S01E06: School Speech

"Yabsolutely. Yeah, yeah, yabsolutely. Yabsolutely. Yab... absolutely.

"You know what kids can be like, they quite inventive when it comes to mickey-taking of surnames, I'm sure you mus... Yeah. Yeah. Those of us at the coalface! [a long, hearty laugh] Absolutely! Absolutely, absolutely. Abs-"

Hello, Alan Partridge here. The conversation that's just been faded down but is still just about audible in the mix is me, on the phone, a few weeks ago. I was agreeing with what the other person was saying because on the other end of the line was a head teacher whose views on education largely mirror my own. 

"With your permission, I'd like to mock a couple of the kids..."

I say largely because there are areas where we don't see eye-to-eye. For example, during our call the head teacher, Alex Proud, explained to me that he feels there's no place in the modern curriculum for slippering...

"Okay..." 

...whereas I think it's a bit more complicated than that. 

"Thanks Alex. Yep, yep. Yep, absolutely, bye!"

So why was a Proud Partridge conversation taking place? Well, all my conversations tend to involve a proud Partridge but on this occasion, it was a man called Proud talking to Alan Partridge. 

Well, a few months ago, he got in touch to see if I'd come into the school to give a talk to his Year 11 pupils about working in the media, I declined. I'm a broadcaster, though I can teach, I'm not a teacher! And it's not easy to admit that! Teaching, like nursing, is one of those vocations that society feels duty-bound to describe as the hardest job in the world when, in fact, anyone can do it, and anyone does do it. But even then, I don't think I'm cut out for teaching, 

For every kid from a tough estate to whom you become a father figure and make them cry by sitting down next to them in a locker room and telling them you believe in them, or high-fiving them when they manage to do long division, there are twenty or thirty other kids who will smirk "Mornin' sir!" as you walk by, before stapling a sanitary towel to the back of your blazer. 

Naaah! I figured kids don't want to listen to an old dinosaur like me, and that's fine because this old dinosaur has no interest in teaching them! Besides, at the time, I was trying to close a deal to become the new voice of the North Norfolk Milk Marketing Board, so it just didn't make sense to put the interests of some kids over those are my own.

[theme music]

I'm Alan Partridge, and this is my podcast. From The Oasthouse.

Fast forward a week, however, and I'm in a recording studio for the North Norfolk Milk Marketing Board call-back. It's down to the final two, and only one of us can scoop the glory on almost five figure contract to record both radio and online content for the Double-N Double-N B. 

The head honcho is asking me to deliver the slogan "Nothing refreshes like an ice-cold glass of milk" again and again. 

Say it faster! 

"Nothing refreshes like an ice-cold glass of milk" 

Punchier!

"Nothing refreshes like an ice-cold glass of milk!"

Say it with a smile!

"Nothing refreshes like an ice-cold glass of milk"

Put a laugh in it!

"Nothing! Refreshes like an! Ice-cold glass of milk!"

More of a laugh!

"NOTHING! REFRESHES! LIKE- This is ridiculous!", I said.

At that point I flipped, rounding on a roomful of dairy execs and literally baring my teeth I said, "This entire enterprise is meaningless! You can't market milk!". Silence. 

A man at the back starts spluttering about his twenty-five years on various Milk Marketing Boards but I shoot back, "You cannot market milk! If someone needs milk, they buy milk, if they don't, they won't. And nothing anyone does in this room is going to do zippity-shit to change the mind of a single shopper, from a frazzled dad to even the most depressed housewife, and deep down you know it! So let's shovel up this bullshit!". 

I said "I'm not being difficult, I can say 'Nothing refreshes like an ice-cold glass of milk'. Or 'Nothing refreshes like an ice-cold glass of milk'. Or 'Nothing refreshes like an ice-cold glass of milk', but I draw the line at 'Nothing refreshes! Like an ice-cold! Glass of milk!', because laughing whilst talking about ice-cold milk makes me look insane!"

It's insane! Can anyone tell me why I would possibly laugh about ice-cold milk? Anyone? Eventually the sound engineer said "I don't know. Maybe you find a glass of milk funny". I said yes, but why, Robert? Why? No-one laughs over milk, if anything they cry and that's because the milk's been spilt! And there's no sense in doing it! People don't laugh at milk. They've slurped it, soured it, shaken it, condensed it... on occasions expressed it... but they ain't never laughed at it, buddy-boy! 

Now I will laugh at a Wagon Wheel, I'll giggle at a Sugar Puff. Hell, I've even sniggered at an After Eight Mint, for their sheer pomposity! The only justification for laughing at milk is in some sort of scenario involving a buxom milkmaid, milking a cow into an old wooden bucket, and then walking across a courtyard with a yoke and two pails. "Nice jugs!", says the guy comi- Are we gonna go down that road?! Is that what you want, John? Clive? Philip? In the end, we settled on a playful "Nothing refreshes like an ice-cold glass of milk!", which I thought was a reasonable compromise. Sometimes you have to go through a bit of pain to reach a better place. 

That night, I was later told that my comment about eliminating bullshit was particularly hurtful to the milk-makers because bovine faeces often finds its way into our milk, and the manufacturers have no idea how to stop it, and are terrified word will get out. The government is desperate to suppress it because they think that if the public panic about dairy, there'll be... riots. Mmmm- mmmmilk riots. The Milk Riots, yeah, yeah. 

Go on internet message boards and it's all there. Some of the guys are quite witty with it which I find refreshing, like an ice-cold glass of milk. 

But the disagreement with the milk execs interested me, I saw we'd made progress, or progress. But what that milk-based bust-up showed me was my power to connect with an audience of impressionable minds, because ad execs are very like children; they think they're clever, but they're not! 

So on the drive home, I flung on my Bluetooth and simply said, "Telephone!", "Alex Proud!", "One!", "Yes!". In brief, to summarise, I agreed to address his students. "End call!". And, in case you hadn't noticed, I didn't once remove my hands from the steering wheel. Get back in your box, copper! Don't know where that came from, must be the Doctor Marten shoes I'm wearing!

[theme music sting]

So, yes, with an agreement in principle to talk to the students, it was on to the detail. Proud felt that the kids will be most engaged by a short talk followed by longer, more interactive Q&A. I disagreed, the word 'interactive' always sets alarm bells ringing for me, I prefer the words 'mono-active' or 'solo-active', with the audience primed to receive not transmit. 

Yeah, with over four decades of experience in the broadcasting industry, there's a great deal to cover. Allowing the students to steer the conversation was just too risky. No, I and I alone would decide the content.

Then it was on to the attendees. Proud was keen that the talk be for the entire year group. As a progressive and enthusiastic educator, his view was that everyone should get to benefit from my wisdom irrespective of their background or academic record, I disagreed. In life, privileges need to be earned, and it was for that reason that I insisted that known trouble-causers be sent on a cross-country run. So about six miles to do it. 

Finally, the small matter of payment. While some public figures that see any kind of speech giving as a means of topping up their income, I believe that for schools and charities the rules are different. I agreed to give up my time freely, and Alex and I would draft a press release to that effect, along with a photograph of me standing amongst the happy children but my arms outstretched or folded, but basically, hands where you can see them. 

And that's how, just a few weeks ago, agreement was reached, and a date was set, and today is the day! In fact, I need to leave in under an hour so I'm going to grab a shower [quickly moving away from the mic] right now!

Well, I've had my shower. Nothing to report, just a standard hair and body wash, takes me four minutes to ensure a really clean man! To time it, I sing along to a pop song, and only get out once I've finished. Normally it's a Band Aid, Feed The World, and I do every part, which... is okay because no one can hear me. Apart from Rosa, my cleaner, and she's bound by a Non-Disclosure Agreement. Seldom will sometimes stroll in to see what I'm up to, slowly bob along to the song sometimes. He's quite ambivalent, but then again he is about most things. Apart from food, he's very pro-food.

[sounds of water running and the scraping of a blade against skin]

One of the limitations of the podcast format is you can't see I actually did have a full beard. Nothing against Audible, just you can't.

And being bearded isn't the usual state-of-play for my face. The skin on my face isn't- just isn't really welcoming to a beard. It gets deeply irritated on about the fourth day and the nerve endings scream "Scrrrrratch meeee!". And, regrettably I do, a quick skrit skrit skrit while driving, a long, luxurious scratch at bedtime, on bad days I'll put down my basket in the middle of the supermarket aisle and just rub myself silly with both hands. 

But by day six, the itching has relented. Why the beard? Well, I was writing the talk about three weeks ago, I just decided to grow one! My plan was to shock the kids by shaving it off, live, in front of them. I thought it might be a powerful metaphor but once I've grown it, I couldn't remember what the metaphor was so I just thought, get rid! Which is what I've done. Tackle the thicket with nail scissors, bring it down to a manageable length, and then I go scorched earth with a Bic.

[theme music sting]

Just seen Rosa out in the garden. If I stand here, she can't see me but I can see her. What's she doing? Sometimes she just stands there, swaying. Not sure if it's a ... Filipino thing. [Laughs] It's very funny, this, I asked her if she was doing tai chi, and five minutes later she came up with a cup of chai tea! Bless 'er! I didn't say anything, I just drank it, Didn't have the heart to tell her. Weirdly, now occasionally I'll have chai tea with lots of milk and honey, which is weird. Funny how sometimes a misunderstanding can lead to a breakthrough.

[Rosa calling from downstairs] "Mr Partridge!".

Hang on. What?

"Do you want me to darn these-"

Darn what?

"Socks! There's a hole in-"

No, don't bother doing that, just throw them away if they've got a hole in them!

"I throw them, why?!"

Because it'll take you an hour to darn them! You're only £6 an hour and brand new socks are only worth-

"They look nice!"

What socks are they?

"I'm not sure, they're red and brown-" 

Are they Argyle?

"...woollen"

Are they Angora? Or, erm...

"I don't know..." 

Cashmere?

"...They are very soft!"

Yes, if they're Merino wool you can darn them. [door slams shut]

Odd woman, she has her ways but I wouldn't swap her. She's a bundle of industry, in an apron that says "Cook-Cook-Cookability, that's the beauty of..." and then the last word has been rubbed off over time, wonder what it was? Sounds like a song from Chas and the late Dave but, alas, the end of the sentence must remain a mystery much like- like Rosa herself. I said to her, I said "You're a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma!", and she just looked at me blankly for a few seconds then Hoovered off down the hall. 

Well, before I leave for the school, I thought I'd read out some tweets. I took to Twitter, earlier, to ask you what you would do to improve British schools. Agatha, a spinster from Perthshire, says she would abolish school dinners and tuck shops, with access to food tightly-controlled. Pupils would instead earn food as a reward for correct answers. One correct answer, a potato. Another correct answer, earning a vegetable! Another correct answer, some meat. So if they're lucky and work hard, by the end of the day they'll have a square meal. If they don't want to do their best, that's up to them but they go hungry! Tough love there from Agatha in Perthshire. She sent me a photograph, for some reason, she's wearing tweed and I would describe her as being broad of beam! 

Wilf, a retired deacon suggests elimination rounds which the bottom 10% of each year group are disqualified. Between the ages of five and sixteen, the slowest under achievers are shown the door, whittling down the cohort annually with only the brainiest going through to the next round. Those that complete their schooling will qualify for the national finals at Wembley to undertake live televised exams. 

He says it's a system that will incentivize clever kids while freeing up less academic children to do something more worthwhile, like sweeping up leaves, picking up dog dirt, cleaning graffiti off walls or running errands for the brightest children. And you can add to that getting them to scrub chewing gum off pavements, given that they probably spat it there in the first place. Let's move on. 

Thom, with an H, tweets we should align schools with the UK statutory working hours, changing the school day from six to eight hours and reducing holiday entitlement from thirteen weeks down to the statutory entitlement of 28 days. "By my calculation," he says, "This would enable children to enter the workforce, fully educated at the age of twelve, providing a welcome boost to the British economy!". Oh, he's a Captain. Thom adds that he's been to Sri Lanka, where "the lack of red tape really frees up business to work with kids!"

[theme music sting]

Well, all almost ready for the off, I've actually got a couple of butterflies! The tummy kind I mean, I don't have a collection, pinned through the heart onto onto plywood then kept within a brightly-lit cabinet in the cellar. I'm not Nicholas Witchell! 

No, I mean, I'm getting a bit nervy. Must be the feeling of going back to school after all these years, am I going to fit in? Am I going to fall foul of the bad lads? Not that I was a goody-two-shoes, although I always wore good shoes, and where were possible two of them, always polished and buckled on the mid-hole. 

But no, I could've ended up on the wrong side of the tracks. I mean, I was all set to go down a road that could have led to prison, I think. Because when I was 11, I'm ashamed to say, I used to steal apples from a neighbour's garden; scrumping apples, we used to call it, but call it what you like, it's just plain theft! When you steal apples from someone else's garden, a tree has been burgled. And I've actually been subjected to it years later, when the shoe's on the other foot, it's very different. 

I've had kids stealing apples from my garden subsequently, and they've said things like "Well, they were already on the ground, they'd fall off the tree", to which my response was, "If I'd dropped some soft Italian leather, handed-stitched, stringback driving gloves on the floor, would you think you could take those too?". They just looked at their hands, perhaps imagining them on them. 

But as I say, I myself could have ended up in a gang. For a brief while I was actually in a gang, it was fairly-harmless gang but we did used to have secret meetings in a shed. We might find a bike had been stolen, so we draw up a list of possible suspects; people from broken homes, troubled kids, boys that weren't Church of England. 

A lot of gangs these days sell guns and deal drugs, and who's to say that's not the direction it could have gone in, had I not battled hard for the soul of the gang. They wanted to get into stealing empty pop bottles and reselling them for 5p each, I said "No way! This is not the direction that this gang is going to take!". I was 12 at the time, but I fought hard and said we should put all our energy into organising youth-hostelling trips in Derbyshire. 

But central to it all was a code of honour. For example, there was a secret password to get into the shed. We all knew, get the password wrong and you get your hair pulled. Andrew, very much my second-in-command, had found a worm and came rushing in but in his excitement he said 'Cherokee' instead of 'Geronimo'. Straight away he knew he'd effed-up. Andrew looked at me with pleading eyes but I couldn't look weak, not in front of the other boys. 

What could I do? In the end, Andrew, and I'll be forever grateful for this, closed his eyes then whispered quietly, "Just do it! Get it over with, Partridge!". So I yanked his hair until he cried. I knew I had to do it but to this day, it remains one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. And it was at that point I knew I had to get out. Once you're in a gang like that, it's very hard to leave. I was tormented, do I run away? Set fire to the shed? In the end, I came up with a story, I explained that I wanted to spend more time with my family. They understood perfectly. We shook hands and I walked away, it was surprisingly easy! But I knew I'd be a marked man, forever looking over my shoulder as I cycled down the passage on my bike.

[theme music sting]

Well, I'm back from the school and I'm feeling pretty buzzy, that went brilliantly well! I arrived at the school, got to the front desk, told the receptionist, "Headmaster. Now". And after some sighing, I was led to his office where he was having words, shall we say, with a surly-looking 16-year-old called Dexter. Mr. Brown kept saying to the lad, "As a school we have certain values, you know that. Look at me. Look at me! Look at me!". 

In the end I just said "Leave the kid alone. He gets it". Mr. Proud turned to me and after a bit of harrumphing, he asks Dexter to show me to the hall. And it's funny, after all the apprehension about being back at school, that wasn't there anymore! And it wasn't just me walking alongside one of the widest dudes in school, heads were turning, kids were getting the hell out of our way, and it felt good!

Eventually Dexter utters, "Cheers for before", and I'm like, "Whatevs". He offers me a pellet of gum, and I took it, and we were just striding through the corridors enjoying some gum! Looking cool! Breath getting fresher all the time, until we just stood against the wall by the hall, me leaning against it with my knee crooked so the sole of my shoe was flat against the wall just below my bum. 

Eventually the bell goes and the two of us are just standing there, gumming it up big time! A couple of minutes go by and Dex says "Shouldn't we go in?", I'm like, "Naah. Let 'em wait. I'm cool with being late". We must have waited there another thirty seconds at least, then I  just spat the gum into a hankie, popped into my pocket. "Let's roll!". I just fell buoyed-up, it gave me an extra pizazz somehow! 

I took to the stage, didn't even say hello, threw my chair onto a jacket swivelled on the ball of one foot. "Hands up who here's dad's got an HDTV?". Blank faces, and that may have been because of the slightly odd syntax, but it felt right somehow. "Whatcha not gettin'? Who here's dad's got an HDTV?". A few kids raise their hands and I'm away, explaining everything from Dolby Surround Sound, to aspect ratios, to HD, to Ultra HD, and the little buggers are rapt! 

I went through everything a presenter might need to know, from telling them how to deal with the woman from compliance, to demonstrating live TV by asking a boy to read an autocue while I simulated earpiece-talkback from the gallery by calling him on my Bluetooth headset and putting him under pressure by shouting "Wrong camera!",  "We've lost VT!", or "Look more concerned!", "Stop waffling!", "Make her cry!". 

At the end I say, "One question, and one question only!". They said, "What programme would you bring back?". I said, "Unquestionably Tomorrow's World, but I call it Today's World because yesterday today was tomorrow, but tomorrow today will be yesterday, riddle me that you nutters!" and I legged it, then went back for my jacket, and then legged it again, which wasn't an ideal ending but as I say, went quite well. You're listening to Alan Partridge, From The Oasthouse!

[closing music]