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I’m Alan Partridge

Starring Steve Coogan


Written by

Peter Baynham

Steve Coogan

Armando Iannucci


Episode 5 – To Kill A Mocking Alan


[Close-up of the Radio Norwich sign on the wall of the studio. Music is playing. The camera pans round to Alan, talking into the microphone.]


Alan:        That was Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark with some classic electro-rock from their album ‘Architecture and Morality’, two subjects I’m sure we could discuss all night. Indeed, the lines are open if you want to call, make a comment on either architecture or morality, two equally hot but differently shaped potatoes. Chips, and… crinkle-cut chips. So, give me a call. Please! Seriously, though, do give me a call. It’s four-fifty a.m. The Queen is dead, long live the King Singers!


[Title sequence, ending with a short monologue from Alan, sitting in his car next to Lynn – “just pop your elbow on there” – Alan presses the door-lock down with his elbow – “you’ve locked the door. Sometimes you don’t want to.” Cut back to Radio Norwich studio.]


Alan:        Now, we’ve had several calls during the last few hours concerning a humorous comment I made some time ago. Just to reassure you, the Queen is not dead. It was a humorous intro into a song which seems to have been taken a bit too literally by one or two listeners… and a newspaper. So, just to repeat, Queen Elizabeth the second is not dead… unless she went in the night and is yet to be discovered by the maid. Just coming up to seven o’clock. Gadzooks! It’s the noble Sir David Clifton of radioshire!


[Dave laughs.]


Alan:        Good morning to you, sir.


Dave:      Arise, Sir Alan of Partridge!


Alan:        Yeah. Shall we stop talking in this medieval way?


Dave:      Yes.


Alan:        What’s on your show today, Dave?


Dave:      Right! Get dialling if you want to try and cross the Clifton Suspension quiz, the prize money has soared to an incredible eleven thousand pounds. So, just to remind you of…


[As Dave talks, Alan stares off into space, daydreaming. For a couple of seconds we see him dancing on the stage of his fantasy nightclub, dressed in a leather thong and pringle jumper. Back in real life, Alan sleeptalks out loud, on air, interrupting Dave.]


Alan:        [Groggily] Sexy…


[Alan has stopped Dave in his tracks. Now fully awake, he realises what he’s just said.]


Alan:        Er, sorry…


Dave:      Yes, I didn’t know you cared, Alan!


[They both laugh, Alan rather forcedly.]


Dave:      That was OAP, Old Alan Partridge.


Alan:        [Smiling at first] I’m not old! I’m forty-three, you cheeky git. [His smile has faded.]


Dave:      And this is ‘Blue Oyster Cult’ from the album ‘Agents Of Fortune’.


[Alan takes off his earphones and leaves. In the lobby of the Linton Travel Tavern, Alan emerges from the lift singing ‘War Of The Worlds’. He is wearing his trademark blazer.]


Alan:        The chances of anything coming from Mars / Are a million to one


[He walks up to Michael, who is preparing a noticeboard advertising Alan’s presentation that afternoon.]


Michael:  Morning –


[Alan silences Michael with a raised finger to finish the line]


Alan:        But still they come.


Michael:  [Thick Geordie accent] Morning, Mr. Partridge. Hey, ‘War Of The Worlds’.


Alan:        Wild woods?


Michael:  No, ‘War Of The Worlds’. I’m playing guess the tune.


Alan:        Oh, ‘War Of The Worlds’, that’s right, yes.


Michael:  So, what do you reckon? [He follows the words on the board with his finger] ‘3pm, An Afternoon With Alan Partridge, with Special Celebrity Guest Star Sue Cook’.


Alan:        Yeah, can you just put ‘plus Sue Cook’? I suppose the good thing about this is you can’t hear your Geordie accent on the board. You should turn this into a sandwich board, and you could press onto your chest what you’re trying to say.


[Michael nods.]


Alan:        Sort of a primitive form of Stephen Hawkins’ voice box. I mean, the good thing about Stephen Hawkins is, he is clear.


[Alan walks over to reception, where Susan is serving a guest, Jed Maxwell. As Alan arrives, Jed turns and points to him, smiling.]


Jed:         It’s you, isn’t it? You’re Alan Partridge!


Alan:        [With a pleased smile] Yes I am.


Jed:         Oh, I don’t believe it! I’m your biggest fan! Look, I’m coming to your afternoon, I’ve got my ticket. Shake my hand!


Alan:        There you go.


[They shake hands while they talk.]


Jed:         Well what’s it about, then, Alan?


Alan:        It’s basically a TV show that’s not on TV.


Jed:         Really?


Alan:        It’s like Kilroy, but with tea, wagon wheels and Sue Cook.


Jed:         Oh, brilliant! I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to shake your hand.


Alan:        Oh I can see that. You’re obviously enjoying yourself!


Jed:         Yeah!


Alan:        You’re not going to let it go, are you!?


Jed:         No!


Alan:        Can I have it back?


[Alan pulls his hand back and they finally stop shaking.]


Alan:        Thanks.


Jed:         It’s so nice that you let your fans have a chance to meet you, you know. So many of them don’t. They forget that it’s fans like us that make you what you are.


Alan:        I don’t actually agree with that, but, er… I know some people do, but I don’t.


Jed:         I couldn’t ask you for your autograph, could I?


Alan:        Yes, certainly.


[Alan picks up a pen on the counter and starts writing.]


Alan:        What’s your name?


Jed:         Jed. Jed Maxwell.


Alan:        Oh, Jed Maxwell. You’re no relation to Robert Maxwell?


Jed:         No.


Alan:        You’re not going to go all fat and steal my pension?


Jed:         [Genuinely shocked] No.


Alan:        Just a joke.


Jed:         This is so exciting!


[Alan turns away from the counter before he’s finished writing.]


Alan:        Actually, could you ask me for this later in front of some important people?


Jed:         You’ve done it now.


Alan:        Yeah, but it just says “To Jed Maxwell from Alan”, you know.


Jed:         That’s better! It sounds like you know me.


Alan:        Right, OK, well, there you go…


[Alan adds something to the paper.]


Alan:        There. “To Jed Maxwell from Alan Smith.” Who’s he? Never heard of him.


[Alan puts the paper back on the counter. Jed looks on anxiously.]


Alan:        I’m expecting two television executives from RTE, who are coming over from Dublin. We’re going to be brunching in there [points to the restaurant area].


Jed:         Can I shake your hand again?


Alan:        No, you’ve had enough of that. Now, it would make me look very important if you would ask for my autograph in front of them, you know, and shake my hand.


[Jed offers his hand.]


Alan:        Later.


Jed:         Never you mind, Alan. You can rely on me.


Alan:        Thank you.


Jed:         [To Susan, who has appeared behind the counter.] It’s Alan Partridge! I can’t believe it! Oh, you haven’t lost it, Alan.


[Jed hits Alan playfully on the shoulder. Alan recoils, horrified.]


Jed:         I don’t care what they say! [To Alan] See you later.


Alan:        Right. Er, Susan – mm! That’s a nice smell. Is that new perfume?


Susan:     Yes, it is.


Alan:        That’s very nice. What is it?


Susan:     My fiancée bought it for me.


Alan:        Yeah I didn’t ask you who bought it for you. I just asked you what it is.


Susan:     It’s Ralph Laurent.


Alan:        Can I have a sniff?


Susan:     Yeah, sure!


[Susan offers her wrist to Alan. Alan grabs hold of her wrist and hoists himself over the counter to sniff her neck. Susan looks uncomfortable.]


Alan:        Mmm. Actually, I shouldn’t touch members of staff. Unless I’m reprimanding them, and then I’ll put you across my knee and smack your bare bottoms.


[Sophie has arrived from the back.]


Sophie:    Oh, there was a call for you. A Mr. Nesshead rang.


Alan:        Right. Never heard of him. Did he leave a first name?


Sophie:    No, it was just a Mr. P. Nesshead.


Alan:        Sophie, that’s a crank call. That’s another crank call.


Sophie:    [Smirking] Is it?


Alan:        Read it back to yourself.


Sophie:    Oh yeah, I can see what he’s done now. Shall I put it on the list with all the others.


Alan:        If you would. Actually, can I have a look at that list. I want to get to the bottom of this. [Reading] Mr. G. String…Mr. Nick Hers…Y. Front…Mr. T. Osser? That doesn’t even work. Mr. B. Ody – this is Bill Oddie. It’s not a prank call. Why have you put it on there?


Susan:     Well, we thought it looked like ‘body’.


Alan:        What’s rude about a body?


Sophie:    Tits?


[Alan looks at Sophie, irritated. Ben arrives.]


Ben:         Good morning, Sophie.


Sophie:    Good morning, Ben. Did you sleep well?


Ben:         [Smiles at Sophie knowingly] Yeah. Good night last night, wasn’t it?


Alan:        [Flicking through a magazine] Of course, if you’re professional and you know you’re working in the morning then you would have got your head down about midnight.


Ben:         Oh, yeah. I got my head down alright.


Alan:        I’ve had some pretty late night sessions myself, yeah. In 1976 I saw ELO at the Birmingham NEC. I was there shouting with everyone else – “come back on, ELO, and carry on playing”.


[Lynn has appeared in the lobby, struggling under the weight of a box of Alan Partridge tie and blazer packs, and a catering box of wagon wheels.]


Alan:        Lynn! Oh, let me take that. [Takes the box from Lynn and examines it’s contents] Alan Partridge tie and blazer packs and the wagon wheels. Excellent. There you go.


[Alan hands the box back to Lynn, who starts to stagger towards the lift.]


Ben:         Can I take that for you?


Lynn:       Oh, how very thoughtful! [She hands the box to Ben]


Alan:        [With a stern look at Ben] I’ll take it, I’ll take it.


[He takes the box off Ben, buckling under the weight.]


Alan:        This’ll happen to you when you hit forty. [He starts to walk towards the lift] Oh, it’s cutting into my fingers.


[Alan hands the box back to Lynn.]


Lynn:       Oh, I’m so sorry.


Alan:        Erm, can you smell my breath? [He breathes out into Lynn’s face.]


Lynn:       Ugh. It smells a bit like gas.


Alan:        You know what that is, don’t you?


Lynn:       No.


Alan:        Those scotch eggs we had a the petrol station.


Lynn:       [A bit breathless under the weight of the box] Oh.


Alan:        What time was that?


Lynn:       Ooh, about quarter to eleven.


Alan:        [Looking at his watch] Yeah. It’s going to be in the system till about four.


Lynn:       Right, well I’ll buy a packet of mints.


Alan:        Great.


[The phone rings at reception.]


Susan:     Excuse me, Alan, there’s an urgent call for you.


Alan:        Right, you go on up, Lynn.


[Alan takes the call.]


Alan:        Hello? Well, right. Well, where are you? [Angry] Oh, come on! Oh, this is – oh that’s bang out of order! Oh, well take a look in the mirror! What? Pardon!? No, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you shove it up your arse?


[Alan slams the phone down and sighs.]


Alan:        [To Susan] Sue Cook’s pulled out. Michael, change that to ‘An Afternoon with just Alan Partridge’.


Michael:  Oh, OK. Roger and out.


Alan:        Yeah, we’re not on short wave radio. Actually, that is quite eye-catching. I suppose that’s the opposite of what you were taught in the army. You know, camouflage.


Michael:  Aye. Well, I also done this course at the army school of commando training, and what we had to do was target identification, right? You had to go into this big building, right, full of people, and you had to identify the hostages and the terrorists, and take out the terrorists. I’ve sort of employed it here, like [indicates the writing on the noticeboard].


Alan:        You know, I know exactly what you mean, because a couple of weeks ago I was doing a corporate for Allied Dunbar, and afterwards a bunch of us went down to Laser Quest. And in there it’s very scary. Seconds count.


Michael:  Aye.


Alan:        You know, really quick-on-the-draw, quick-on-the-draw [he mimes drawing a gun from a holster].


Michael:  You see, look, here. If you ever find yourself in a situation with a concealed weapon, right, what you want to do is, when you draw your weapon, make it –


[Michael turns away from Alan, his hand on an imaginary gun by his side. Alan copies him.]


Alan:        [Fascinated, and smiling broadly] It’s great, I love this.


[Michael turns to Alan, stony-faced. Alan’s smile fades.]


Michael:  It’s no laughing matter. [Resumes his stance] When you draw your weapon, right, make it as smooth as you possibly can.


[Michael slowly pulls the imaginary gun from it’s holster and points it in front of him. Alan copies.]


Michael:  So draw, hold, fix, and fire. And then just move, and fire, and move, and fire


[The two men are stalking across the lobby, commando style, Alan copying Michael with imaginary guns blazing. Lynn steps out of the lift.]


Michael:  And move, and fire, and move, and fire


Alan:        [Shouting above Michael] Get back in the lift, Lynn!


[Lynn retreats.]


Michael:  Get down! Quick, reload! And fire!


[Michael gets up from reloading his imaginary gun to find himself pointing his weapon at Susan, who has appeared behind reception.]


Susan:     Michael! What do you think you’re doing!?


Michael:  Sorry. [He moves off]


[When Susan appeared, Alan had shrunk away to the other end of the lobby with a guilty look on his face. He now rejoins Michael at the noticeboard.]


Michael:  So, do you want us to take out Sue Cook for you?


Alan:        God, no! Oh, I see.  Er, yeah, fine.


[Michael adjusts the noticeboard. Later, in the restaurant, Alan and Lynn are sitting at a table with the two men from RTE, Aidan and Paul]


Alan:        Now I must say I’m very grateful you’ve come over – big fans of all the Irish…stuff. Love your pop music, Enya, and the other one – ripped up the Pope, bald chap? And I think… that’s it.


Aidan:      Well, there’s U2, of course.


Alan:        Oh, well, yeah. Fantastic. ‘Sunday Bloody Sunday’. What a great song. It really encapsulates the frustration of a Sunday, doesn’t it? You wake up in the morning, you’ve got to read all the Sunday papers, the kids are running round, you’ve got to mow the lawn, wash the car, and you think “Sunday, bloody Sunday!”.


Aidan:      I really hate to do this to you, Alan, but it’s actually a song about –


Paul:        Yeah, bloody Sunday is actually about a massacre in Derry in 1972.


Alan:        A massacre? Ugh. I’m not playing that again.


Aidan:      I must say this is a really horrible hotel. Who stays in a place like this?


Paul:        Terrible.


Aidan:      It’s so sterile here.


[Alan is looking anxious.]


Lynn:       [Quietly] Yes it is.


Aidan:      The staff are polite but it’s as if their smiles are…


Lynn:       …painted on.


Aidan:      Yeah, exactly.


Alan:        Yeah, they are. It’s very false, isn’t it? I mean, the great thing about this hotel is it’s situation. It’s equidistant between London and Norwich. That’s the genius of its location. Even though I do hate it and I don’t live here. I just pop in for breakfast.


[Susan arrives at the table to serve.]


Susan:     Hello, Alan!


Alan:        Which is why she knows my name. Hello, Susan. [To the RTE men] Just clocking the name tag, there. [To Susan] Can we have four full British-Isles breakfasts, please.


Susan:     Certainly. [She leaves]


Alan:        [Calling after Susan] You robot! [To Aidan and Paul] I wouldn’t be surprised if she went into the kitchen, opened her chest up, stuck in a screwdriver and turned her smile up. It’s a nice chest, but… full of wires.


[Alan sighs deeply.]


Aidan:      [To Paul] Can you smell gas?


[Alan looks at Lynn.]


Lynn:       Do you want a mint?


Alan:        The food’ll probably…


Lynn:       It’ll break it down.


Alan:        It’ll break it down, yeah. Actually, I’ll pop over and get some ruby grapefruit juice. That’ll help, too.


[Alan leaves the table.]


Lynn:       Where are you from in Ireland?


Paul:        Well Aidan is from Selbridge, which is near Dublin, and I’m originally from West Cork.


Lynn:       Oh? Whereabouts?


Paul:        Near Scibreen.


Lynn:       [Excitedly] Scibreen! Oh, I used to go there as a little child!


Aidan:      Really?


Lynn:       I used to go on nature trails! I used to spot flowers, and mummy used to say to me –


[Alan returns, carrying a big jug of grapefruit juice.]


Alan:        [Interrupting Lynn] Here we go! Ruby grapefruit juice. I thought I’d take the whole jug in case it’s quaffed by R2-D2 over there.


[Susan returns to the table.]


Susan:     Tea? Coffee?


Alan:        [In a robot voice, with appropriate hand gestures] Tea or coffeetea or coffeefour teas please.


[Alan grins at Aidan and Paul. Susan walks off looking bemused.]


Aidan:      You ever been to Ireland, Alan?


Alan:        No, no. I’d love to go.


Aidan:      It amazes me when people say that and it’s only forty-nine quid on a plane.


Alan:        Yeah, I think that’s what puts me off. Well, that’s the smalltalk, now let’s get down to business. Now, your programme – [bad Irish accent] What’s de big oidea?


Paul:        Well, the ‘big oidea’ is that we want to produce a programme that appeals to modern mainstream audiences on both sides of the Irish Sea…


[While Paul talks, Alan daydreams he is dancing in the familiar nightclub, wearing a leather thong and pringle jumper. At the table, however, are seated the two men from RTE. They are dressed as paramilitary terrorists and are holding automatic weapons and drinking Guinness.]


Alan:        Ooh, scary Irish men. Would you like to recruit me? I like your berets. They’re worn by Saddam Hussain, Frank Spencer, and the French.


[Alan wakes up]


Paul:        …with some of the culture of both countries.


Alan:        Yeah. I think the Irish are going through a major image change. I mean, the old image of Leprechauns, shamrock, Guinness, horses running through council estates, toothless simpletons, people with eyebrows on their cheeks, badly tarmacced drives – in this country, men in platform shoes being arrested for bombings, lots of rocks, and Beamish. I think people are saying “yes, there’s more to Ireland than this”. A good slogan for the tourist board – [does the bad Irish accent again] “Dere’s more to Oireland dan dis.”


[Susan and Michael arrive with their breakfasts.]


Alan:        [To Susan] Thanks very much…


Alan:        [Shouting after Susan]…you blond bastard. From the future.


[Susan looks bemused. Alan pulls two fingers up at her then turns back to his food.]


Alan:        Phwoar, this looks disgusting. Still, might as well eat it. So, how many people were killed in the Irish famine?


Aidan:      Erm, two million, and another two million had to leave the country.


Alan:        Right. I mean, if it was just the potatoes that were affected, at the end of the day, you’re will pay the price if you’re a fussy eater. If they could afford to emigrate then they could afford to eat in a modest restaurant. Could we come ‘live from the Blarney-stone’? I’m trying to get an angle on this.


Paul:        See, Alan, I think you’re increasingly moving towards an area we want to move away from.


Alan:        Yep, you’re absolutely right. Live TV can blow up in your face… sorry about that, you must be sick of that.


Aidan:      What?


Alan:        You know, being blown up. Bombs.


Aidan:      I’m from Dublin, not in Dublin.


Paul:        We’re from Dublin.


Alan:        Well that’s where you make them. You’ve come all this way and it seems to me you’re just being a little bit negative.


Paul:        Well, no…


Aidan:      No, I was interested in something earlier. Lynn, what you were talking about when you went to Scibreen as a child.


Paul:        That was interesting. Now…


Aidan:      I think there’s something in that.


Paul:        Yeah.


Aidan:      I would be interested to know if, at the time, did you have any friends or cousins over while you were there?


[As Aidan and Paul talk to Lynn, Jed arrives, pen and paper in hand.]


Jed:         Excuse me, Mr. Partridge, can I have your autograph, please?


Alan:        Certainly, certainly. What’s your name?


Jed:         Jed. Jed Maxwell.


[Alan signs the paper. The other three are deep in conversation.]


Alan:        Jed Maxwell…Alan Partridge.


[Jed walks off with the signed paper. Alan points after him in a vain attempt to attract the attentions of Paul and Aidan. After a few seconds watching them all talking without him, Alan exhales strongly over the table. Paul and Aidan recoil, gagging.]


Alan:        Erm, listen. I think if we… if you stick around for the ‘Afternoon With Alan Partridge’, then afterwards you can talk to Lynn and me… about Lynn.


[Cut to the Linton Travel Tavern conference room. About ten of the sixty or so seats are empty, the rest being occupied mainly by bored pensioners. In the middle of it all sits Jed, nodding along excitedly to the music, a cheap electronic keyboard rendition of Alan’s theme song, ‘Knowing Me, Knowing You’. Next to him sit Sophie and Ben, ironic smiles on their faces. At the back of the room, Paul and Aidan stand watching, arms folded. Behind a screen on stage, Alan waits for his cue, and steps out onto the stage just as the music ends. The crowd applaud politely.]


Alan:        Ahaaa!


[Jed is ecstatic, and clapping fiercely. The music starts up again, then stops abruptly.]


Alan:        Good afternoon, and w – sorry…


[The music has started again. Alan disappears behind the screen to try and switch it off, but only succeeds in changing it for a built-in Irish Jig demo track, then a bare funk rhythm. Alan frantically presses some more buttons, and the rhythm gets faster and louder before finally stopping. Alan re-takes the stage.]


Alan:        Sorry about that, a couple of gremlins in the system, there. Ghosts in the machine. Perhaps a metaphor for, er…. Good evening! I might as well say this now – Sue Cook has pulled out.


[Groans ripple around the audience.]


Alan:        So if anyone wants to leave, now’s the time.


[Alan glances nervously around the room. Two men get up and leave.]


Alan:        [As the two men close the door behind them] Amazing. Absolutely amazing.


[Cut to a little later.]


Alan:        Question from that person over there…


Woman:   Has your career gone off the rails a bit?


Alan:        Er, no, not you. The woman behind you.


2nd Woman:    Are you in favour of the death penalty?


Alan:        [With a cheerful smile] Yes I am. For treason and murder.


[Cut to a little later.]


Alan:        Say “pedestrianisation of Norwich city centre” to anyone and they’ll probably look blankly at you, or – hello?


[A man in a suit is peering around the door of the conference room. He realises his mistake and leaves.]


Alan:        Why do people do that?


[Cut to a little later. Alan is sitting on his stage sofa, arms outstretched.]


Alan:        [With a pompous sigh] Very clever men, both very clever men. But I don’t trust ‘em. Jerry Adams looks like a deputy headmaster and Martin McGuinness looks like a clown without make-up.


[Paul and Aidan look horrified. Cut to a little later. Alan has his blazer off and his shirt sleeves rolled up. A sad-faced old lady stands next to him on the stage.]


Alan:        OK, let’s recap. We draw the gun from the holster, knock the safety catch off, there’s one in the chamber, and move and fire, and move and fire, and move and fire. The terrorist [he rests a hand on the woman’s shoulder] is disoriented from the stun grenade, he doesn’t know what’s going on. Remember the double-tap, bang bang. We have to neutralise the threat by incapacitating the target, we do that in two areas. The chestal area here, anywhere down the central line, all the major organs are kept. We get one there, he’s going down. If you’re near enough, you can take a head shot. Again, he’s going down.


[Paul and Aidan are looking extremely uncomfortable. Cut to a little later.]


Alan:        One more question, lady at the back…


[An old woman next to Lynn has her hand up. Lynn quickly raises hers.]


Lynn:       Yes, Alan. I wondered if you had any more Alan Partridge tie and blazer badge combination packs available.


Alan:        Yes I do, as a matter of fact. I’ve got one here, there we go, they’re available at the back or at reception, priced 19.99. Twenty pounds, the penny’s just… price… rhetoric…[Alan is watching Paul and Aidan leave in a hurry]. Some of the boxes are a bit faded, but I was made promises about storage that were not kept. So, erm, that’s all from me, thankyouverymuch, goodbye. Sorry, gotta go.


[Alan dashes out after Paul and Aidan. He catches up with them in the lobby.]


Alan:        Ah, there you are. So, what did you think?


Aidan:      Well, I wouldn’t be depressed.


Alan:        Well, I’m not.


Aidan:      Yeah. When you were berating that old woman, I…


Alan:        Did you see the look on her face? Classic!


Aidan:      She was really frightened.


Alan:        [With a thoughtful smile] Yeah, I know. So, perhaps we could go and chat about all our other ideas in my room.


[Jed has appeared, hovering behind Alan with a naïve grin on his face.]


Paul:        In your room?


Alan:        In my room in my house, where I live.


Aidan:      Right, where’s your house?


[Alan is lost for a second, then Jed steps forward.]


Jed:         Just down the road. Our house.


[Jed grins at Alan.]


Alan:        Yeah…do you remember that man who came up and asked for my autograph earlier?


[Jed smiles broadly.]


Aidan:      No.


Alan:        Good. Erm, this is Jed. He’s my…driver.


[Jed shakes hands with Aidan and Paul.]


Jed:         How do you do. And business partner.


Alan:        [Uncomfortably] Yeah.


Paul:        Hello.


Alan:        And we live together. [Quickly] We’re not gay. I’ve nothing against them, it’s just, as I see it, God created Adam and Eve. He didn’t create Adam and Steve. I’m kind of a homosceptic.


Aidan:      Right, well, whatever. I just would like to get out of here as soon as possible.


Paul:        It’d be nice to go.


Alan:        Right, let’s go.


[The four men leave. On the way out, Jed shakes Alan’s hand again. Alan has to pull it back. Cut to Alan’s car, driving down the road on the way to Jed’s house. Jed is driving, Alan sits next to him and Paul and Aidan are in the back.]


Alan:        Have you seen the film ‘The Crying Game’?


Paul:        Yes, I saw it.


Alan:        Yeah. The woman with the old, er, tadger. I suppose the sequel will have a man with a… a fanny!


[They pull up outside the house, and all get out of the car.]


Alan:        This is my house, where I live…


Aidan:      It’s nice and out the way.


Alan:        …with Jed. After you. [Alan notices a small bowl of soggy bread, placed on a wall by the front path] Bowl of bread, there…


Aidan:      What’s that for?


Alan:        Just, er, friends.


[Alan looks irritated at the bowl of bread for a second, then follows everyone else inside. In the hallway, Jed is grinning inanely at Aidan, who is looking rather uncomfortable. When he sees Alan, Jed’s concentration is broken.]


Jed:         I’ll put the kettle on.


Alan:        Right.


[Jed leaves.]


Alan:        Erm, shall we go into the… [he peers nervously around the first door in the hallway] yes, the lounge. Grab a pew.


[There is a solitary armchair in the room, surrounded by litter.]


Alan:        There’s only the one chair. The other one, er… burnt down.


[Paul sits down in the chair. Aidan stands next to him.]


Alan:        If Jed and I are in the room at the same time I tend to do this. Just sort of lean on the wall.


[Aidan sits on the armchair arm.]


Alan:        Yeah, perched on the arm. That’s a good one. I’ve tried that one.


Aidan:      Very nice picture of yourself on the TV.


Alan:        I always leave this here [Alan pats the photo], so that way I’m always on the telly!


Paul:        Who’s the other one?


Alan:        This is, er, [he picks the photo up and looks at it] David Copperfield. Yes, he’s the American magician. You know, “I’m an American” [Alan waves his hands around as he imagines a magician might]. Yes, he claims to have made the Statue of Liberty disappear. But it’s still there. Talking out of his arse.


[Alan puts the photo back.]


Aidan:      Is that an original?


[Aidan is pointing to a large, airbrushed picture of a scantily-clad woman lying next to a motorbike, above the mantlepiece.]


Alan:        I don’t know why I bought this painting. It’s got a very haunting quality… man and machine. I mean, I often look at this in the morning and think, “Ooh, I’d like to kiss her!”.


Aidan:      [Getting up] Actually, do you mind if I use your toilet?


Alan:        By all means.


Aidan:      Where is it?


Alan:        It – well, I’ll show you.


[Alan leads Aidan out of the room.]


Alan:        This is the lobby. I like to read the Sunday papers in here. And, er...


[From inside a darkened room, we see the silhouettes of Alan, Paul and Aidan as they enter.]


Alan:   Right, I can never find the light switch in here…


[Paul switches the lights on. The three men find themselves in a room decorated with hundreds of pictures of Alan Partridge, Alan Partridge face masks, banners, posters and signs, that completely cover the walls. In the middle of the room, a life-size dummy with an Alan Partridge face mask sits in an armchair. Alan looks horrified.]


Alan:        Oh my God. [He turns to Aidan and Paul and forces a smile] I am such a big head! Two things – one, presumably you think I’m a bit odd and you’d like to leave immediately.


Aidan:      Yeah.


Paul:        Yes.


Alan:        And two, [he glances around the room] can I come with you?


Aidan:      No.


Alan:        Right, OK.


[Just then, Jed walks in with a tray of tea.]


Jed:         Tea’s up! I’m sorry, we’ve only got one mug, we don’t get a lot of visitors. Well you’re the biggest, you better have the mug [he hands it to Aidan], you’ll have to have this milk jug [to Paul], it’s a bit like a mug only it’s got a spout on it. I’ll have the coffee jar, and there you go, Alan!


[Alan takes a small plastic object, full of tea, from Jed. He looks at it, a pained expression on his face.]


Paul:        Is that one of those ball things you have in washing machines?


Jed:         That’s right! It’s called an Arielator!


Alan:        Cheers. [He sips from his Arielator] Yeah, I often think I should swallow this whole, and let it slosh round my system dispensing the coffee.


[While Alan has his back turned, Aidan and Paul quietly slip out, closing the door behind them.]


Alan:        The trouble is, it’d be quite difficult to swallow, and even harder to… wh- wh- where have they gone?


Jed:         You don’t think my room scared them, do you?


Alan:        I think they might have found it a bit creepy.


Jed:         It must be odd being here in a room, surrounded by photos of yourself!


Alan:        It is a bit, yeah!


Jed:         I like David Copperfield as well. Not as much as you, though.


Alan:        No, no I can see that. He’s losing the battle for wall space, isn’t he?


[Alan looks closely at some of the photos.]


Alan:        Did you take these on a telephoto lens?


Jed:         Yeah.


Alan:        Are you the crank caller?


Jed:         Yeah.


Alan:        Yep, thought so.


Jed:         I’m just a fan, Alan, that’s all. Your biggest fan. I’ll show you something.


[Jed turns away from Alan and takes his jumper off. He turns back to reveal a huge tattoo of Alan’s smiling head on Jed’s chest and stomach. Topped with Jed’s maniac grin, the effect is rather sinister.]


Alan:        [Looking extremely anxious.] Glory be!


Jed:         [His voice getting hysterical] It took fourteen hours! I fainted three times!


Alan:        Jed, I’ll level with you. I’m really scared. In fact, I think I’ll go.


[Alan moves towards the door.]


Jed:         No!


Alan:        No, it’s OK. I’ll go.


[Jed leaps in front of Alan, blocking his path.]


Jed:         [Almost screaming] No, stay! Don’t go!


Alan:        [Backing off] Alright, alright, I’ll stay, I’ll stay. W-w-what do you want to do?


Jed:         Let’s do an interview.


Alan:        I think that’s a great idea.


Jed:         Do you really?


Alan:        I think it’s the best idea in the world.


Jed:         [Ecstatic] Oh! Great, well you can be David Copperfield, and I’ll…


[Jed turns away from Alan, and puts on an Alan Partridge face mask. When he turns back, he makes a frightening sight.]


Jed:         …be Alan Partridge! Ahaaaa!


Alan:        Oh God!


[Alan makes a dash for it. Jed catches him before he reaches the door and they wrestle.]


Alan:        Not my face! I’m doing a photo shoot for Vision Express!


[Jed gets Alan in a head-lock.]


Alan:        I’ll give you a Chinese burn!


[Alan grinds Jed’s wrist with his hands.]


Jed:         Argh! You bastard!


[Jed pulls his headlock tighter.]


Alan:        [Choking] Urrrgh… I can’t breath… I can’t breath…


[Jed pulls off the face mask.]


Jed:         Look, Alan, I just want to be your friend, that’s all.


Alan:        [Still choking] I’ll be your friend [he forces a smile].


Jed:         Oh, great. Will you come and see my brother-in-law next weekend?


Alan:        I’d love to.


Jed:         Bet you can’t guess where he lives.


Alan:        Erm…


Jed:         Go on, have a guess.


Alan:        Er, Nottingham?


Jed:         No.


Alan:        Oh. Er… [Jed tightens his grasp, Alan’s voice gets higher] Chester?


Jed:         Where?


Alan:        [Speaking with great difficulty] Ches – Chester. Near north Wales off the M56.


Jed:         No, Leeds!


Alan:        Oh, Leeds.


Jed:         [Suddenly looking concerned] Can you smell gas?


Alan:        Er, I think that’s my breath. I ate a scotch egg. I thought it would have broken down by now but I think I’m slightly constipated. Surprising, really, considering the circumstances.


[On hearing this, Jed releases his hold on Alan. Alan staggers away, clutching his neck.]


Jed:         Sorry, Alan, I didn’t know. Are you alright?


Alan:        [His normal voice returning] Yeah.


Jed:         [Enthusiastically] So, we’re friends then?


Alan:        Best friends.


Jed:         Oh! In the whole world?


Alan:        Pretty much, yeah!


[Cut to Jed’s front door, from outside. Jed opens the front door, and Alan leaves in a hurry.]


Alan:        Thank you.


Jed:         Well, now you know where I live I hope you’ll not be a stranger.


[Alan opens his car with his remote lock and paces quickly down the drive. Jed follows closely, a childish grin on his face, still topless.]


Alan:        Who… de… ver – str… no, won’t be… one…


[Alan gets in his car and shuts the door.]


Jed:         There’ll always be a kettle on here.


Alan:        Oh, great.


[Alan shuts the door and presses the door lock down firmly. Jed gestures him to wind down the window. Alan does, about half way.]


Jed:         I’ll see you next week, then. We’ll have that pint.


Alan:        Yip.


Jed:         Go and see my brother.


Alan:        No way you big spastic! You’re a mentalist!


[Alan accelerates away quickly. Jed chases him for a few yards.]


Jed:         Come back! I’ll rip your bloody head off! Come back!


[About a hundred yards past Jed’s house, the dirt track comes to an end. Alan stops his car.]


Alan:        [Panicking] Dead end! Where’s the road? Where’s the road?


[He abandons his car and runs off, remembering to remote lock it behind him. He dashes down a short path, then leaps over a stile, panting hard. The credits roll as Alan sprints across a ploughed field, nearly tripping up.]


Alan:        He’s a mentalist!


[Checking he’s not being followed, Alan nearly trips up for a second time. He waits for a few seconds, his hands on his knees, catching his breath. Then he races off again.]


Alan:        Help me someone!


[Alan runs on.]