S01E04: Lynn's House
[singing in a deep, slow, vibrato voice]
You're listening
to Alan Partridge
from the Oasthouse
You're listening
to Alan Partridge
From the Oasthouse
Wonder if that could be a single? I was imagining myself on a plantation then...
It's 8:15 in the morning! Not to you, this is a podcast, but to me it's 8:15.
I just donned a dusty pink polo shirt, tossed a baby blue cashmere sweater off my shoulders, knotted across the chest like an Italian man! And I perched my sunglasses high in my hair like a Spanian man! Yeah, I me... like a Spanish... man? Like a Spanishman.
I am ready to hit the road because today's episode is all about f-u-n, fun. After Boxing Day, and the anniversary of my divorce, today is my favourite day in the calendar year- Spaniard! That's the word.
It combines a red-letter day with a blue ribband event, creating a very purple patch for those lucky enough to attend! Gotta do stand up, got to do stand up, even if I just try it once.
What is happening today? Well, I'm going to keep you in suspenders, ah [laughs] just a little longer. I've been leaving a few cryptic clues on Twitter and asking people to guess what it is I'm doing today. Phil living in Tring says, "Are you going to a stately home to watch them film The Antiques Roadshow?". No, although it's a good guess!
[sting; a rising electronic chord]Hello, Alan Partridge here!A number of you have been asking how my date went with the dog groomer, the one I was off to meet in the last episode. Well, a gentleman never tells! I think to divulge more would be to objectify her. All I would say is we spent a very pleasant evening and, in terms of scores, it was Looks 7, Smile 5, Personality 7, so out of a possible thirty that gives her an AP Score of 19. Not bad!
[descending electronic chord]
[theme music]
I'm Alan Partridge, and this is my podcast. From The Oasthouse!
Right, I've just come out of the hospital, my assistant has had a bit of a scare, had heart palpitations yesterday and drove herself to the hospital where she'd been given a precautionary MRI scan.
I've just been to see her, because her health must come first, of course it must. It must, however important the Southampton International Boat Show might be, it is nothing compared to, of course, Lynn Benfield's health and that goes without saying, and it goes without saying that- that it goes without saying and I'm saying it, but I needn't because it... it goes without me doing that.
If Lynn's well being is... one hundred then some boat show, Britain's biggest actually, and best festival of boating with over 300 vessels in a purpose-built marina, is zero frankly or... or one. Yeah, one. Between one and five, no more than- no more than that.
Lynn's health is of course my number one priority, end of, which is why I dropped everything and drove to the hospital to see how she's feeling. And once I was satisfied that she was okay and only then did I broach the subject of driving to her house getting the spare keys from under the flowerpots and popping into the house to get the accreditation I needed.
But er... yeah, no, the the the the the the the- no, the old girl was good as gold, nothing to worry about. I think it's a little bit of histrionics to be honest with you, we've all had heart palpitations from getting into a hot bath too fast after an ice cream to, you know, bumping into the relatives of a man you shot to death, accidentally!
Plus Lynn's in good hands. No doubt receiving the very best care that anyone not on private health care could hope for. She's been cared for by a doctor from Rwanda called Robert; fascinating chap, beautiful speaking voice! I said to him, good to see you got out and didn't get caught up in the Rwandan genocide.
Lynn then started saying "There's always trouble over there!", erm... and I just had to pipe it down. I exchanged looks with Doc Robert and said, "I bet you're wondering where the sedative is!", and he laughed a bit, you know, it wasn't especially funny, but I just wanted to show him I was not on the same side as this race-slash-Bapt... ist.
To be honest, I was more interested in trying to get to the bottom of what had caused the palpitations, I was very much in Dr. Robert's hands. Of course, like any layperson, I could have suggested it was caused by, I dunno, either atrial fibrillation or ventricular tachycardia.
But sometimes you just gotta stand back and let the experts do the job and I'm not- I'm not gonna bang on the table and shout, "This woman needs an electric shock to the chest wall now!", you know? I'm more likely to just nod in agreement and say, "Oh, by the way, mitral valve prolapse, worth a gander?" or, you know, "What are we thinking about hypertrophic cardiomyopathy?" I'm no medic, I'm just a good Googler but anything I can do to help.
Anyway, the doctor and, I can't remember but possibly myself too, then explained to Lynn some typical causes. Does she smoke? Well, we all had a good laugh at that one, Lynn knows she'd look stupid with a cigarette in her hand, and I do too. Had she been drinking heavily? No. She'd been drinking steadily, but not heavily, and she can hold it! She could have a skin-full and you wouldn't know, she drives like she's drunk anyway! The police know, but they don't pull her over.
So she's, yeah, hiding in plain sight, like the late Sir Jimmy Savile. She used to love Jim'll Fix It, but she went off him in the end.
Eventually, the doctor said the most likely cause was stress. "Stress! Stress?!", you might shout, "Her?! How can she be stressed?!". Ahh! And I get that, you know, it's not like she has to carry the responsibility of fronting a live TV show, or hosting a reasonable training day for B&Q store managers, or even just being the face of one of Norfolk's leading timber merchants!
Yeah, stress is relative. In fact, for Lynn it is a relative, namely a nephew who, you'll never guess what he's gone and bloody done, the poor lad's got himself heavily into chemsex! But I'm sworn to secrecy.
Anyway, we all agreed she needs complete rest. I- It's not that I overwork her, I keep her busy, certainly, and I don't let her take bank holidays off because I'm, [laughs] I'm not a bank and neither she but I am flexible with time if she wants an unscheduled day off and the reason is good enough. Of course that's alright! If she wants a day off, I will. I will, you know, judge each request on its merits, of course!
"Can I visit Beaulieu Motor Museum with some friends from the church?", Absolutely!
"Can I have the day off to visit the Chelsea Flower Show with some friends from church?", no I'm afraid that won't be possible.
[theme music sting]
So, yes, I am without Lynn for the next week. I'm Lynn-free, I'm going commando, Lynn-wise. Sorry about that last one, but no no, I'm happy to muddle on without her, having said that I... as a man in demand, I'm going to need a temporary assistant.
So I've already drafted an email to a temp agency in Norwich, Admin Pixies, terrible name! Basically something like "Kindly go-getter seeks similar for temporary admin role. Candidates need to be punctual, obedient, respectful, quiet, not too sassy, although some sass is fine, must have no children and excellent literacy.
And, to that end, I have deliberately misspelt the word obedient as odebient, and if they point out the error in their response they go through to the next round which is problem solving! At the very end, I've added #MeToo, just to show which side of the Weinstein fence I'm on. When you're a man of a certain age in showbiz, and what I do is showbiz, very much showbiz, then you've got power! And if you are so inclined you can abuse that power, tempting women to debase themselves in exchange for whatever their heart desires.
And you can say to that woman, "I can get you two tickets for the final of Strictly!", or "Would you like a meeting with Simon Mayo?". And that is power, that is huge power! So, I want it to be known that I'm one of the good guys. Actually, I think I'm gonna actually add #TimesUp.
Of course, I do not insist on any dress code, but prefer to avoid women in trousers. Yes, so fingers crossed for that! Just as this week Lynn will be doing sweet F.A. I will be employing a sweet P.A.
But enough! Today is not about work, it's about me having a cracking old day looking at boats! Just pull in here, pull in front of the drive there. Yeah, so I'll pop in there, get my accreditation and Lynn's e-reader and then I'm on my waaaaay! I love boats, they're like the cars of the sea!
[theme music sting]
Right, the keys should be underneath this cement dog. For Christ's sakes! It weighs a ton! Jesus! Ah, Christ! Right! [sound of keys jangling and going into a lock]
Right, well here we are. This is my assistant's home. As you can see, well, you can't see, but as you can hear me see, a perfectly serviceable home. What they call a dormer bungalow, which is to say a two storey bungalow, or not a bungalow... bit... bit dishonest.
I've been a few times before, but not without Lynn, normally I just pop in for something very quick. You know, "You left your prayer book in the car, please don't do it again", "Can you put the kettle on so I can use your toilet?", that'd be her, "Have you heard that so-and-so's wife has left him?", "Have you heard that such-and-such likes little boys?", very quick exchanges like that.
But I've haver had the chance to look at the place alone, before now. I feel, actually I feel a bit like CSI Norwich, snooping around a crime scene. Perhaps I'll find a speck of blood in the hallway, where Lynn has... battered to death a young Mormon. No, she wouldn't, she wouldn't do anything like that, that's not Lynn's... Lynn prefers to sort of... wear away at you to until, presumably, you, erm... just leave the area.
What do we got, what've we got here? Freeview box. Is it even plugged in? No, of course it's not! Book on the arm of the sofa, if it's not a Cookson it'll be a Cooper- oh my god, Len Deighton! She's reading The Ipcress File! How can she be reading The Ip- oh! Yep, it's to impress a man, got it! Sly old dog! Atta-girl, Lynn!
Let's have a look round here. Stannah chair-lift, surely Lynn doesn't need one of those! She's not bad on the stair, Lynn. Hang on, it'll be from when her mum used to live with her... are we gonna have a go? I'm certainly tempted. Yeah, go on!
Switch her on... and away we go! Not bad on the pull away... huffs and puffs a bit on the incline... She handles nicely enough. The padded seat keeps things comfortable mid-ride, while the swivel feature makes getting on board child's play. Coming up to a corner, let's see how she copes! Oh, I like it, barely any judder! On the home straight now, let's open her up see what she can do. Not bad, not bad at all! She's friskier than you think, this one! All in all, a decent option. Just drive myself back down.
[whirring motors of the chair lift, Alan makes impatient clicking sounds with his mouth]
Nice, nice. Yeah. [chair-lift comes to an eventual halt] There!
Right! I'm gonna have a look in the larder, see what biscuits he's got! She's got a penchant for joyless, austere, post-war biscuits. Yeah, Bourbons, Custard Creams, Ginger Nuts, no surprises there. She's got three Christmas puddings! Ridiculous!
Let's have a look at the pan cupboard, you can tell a lot about people from their pan cupboard. Hmm. No. No, you can't. Never been in this room, I always get the vague sense Lynn stands between me and the door and I wonder why. Let's have a look. Oh my god, look at that! There's loads of easels! Good god, she paints! Lynn paints!
Lynn! Paints! Look at this one! It's a man on a hillside, I mean, his head's too big for his body but it's very poignant. There's the sun in the background, setting. I mean his head's too big for his body but it's very poignant, or at least it would be if his head wasn't too big for his body.
This one's, oh this one's quite a challenging piece. Rays of sun coming through the cloud, and in the foreground a dove in flight and... titled it "Holy Ghost". Benfield. L Benfield, not the first name so you can't determine the gender. But I don't think a man would paint these! Yeah, not this one, this is a woman holding a crocheted shopping bag and above her a dove... seems to be hovering, or a pigeon? No it's a dove. "Haunted by the Holy Ghost".
She's been busy, I hope she doesn't paint during work time! I mean, she said she went to the hospital first thing, but that paint's still wet!
[sounds of rattling at the door, a woman enters]
Hello, hello?
"Hello! Who are you?".
I'm Alan Partridge.
"Do... you have any ID?".
I don't need ID. My face is my ID. I'm Alan Partridge.
"Well, I'm Lynn's neighbour, and you're actually parked across my drive".
Right. I didn't see a car there, so...
"I don't have a car, but it's my driveway, so...".
So what? So...?
"So nothing, it's just my driveway and I just don't like you parking across it".
Yeah, I just need to find Lynn's Kobo...
"Sorry, her...?"
Her e-reader, you probably know it better as a Kindle.
"Here it is, here. Look. And I can take it to her anyway, I'm taking her some fondant fancy..."
[interrupting] Oh, big spender!
"She likes Mr. Kipling cakes".
Yeah. Oh, yeah I know, she does, yeah, yeah. Poor woman imagines him as a debonair gent at a garden party. I had to tell her he's a character made up by a marketing department to help a faceless corporation sell non-fresh, overly sweet cakes.
"Why?".
What, why do they want... why do they want to sell cakes?
"No, why do you have to tell Lynn that?".
I... dunno. I've never... no-one's ever asked me that. Never really thought about it. Not sure I ever will again after you've left.
"Or after you've left".
Oh, after I've left, yeah, whatevs!
"Have you been in the front room?".
Ah, yeah, I was in there, yeah.
"Have you been looking at her paintings?".
Yeah, I thought they were rubbish, ermmm, anyway, I just need to find my Southampton International Boat Show accreditation, I've got a VIP pass too! Play my cards right and I should be able to get within six feet of Ellen MacArthur. Erm, actually planning to pat her on the back and just say "Great sailing kiddo!". What's this? [pained sounds of Alan struggling to bend at the knee to pick up some paper] Ah, Christ!
What's this? Why is Lynn writing to Kay Burley? "Dear Kay, next time you see me waving at you across a busy Pizza Express, wave back. My hand was flapping like a wind sock, and I know you saw me because I read your lips when you said 'Shit, there's Alan!'". Alan? Hang on, I wrote this!
[more paper ruffling]
"Dear Ainsley, here's an RSVP for the summer garden party you forgot to invite me to. Unfortunately I can't make it because I'll be at David Dimbleby's pizza and movie night so ready, steady, fuck off!".
These are my letters, I wrote them. Lynn was supposed to send these. Some of these are years old! Personal feuds, bad customer service, "Dear BBC, if you insist on microwaving meals under Clingfilm, remove the Clingfilm. When I ate your sausage and mash, I thought someone had left a hot condom in the dish! After carefully laying what I thought was a used condom on the side plate, it was all I could do to complete the meal. I'm sending a copy of this to the Director General".
To the Lord Mayor of Norwich, "Control your traffic wardens or I will tell everyone that you spent the equivalent of a binman's salary getting a hair transplant".
What's this one? "Dear Sue, my marriage isn't going great. Would you be interested in having a relationship with me if I left my wife?", god I wrote this to Sue Cook when I was drunk in 1995! Why's she kept them, I told her to send these!
[neighbour, in the background] "Sounds like she did you a favour".
It does sound like she did me a favour! I mean, I saw Ainsley several times after this, when he was friendly I thought he was just being spineless! He never knew I'd insulted him. She was protecting me... from... from me!
Are you a good friend of hers?
"Yeah".
Are you gonna see her, how are you gonna get there?
"I'm gonna get the bus".
Good I... can you give her the e-reader and I also want you to give her my French Fancies.
"Oh, they're hers anyway, I- I bought them for her-".
[interrupting] She deserves them more than me, definitely a good idea. Can you stop on the way and get her a card, get- get her a card from me. Actually, you'll have to forge my handwriting. No, she'll be able to tell, just okay, just say get well soon. No, just, you know, just get well. No, get well soon! Yeah.
It's just, if you go I get another couple of hours at the boat show, the Southampton International Boat Show. Er, right! Got everything I need? Yeah. Okay. Are you locking up?
"Yeah, I...".
Sorry, what's your what's your name?
"Julie".
Okay, so are you okay locking up?
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm...".
[interrupting] Okay, bye Judy!
[distantly] "Julie!".
And that's all for this episode of Alan Partridge From The Oasthouse. Have a lovely day and if you're off to the boat show, I'll be the one wearing the brand new deck shoes and red cords!
[Alan drives off singing his podcast theme song, before fading and the actual closing music comes in]
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