, whether Nick can say the same about people who say “totes” instead of “totally” is doubtful.

Are you a fan of Nigel Farage and UKIP?
I don’t think it’s appropriate to discuss politics in the run-up to Christmas. But suffice to say, on Christmas morn, I’ll be breakfasting on bacon, sausage and eggs rather than croissants and flaps of cold meat. We have one man to thank for that. And to suggest that him sharing initials with a violent far-right movement is anything other than coincidence is pure cattles–t.

If you had to interview God on North Norfolk Digital, what would be your opening question?
“If I sneeze repeatedly and my assistant says ‘bless you’ after every single sneeze, do you bless me each time or do you just bless me the first time and then ignore the subsequent requests?” Like all guests, God would then be given the opportunity to request any record (that we have). If there was time, I’d also ask him to finally adjudicate on Israel/Palestine because it’s getting pretty tiresome now.

When will you be back on BBC TV?
God knows! Another question for Him, actually.


Alan Partridge: How I’ll be spending Christmas

The Metro, 19 Dec 2013

What of the twelve days of Christmas? For me, the biggie is always Christmas Day (often referred to as ‘Xmas Day’). I hate missing out on any of the action so always set my alarm for 10am. I tend to begin proceedings with a period of quiet reflection, either as I lie alone in bed or as I sit on the toilet (also alone). In the rush to exchange material possessions it’s easy to forget the origin of the celebration. Namely, the birth of a very special baby Jew. But it’s his Mummy I like to dwell upon. Poor Mary, in an age before epidurals, or indeed any form of anesthetic, howling into the night like an injured wolf or an uninjured jackal, begging for the agony to end, ideally before she succumbed to infection from the animal excreta that was bound to have littered the stable block where she lay. Then I tend to just have a sausage butty.

 
 

But really Christmas Day is all about the extravagant lunch. Try-hard friends of mine have started to snub turkey in favour of goose or duck, like they’re in the 1850s. I’m surprised they don’t have a clothes mangle and a pale aunt who coughs blood into a hanky! No, turkey is the best choice for a modern Christmas lunch. While high in sodium, it’s a rich source of protein and typically has a higher ratio of less fatty white meat to dark meat (around 70:30). The flesh also provides plenty of iron, zinc, potassium and phosphorus as well as selenium, which is essential for thyroid hormone metabolism. But have what you want.

After lunch, I’ll put the dirty crockery back onto the tray and leave it outside the front door for my assistant to collect. Personally I get a real buzz from spending Boxing Day alone. My family and friends must be well aware of this because they never call. I like to get the decorations packed away and back up the loft by noon. Then I focus on catching up on all those chores that never got done the previous year. Re-grouting the bathroom, updating my pre-recorded voicemail message, or just pulling out the tweezers and having a nasal spring clean. Perfick.

 
 
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Over Christmas Day and Boxing Day I tend to gain about ten pounds, so the days leading up to New Year’s Eve are all about losing that weight. Each morning I’ll jog to my local gym then, as I’m not a member, jog back again. It’s good exercise, and totally free of charge. I then spend an hour or so sat in my car with the heaters on. I’ll comfortably sweat out a pound or two per session. It means my car seat reeks of sweat until about June but it’s a price well worth paying. As either Kate Moss or Kate Winslet once said (internet not working at the moment), ‘Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.’ Actually, thinking about it, it was probably Kate Moss.

 
 

I also dramatically slash my food intake, surviving on two super-food smoothies a day (coconut water, acai berries, raw cacao, goji berries, spirulina and leftover turkey). It’s a grueling regime so the key is to make sure you stay motivated. I‘ll do this by making sure I weigh myself roughly every fifteen minutes. Try to get the most favourable weight by stripping naked and not standing on the scales for too long. But sometimes of course you just have to be brutally honest. For me that means getting to December 30 and realising my diet never works, before reaching for the plastic tubing in the garage and making preparations for my annual Nescafe enema. Painful, but necessary.

Tradition dictates that December 31 presages the transition from one year to the next. I tend to spend the afternoon working out which days in the following year have some kind of numerical significance. For example, in 1978 I’d circle June 5 because that would be written as 5/6/78 – and at 12.34 I’d look at my watch and have a pretty sweet nod to myself. Next year bears a few of these ‘red number days’. November 10 might be one: 10/11, 12:13, ’14. But I’ve had to put the time in the middle to make that work so at best it’d be a small nod and probably not even that. Just trying to think if there are any others. December 10 maybe, if you stick with even numbers? 6:08, 10/12, ’14. But ideally you’d want the time to be 4:68 and there’s no such time unless I carry the 8 over and do it at 5:08 and then you’re really effing the system up.

 

By now I’m pretty annoyed so I’ll pop to Choristers and see if any of the lads are there. Usually one or two are but they’re with their wives on the way to a restaurant or house party so I wait for them to leave and then go home to ring in the New Year in front of BBC1. Never ever ITV, ever (I chose ITV a few years back and my wife left me 11 and a half months later), then I go to bed.


Alan Partridge interview: On surviving sieges and ’50 Shades of Grey’

SIMON REYNOLDS 2013-11-27

Norwich found itself at the centre of media attention earlier this summer when local DJ Pat Farrell took employees of radio station Shape (formerly North Norfolk Digital) hostage for a tense siege that drew in former BBC chatshow host Alan Partridge.

As his exploits come to DVD and Blu-ray Digital Spy asked the man himself about his hectic danger day, his current taste in music and how – as the writer of autobiography I, Partridge – he feels about the literary success of a certain EL James…

Did the events of Alpha Papa change your perspective on life?
“Not particularly. My colleague Pat Farrell held up a radio station, but I already knew that within every Irishman lies the potential to go loco with a firearm. That’s just how they are. I was also pretty cool with the risk of death. I’ve had a good career, fathered two children (one of whom makes me genuinely proud), seen the world (12 countries in all – UK counts as four), and only once missed a deadline for filing my tax return (long story!). I would miss Deal Or No Deal though. Quite simply, Edmonds is a master. The way he refuses to take any s**t from the banker would – to my mind – have made him the perfect person to lead the government’s efforts to reform the UK banking sector. A missed opportunity.”

What are the essential things required to survive a siege?
“First and foremost, what the French refer to as ‘cojones’. Until you’re actually in a life or death situation it’s impossible to know how you’ll react. For whatever reason I happen to be incredibly brave and strong, but everyone’s different. One of the guys in there with us is a bit of a hard man in everyday life, yet faced with a gunman he’d compromised his pants within the hour.

“You also need a keen sense of humour. Again, fine for me but we happened to be locked up with Dave Clifton and I think he found it tough.

“Also worth thinking about is a secret stash of food. I spotted early on that there wasn’t enough for everyone so made it my business to squirrel about 60% away in a cupboard. After the siege the others found out about this and claimed they wouldn’t have done the same. My arse.”

If the events in Alpha Papa were to be turned into a Hollywood movie, which movie star would you like to see portray you?
“I’d actually like to see it animated. I’m no movie director (I’m Alan Partridge) but it’d clearly make a good Manga film. There were no actual Japanese people in the siege but if it would boost sales I’d have absolutely no issue with being rendered Far Eastern. I’d even be happy to help out with some of the drawing. Not blowing my own trumpet but at school I once drew a shoe in art class and it looked very, very shoe-like indeed.

“You might be surprised that I suggest Manga but I’ve always been the type to think outside the box. For example, I was the first DJ in Norfolk to attempt traffic updates every five minutes (a worthwhile experiment), while on the domestic front I regularly use the steam from my shower to wilt spinach.”

As a best-selling author, what are your thoughts on the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomenon? Silly smut or credible literature?
“I’m not going to tell women what books to buy (that’s Judy Finnegan’s job) or how they can boost their libido (not Judy’s job but she has some interesting views). But if a woman wants to settle down with a book and manipulate herself to completion at the idea of a millionaire bossy boots, that’s entirely up to her. All I’d ask is that she wash her hands before handling food.”

Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa
 

What is the most played album on your iPod?
“Like most of the DJs I know, I’m not really into music. I tend to listen to audiobooks, most recently An Evil Cradling by Brian Keenan read by Brian Keenan. Having been a hostage myself I like to think I can understand a little of what he went through, also I accidentally pressed ‘purchase’ on iTunes when I actually wanted to buy An Introduction to Reflexology (gift for quite nice new-age woman I’m wooing).

“I also like to listen to poetry anthologies. I’m not fussy about the poet, though obviously it has to rhyme. If they can’t be bothered to do that, why do they think people would be bothered to listen to it?

“Other times I’ll listen to an audio file I downloaded from the internet of different car engines. I listen to each one then guess what car it’s from. I’ve lost the track listing though so it’s quite hard to know if I’m right. A couple of my friends from the pub have suggested that listening to car engines is the kind of thing you’d only do if you were a middle-aged man who lacked human contact but that’s actually wrong.”


‘I wish I’d had one fewer children’: Inside the head of Alan Partridge

Regrets? North Norfolk Digital’s legendary DJ – who bears an uncanny resemblance to comedian Steve Coogan – has a few. Like having one too many children, mocking the owners of Japanese cars…. oh, and shooting a man dead on his TV talk show

Biggest disappointment? 'It'll sound silly but now and then I still regret shooting a man dead on my chat show. It was a long time ago but I still sometimes think of that day and wish he'd been more careful,' said Alan Partridge

Biggest disappointment? ‘It’ll sound silly but now and then I still regret shooting a man dead on my chat show. It was a long time ago but I still sometimes think of that day and wish he’d been more careful,’ said Alan Partridge

What is your earliest memory?

I was stood on a pavement by a parade of shops while my  mother attempted to parallel-park again and again and again. I ended up shouting directions at the flustered woman until  she got it right.

What sort of child were you?

Above all, I was a good scout. So much so that I later set up an annual bursary prize for Best Scout at my local troop. But when I checked recently the standing order had been stopped years earlier, so I need to look into that.

When did you last feel really happy and why?

I got to sit in a Buick at the Goodwood Revival festival last year while dressed as a gangster and simulating Tommy Gun noises with my mouth. I still have the photos!

What has been your biggest achievement?

Probably redefining broadcasting. I took your Frank Boughs and Selina Scotts and added a breezy quality that changed what everyone thought they knew about television. Can you imagine Daybreak pre-Partridge?

… and your biggest disappointment?

It’ll sound silly but now and then I still regret shooting a man dead on my chat show. It was a long time ago but I still sometimes think of that day and wish he’d been more careful.

What are you best at and why, and what would you like to be better at?

I’m a whizz at getting lids off jam jars. The trick is to push downwards towards the jar. I’ve embarrassed many a meathead/strongman using this technique. Wish I’d been a better dad.

 

Biggest achievement? 'Probably redefining broadcasting. I took your Frank Boughs and Selina Scotts and added a breezy quality that changed what everyone thought they knew about television,' said Alan Partridge

Biggest achievement? ‘Probably redefining broadcasting. I took your Frank Boughs and Selina Scotts and added a breezy quality that changed what everyone thought they knew about television,’ said Alan Partridge

 

Who would your dream dinner date be?

Julia Bradbury. We’d go on a walk and the heavens would open. Giggling like teenagers, we dive into a local pub and dry off in front of the fire eating a pie. Then we have a kiss.

What is your biggest fear?

Can’t say I’m thrilled with the way Komodo dragons walk (it’s a butch lizard stroll), but it’d probably be a sudden spike in interest rates. I’ve got a buy-to-let portfolio on a tracker mortgage and a one per cent rise will end me.

What is your biggest regret and why?

I wish I’d had one fewer children. They say it costs £140,000 to raise a child to 18. Would my life be better if I’d had only one child but a three-bedroom holiday villa? Of course.

What or who do you dream about?

I often dream that my bedroom window is a ghost’s mouth. I know it isn’t but I dream that it is.

Who do you most admire and why?

David Cameron. He somehow manages to be both a man of the people and better than us.

What’s the worst thing that anyone has ever said to you?

‘I don’t love you.’ I asked: ‘Do you mean you don’t love me, or you’re not in love with me?’ Reply: ‘Both.’

Which living person do you despise the most –  and why?

I sometimes worry that growing older has mellowed my hatred of things, and with it my passion, my sharpness. But then a youth TV presenter says ‘could of’ instead of ‘could have’ and there I am, throwing food at the television.

What is your most treasured possession?

My hair. As a youth I used to keep it long at the back like a superhero’s cape. These days I wear it close-cropped, but it never fails to attract admiring glances from women of all ages and socio-economic groups.

Who would you most like to say sorry to?

Owners of Japanese cars. I spent all of the 1980s and most of  the 1990s using my position as a radio DJ to publicly mock them. It was a war waged without respite, without mercy, without humanity. And I know for a fact that it forced at least one local man to consider switching to Vauxhall (in the end he didn’t). How ironic then, that I now drive a Toyota Avensis.

How would you like to be remembered?

As the first person to suggest a West Bank-style wall around Norfolk (mark my words, it’ll happen).

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?

Voted Labour. It was only in an election for the European Parliament, but as soon as I’d done it I knew it was wrong. I tried to ignore the nagging feeling of remorse but less than an hour later I was violently sick near a bin.

When did you last tell a lie – and what was it?

I recently told a woman in a wine bar that I had a double-jointed thumb.


ALAN PARTRIDGE’S 10 WINTER STYLE TIPS

November 28th 2013
TopMan.com

Words By Alan Partridge

Be ballsy

Whatever event you’re dressing for, don’t hold back. It’s all too easy in the depths of winter to lie on the sofa in your giant onesie, wallowing in self-loathing and biscuit crumbs. But don’t do it. Haul yourself up, shower yourself down, heavily deodorize and dress to impress (love that phrase). I was having a particularly down-in-the-dumps time of it in December ’08 (car had failed MOT) and just didn’t have the energy to go to the work Christmas party. But in the end I not only went along, I also bought a leather-look shirt with two-tone tassels from the Macmillan Cancer Research shop and was quite the talk of the town.

Men only

I should add that all my advice is for men. I won’t comment on what women should wear because this has caused me problems in the past, despite the fact I do actually know what I’m talking about.

Hats, hats, hats, hats, hats

Did I mention hats? If there’s one thing your bonce needs as the temperatures plunge below zero, it’s some head clothing. There’s a lot of buzz about deer-stalkers this season (full disclosure: I’ve just made that up), but if you ask me there’s no need to look further than the balaclava. For the uninitiated, a balaclava is basically a sock for the head. To many they’re synonymous with armed robberies of The Troubles in Ireland, but I love them. I find the idea that people can’t see the expression on my face utterly intoxicating.

Festive jumpers

A lot of people in this world, whether my ex-wife or otherwise, take themselves way too seriously. But wearing a festive jumper is a sure-fire way to show that you’re not one of these stick-in-the-muds. I once had one depicting Father Christmas pulling a moony and winking. Still cracks me up just thinking about it.

Glovely

This season, I’m rocking a pair of slim-profile deerskin driving gloves with cashmere lining. You can’t buy them. Mine are custom-made by a blind woman who goes to church with my assistant. How she hand-stiches them I don’t know but I’m assured her fingers are safety thimbled.

Experiment with colour!

I have a white roll-neck sweater that went pink after it was put on a hot-wash with red socks by an idiotic Ukrainian ex-girlfriend. I still wear it speed-walking and feel comfortable playing with gender and sexuality, although I am and have always been completely straight.

Check belt sizes

Although adjustable, they do come in different sizes. If I had a pound for every time I had to make extra holes in a big belt with a skewer, I’d have five pounds!

Always be well-shod

While incidents of trench foot and frostbite are rare in the UK, it pays to be prepared. But it’s a little-known fact that footwear can also be fashionable. Gone are the days of all men’s shoes being borderline orthopaedic. These days, for under £50 (not each, shoes are almost always priced as a pair) you can be walking around in footwear that says ‘I am effing cool right now and I don’t care who knows it’.

Stay dry

Keep the cosy IN and the weather OUT by investing in a light-weight but robust set of waterproofs. Whether you know it as a cagoule, gabardine, wind jammer, or windcheater, a good quality jacket will keep the top half dry and safe. Below deck, synthetic windcheater pants (also known as “windpants”, “splash pants” or “overtrousers”) shield the legs and butt from damp, chill, gust or splash.

Fashion is cyclical.

At the moment wearing fur is a no-no, so until it becomes en vogue again (I give it 18 months), try to avoid anything made from dead animal. Inexplicably, that also includes road-kill.

Alan Partridge: How I became a national treasure

He was a failed chat show host, now he’s a movie star: Here Alan charts a remarkable life journey in his own words
Alan Partridge
Alan Partridge
 

What is a national treasure? When does a man or, to a lesser extent, woman go from being roundly liked (James May) to loved – sewn into the fabric of British life like an ear grafted on to a mouse’s back? It’s a funny thing, national treasurehood. It’s not like other hoods, such as “neighbourhood” or “Robin Hood” or “extractor fan hood”. It’s a concept that’s hard to define and even harder to grasp.

Yet it’s the Holy Grail (a kind of Middle Eastern cup) for those in the public eye. Kay Burley has a ringbinder on the subject, a dossier of newspaper cuttings she uses to work out why Clare Balding, say, is adored, whereas she has to spend her summer holidays writing to universities to ask for honorary degrees.

In the male TV presenter category, the field is more crowded but I think it’s fair to say I’m there or thereabouts. For whatever reason, Eamonn Holmes and myself have broken away from the peloton of over-50s male broadcasters. Alastair Stewart, John Stapleton and Nick Owen huff and puff without gaining ground, while Schofield and Madeley have had to stop by a safety car to be sick (still metaphor). Eamonn and I seem to have gone from strength to strength. Watching him in a bar, working the room, helping himself to crisps and nuts, it’s easy to see why he insists the make-up girls at Sky call him Mr Brilliant.

I like to think I share that standing. “How can you? You’re not even on the telly,” he jokes, before laughing while making a “dzaaah” sound with his mouth which would make some people want to thump him in his stupid throat, but which I find genuinely endearing. He’s forgetting that I’ve done all that. In the 90s, I broadcast to nationwide audiences thanks to two series of my TV chat show Knowing Me, Knowing You (only one was broadcast, the other mapped out on a flipchart). More recently, on local radio, I’ve sought to refine my audience to a smaller group – sometimes as low as 200 in half-term holidays. But it means I’m making an ever-more personal connection with the public.

So why me? Why am I clutched to the nation’s breasts? It’s because I’m normal. I’m one of you. I do what you guys do. Get up on a Saturday, make a batch of granola, put some toast on before doing a dozen lunges in front of Saturday Kitchen. (Note to the producers: drop the Omelette Challenge. Just admit it’s not working. It reveals next to nothing about the respective culinary skills of the competitors and the raw product served up sets back public confidence in eggs two decades or more. Grow up.)

And that normality, that common touch, that easy way of using slang expressions instead of big words when addressing workmen, has elevated me to national treasurehood. And for that, I thank each and every one of you. Thank you. Each and every one of you.


Alan Partridge exclusive Cineworld interview

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Alan Partridge hits Cineworld screens on 7 August in Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa. You may have noticed over the past few weeks that we’ve teased you with snippets of Alan’s stint as guest editor on the August issue of Cineworld magazine.

Well, enough of sating your appetites! We’re delighted to bring you the full interview that we conducted with Alan as part of the magazine. Read on as he reveals juicy snippets, such as who would play him in a filmed version of his autobiography and how he manages to broadcast his entire radio show on Twitter…

Hello, Alan. Thanks for sparing us time today.

Absolute pleasure. Plus it’s contractual.

Can you tell us a bit about Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa?

Certainly can and will! It’s a powerful piece of work with a capital POW (my phrase). And, like all the great movies, it centres on an incident on the outskirts of Norwich. Critics have described the movie as ‘moving’, ‘great’, ‘poetic’, ‘life-affirming’, ‘action-packed’, ‘great’, ‘superb’ and ‘one of the best ever’. I don’t have their names to hand but I could get them for you if you think I’m making it up. But all I’d say is, not all critics have to be published journalists. You could be a critic, I could, my assistant could, some of the people on my pub quiz team could (and are).

Were you interested in film when you were growing up?

I was intoxicated and interested by film, bewitched and bewildered, consumed and concerned. That’s why I get so angry when people suggest I know nothing about cinema.

I know loads about cinema. As a child, there was nothing I enjoyed more than taking a stroll to the local picture house, buying a big tub of poppers (my nickname for popcorn) and watching Transformers 2, for example, before driving home.

My walls were decked with film posters featuring Burt Reynolds, Rog Moore and, in my sexually curious years, blue-movie star Robin Askwith and the woman who went on to play Alma in Coronation Street. I also have a voucher that entitles me to a certain number of cinema trips over a certain period of time (not read the details) so it’s clear I’m passionate about film.

What do you think of the state of the arts in this country at the moment?

I think it needs a kick up the arm, to be absolutely honest with you. We used to be a nation of Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Constable and Essex (David).

Today, we’re a cultural backwater, a barren concrete wasteland strewn with stolen shopping trolleys and back-chatting kids where the closest we come to art is an obscene message about someone’s mother scrawled on the wall of a filthy underpass. British people – once proud, clever people – now guzzle up television that I frankly could spit at and sometimes do.

And the only movies we produce are about 20th century monarchs or teenagers with bad attitudes. I blame almost all of this on the former Labour government. That’s where I come in. I genuinely believe that my film could spark a cultural renaissance as cultural as the Renaissance.

Are you promoting this film in any innovative ways?

I was hoping to organise a fly-past by the Red Arrows. But it hit the buffers early on when I couldn’t figure out where I wanted them to fly past. Also I wanted it done in the evening but apparently the Red Arrows boys knock off at five so they can get down to the pub by ten past.

So at the moment my main idea is to lease a small fleet of cars, strap a giant inflatable Alan Partridge to the roof racks of each one and send them out around the ring roads in the UK. I feel it’s a really strong concept.

I saw a prototype of the inflatable the other day and – if I’m honest – it looked more like Clare Balding than it did Alan Partridge. But she’s a fine-looking woman and if an eight-foot likeness of her draws people to see the film, then as far as I’m concerned it’s all gravy.

This film isn’t your first foray into the arts. You’ve also published an autobiography, which was a real warts ‘n’ all portrayal of your life.

It was warts, verrucas, moles, psoriasis, the lot. I’d even include the blackheads on my nose. I looked at them with a shaving mirror the other day actually. Disgusting. It was like the world’s most densely-packed dot-to-dot puzzle. I tried to get rid of them with a blackhead gun made out of a ballpoint pen. But there were simply too many. I just ended up with slightly fewer blackheads and a very red nose. Hey-ho.

Would you ever consider turning the autobiography into a biopic? Who would play you?

Morgan Freeman. Or ITV man John Stapleton. He’s not known as an actor – but he will be. I’ve seen him act out domestic arguments and exchanges with shopkeepers and I’ve seen enough to know he will become one of our best-loved actors. He has bags of talent.

Do you still pitch TV show ideas?

Not really. I still have killer ideas. They mainly come to me when I’m singing in the bath. Yesterday I came up with Britain’s Biggest Cobbler, for example (there are some huge ones in Norfolk, real big lads). But I don’t pitch them any more. The audiences just aren’t there. Everyone’s got six hundred channels to choose from. Not to mention catch-up TV.

No mate, TV’s dead. Digital radio, on the other hand, now that’s an exciting place to be. Anyone in the world with an internet connection can tune in to my weekday morning show on North Norfolk Digital. For all I know I could have a dedicated fan base in China. Indeed if this Cineworld magazine has reached any of you, Ni hao.

Are you on Twitter?

Am I on Twitter? I broadcast my show over Twitter.

How does that work?

I employ an agency secretary to transcribe the four-hour show, divide it into 140-character chunks and post it line-by-line. Some refuse to type out the song lyrics. Others don’t mind. Depends which one you get.

A lot of celebs find Twitter a pretty hostile place. Do you?

The complete opposite. To me, it’s a hug from a cherished relative; a pat on the back from an old chum. Yeah, there are sly comments about the clothes I wear. Sure, there are snide remarks about my radio show. And obviously there are a fair smattering of death threats.

Well thanks for talking to us today, Alan. We hope Alpha Papa does really well.

Me too. I’ve got a loft extension riding on it.


I’m Alan Partridge and I’m proud to be the new culture editor of ShortList magazine.

Having never read the magazine myself (don’t like public transport), I’m told it’s a chink of light, a fleeting crumb of comfort for the poor fools crammed into our nation’s buses and trains.

And that hit home with me. As a daytime radio broadcaster in East Anglia, I, too, offer hope to the hopeless, joy to the grumpy. It’s a sad fact that the housewives and jobless who form almost 70 per cent of my audience are worryingly prone to alcoholism (housewives) and suicide (jobless) – as are many of you.

If my guest-editing of this magazine can convince even one person to put down the bottle/shotgun, then I’ll have done my job.

(This is also an opportunity to promote my film.)

Thank you.

Alan Partridge,

Cultural Editor

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Partridge on Inferno

With the news that Dan Brown’s Inferno is set for a big-screen adaptation, with Tom Hanks returning as Robert Langdon, our culture editor shares his thoughts on the novel…

There aren’t many novelists whose books compel me to read passages aloud to couples I’ve only just met on holiday, but in Crete four years ago I was like a pool-side Jackanory, holding forth to Brits and Germans alike with page after page of page-turning pages.

The novelist was Dan Brown. The book, The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown (also a major motion picture) and, as well as being sizzling vac-lit (vacation literature, my phrase), it has basically rewritten European history and all theology ever. It really is the ‘god’s bollocks’.

Inferno, the third of Brown’s masterpieces, again follows Robert Langdon – the fictional professor of symbology that is, not the Robert Langdon who runs DPL Car Audio in Hemsby! Two very different characters, I assure you.

Dan Brown’s Robert Langdon isn’t from Orkney. Nor does he cheat on his wife. Nor does he owe me two grand.

The book’s too complicated to describe, but it’s very excellent.

Dan Brown’s Inferno is out now. The film is due in cinemas December 2015

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Pints & Pistachios Pub Review…

Maid’s Head Hotel, Norwich. 20 Tombland, NR3

Sat at the bar one night, I was distracted by a nice daydream and spilled about a gulpful of beer on the bar. I’ll never forget what happened next. The barman turned round and – get this – apologised to me, before wiping up the mess and

topping up my glass. Whether he had poor spatial awareness or was just staggeringly servile, I don’t know. But I repeated the spill three or four times with the same result. When my guest arrived, we retreated to a quiet corner and laughed for ages. And that’s why this is my favourite Norfolk pub.

maidsheadhotel.co.uk

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Book review

I, Partridge (Reviewed by me, Alan Partridge)

My memoir, I, Partridge, is my favourite ever book. I’ve had my copy clad in deerskin to match my driving gloves, and that natural touch makes the tome feel like a living, breathing piece of work, although I’m assured the deer was dead when skinned. People say, “But is it any good, Alan?” Well, the book was first printed in hardback – quite a coup for a fledgling writer – and its success was such that it was reprinted again months later as a paperback, with slightly different artwork. Soon after, I was invited to lay down an audiobook – so the book could be enjoyed even by people who hate books.

It was also digitised into an e-book. Why would the publisher go to the trouble of distributing the work in four formats if they didn’t think it was brilliant? Think about it.

AP £7.99

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To Do List – Date for your diary

St Luke’s Bring and Buy Sale

Every Saturday at St Luke’s Church & Community Centre, 61 Rigbourne Hill, NR34; free; becclesparish.org.uk

You could do worse then head to the weekly Saturday morning bring and buy sale at St Luke’s Church Hall in Beccles. It’s a magnet for people who like to buy chipped crockery, knackered board games and the shoes of dead people.

I tend to go down there whenever I’m a bit short of cash. I fill the boot with tat from my local Mencap store, then sell it for twice what I paid for it. I absolutely rinse them. You’re supposed to give 10 per cent of all your profits to the church’s Africa appeal, but I prefer to give it to my own favourite charity, the National Trust. AP

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Alan’s Movie Choice

Titanic (12A)

What a film. When I heard Titanic had a budget of $200m, I was instantly hooked as I love expensive films and expensive items in general. Seems I wasn’t alone! With an initial worldwide gross of over $1.84bn, Titanic was the first film to reach the billion-dollar mark. A 3D version earned an additional $343.6m worldwide, pushing Titanic’s worldwide total to a sweet $2.18bn. Haven’t seen it myself but, as I say, what a film. AP

Prince Charles Cinema, 3 Aug, 12.15pm; 20th Century Fox

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Health and Fitness

Push it like Partridge: Our culture editor reveals the secret to gaining a much sought after six-pack

A retired headmistress I was briefly dating said I had the BMI and muscle definition of a man five-sixths my age. I’d stood up in my underpants to show off the results of a Sizzling Summer abs workout I’d read in the Daily Mail’s Femail magazine, and while my abdomen wasn’t anything like a six-pack, I enjoyed being able to slap my belly without it making a loud clap. Standing there in the flickering light of a portable TV, letting the former educator look at my body and finish her cigarette, I pledged to remember how good it felt to be fit and strong and promised myself I would develop a workout that could keep me in good shape for ever, and which I could pass on to others.

I never got round to developing that workout. I was distracted trying to get

a towbar fitted to my car for under £150, and forgot all about the day in Celine’s bedroom. If you do want to get in shape, though, try to find some old copies of Femail magazine, because the Sizzling Summer abs workout was in there. It would have been around April or May 2011. Think it was Femail anyway. The gist of it was ‘do lots of sit-ups’.

The thing I focus on most these days is diet. I’ve read that Japanese people live longest and I know some people say you should eat Far Eastern food. But I’m not so sure. For example, order a noodle soup from Wagamamamas and you’re presented with chopsticks and a spoon – and a tactical conundrum. You see,

it’s down to you to regulate your consumption of solids and broth. Too much of the former and you’re left with a puddle of empty soup, too much of the latter and it’s a cold nest of noodles. It took so much of my concentration, I neglected to chat with my guest, Glen. In the end, I thought, “Sod this” and went and bought a Whopper.

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Alan ’s Essential Sport Gear

Speedo Competition Nose Clip (left)

Who says water doesn’t burn? Swim through a chlorine-filled pool with your nostrils open and brace yourself for sinus napalm. But this sleek, aquadynamic clip clamps the nostrils firmly shut providing real peace of mind. Comes with reusable case.

Swiggies Wrist Water Bottles (middle)

The biggest advance in hands-free exercise innovation since the fanny pack. Some people think wearing a bottle makes you look stupid, but they’re wrong. It looks superb. Like Julia Bradbury, these are good-looking, lightweight and practical.

Montane Terra Pants (right)

A hardwearing trouser highly recommended by Ben Fogle and Alan Partridge. Both buy theirs from Rathbones in Keswick before heading deep into the Lake District. Ben, in order to hike. Alan, to sit in silence and think.


PARTRIDGE IS BACK

His first interview in a decade

Has he left the BBC for good? What became of Monkey Tennis? Will there ever be a follow-up to Bouncing Back? Alan Partridge’s triumphant return in new online show Mid-Morning Matters has thrown up some big questions. ShortList shared a Blue Nun with Norfolk’s premier broadcaster to find the answers. And he’s keen to set the record straight.

Shortlist – 2011

Why have you been off our screens and airwaves for so long?

Far from being “off” the airwaves – which’d be news to the listeners who’ve spent their mid-mornings with me for the last four years – I’ve actually broadened my audience massively. My BBC chatshow was watched by a cool 900,000 viewers. Mid-Morning Matters, available online, has a potential audience of 1.9 billion. That’s an increase of 211,000% – the kind of numbers BBC execs would cream themselves over.

You’ve had trouble with commissioners in the past. Can you let us in on any recent show ideas that were rejected?

If you want to sneer at me about Monkey Tennis, come out and say it. Because my response is easy. Ridiculed by the British cleverati, Monkey Tennis was snapped up by TV stations in Laos and Taiwan and ran for two successful years. I exec produced for a fee that almost exactly covered the cost of my air fare. After two series, the format reached the end of its natural life and the monkeys were quickly and humanely destroyed.

I no longer pitch television shows.

Had any reality TV offers you’ve turned down?

I wouldn’t have time to take part in any. Period. The diaries of other celebs might be empty, but mine is ram-a-jammed. On Saturday, for example, I saw that Strictly Come Dancing was on. How could I have found time go along and do a rhumba this weekend? I had to re-grout the downstairs Khazi.

Mid-Morning Matters will see you make your online debut. What’s the best and worst thing about the Internet age?

Good question(s)! The worst thing is the paranoia. For some time, I refused to point the webcam directly at me because I was told that doing so would reveal my banking details. In actual fact, if someone points a webcam directly at you, it does not reveal your banking details.

You’ve bounced back again, have you got any more books in the pipeline?

Nothing concrete. I submitted a few pages of a novel to a publisher friend who described it as ‘Titchmarsh Lite’. Pretty encouraged by that, so I think I might pursue it. I read the Independent Lite the other day and it’s much better than The Independent.

A new government has been installed since we last saw you. What do you think of them and the recent cuts?

I’m just delighted that Cleggy’s got himself involved. Seems like a thoroughly OK chap to me. He has no real power but he gets to swan around Downing Street. Think about it – free teas and coffees, use of the photocopier, if he runs out of loo roll at home he can just nick some from number 10, that kind of thing. It sounds very pleasant to me.

What have you had to give up because of the recession?

My monthly donation to Oxfam. Very sad, but with the price of petrol ever-rising, I really do need that pound.

You recently made an angry phone call to Kasabian’s Tom Meighan, what went on there? Which modern music acts are you a fan of and which can’t you stand?

I’m actually thinking of going into music management. Last Wednesday I saw a mind-blowing new band called Dr Phil. Rather wonderfully, the lead singer is actually a doctor. (Though he’s not called Phil.)

How can I describe their sound? Well other than just using the word ‘incredible’, I’d say they were like a cross between the best of the Tears for Fears (the band, not the album) and the best of Genesis (the album).

If you had been trapped in with the Chilean miners how would you have passed the time?

By mining.

What’s your love life like at the moment and are there any women in the public eye you’re particularly fond of?

Hey, I’m not ashamed to say I lead a healthy sex life. Fact is, women prefer men of a certain age. We take our time – have to, for cardiovascular reasons. But time has been kind to me, and I’ve morphed into a fairly attentive and quite generous lover. Have I shocked you? Are you shocked by this? I offer no apology. Yesteryear I’d never have dreamt about broaching this subject, but right now I take pride in my lovemaking. Next question.

It’s two years since Sachsgate. Tell us about your biggest on-air blunder.

On my TV chat show, I accidentally shot a man dead with a gun. Does that count or do want me to say another one?

As a former sports broadcaster, what was your take on recent sporting scandals involving Tiger Woods, Wayne Rooney and John terry?

Each of those guys are big. And big men have needs. Especially when they’re fit. Quite simply, if you get a big man in shape he’s going to have sex. My question is more about just how rampant these men are. For example, what would happen if you locked Tiger Woods in a room with Wayne Rooney, but Wayne Rooney was wearing a dress and a full face of make-up? Certainly makes you think.

Chris Moyles recently complained on air about not getting paid. Did you understand where he was coming from and have you experienced anything similar?

Chris Moyles reminds me very much of me when I was younger. He’s probably my favourite modern disc jockey – edgy, knowing and cool. They should pay him on time. Come on BBC! Pay Chris on time!

North Norfolk Digital is owned by Gordale Media – and they’re famously prompt payers. Besides, their CFO lives round the corner so I sometimes pop round and collect it.

Did you throw your hat in the ring to replace Jonathan Ross at the BBC?

Chat can be a very powerful thing. Like a new-born baby or nuclear waste, it needs to be handled with care. That’s why I’m delighted that Ross is to be replaced by Norton. Yes he’ll take prime time-chat in a new, more Irish direction. But I’m fine with that. He’s served his time on BBC2, now he’s ready to cross-over to BBC1 and play with the big boys. (Not literally. His sexuality is neither here nor there.)

Writen by

Armando Iannucci

Steve Coogan

Neil Gibbons

Rob Gibbons

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