S01E07: Storm

[theme music] 

I'm Alan Partridge, this is my podcast. From the Oasthouse!

Hello, I'm Alan Partridge. I'm about to go for a run. Why? Because I care! I care about my health, and I care about looking good in front of women. I'm single. Married men of course have no such concerns, they can let themselves go as they've got a woman and they have ready access to sex. They're further disincentivised by the fact that most women, once married, aren't bothered if their husbands are physically unappealing, they think it makes them less desirable to a female competitor and believe other things such as companionship are more important, and that's a legitimate point of view! 

Single women, however, through no fault of their own, are drawn to well-honed men, while dating profiles are peppered with references to things like wit and kindness, the fact is these attributes fall away when set against physical charms such as rippling legs or a beefy arm! The fact is we humans are little more than hapless vessels for our randy genes, and we're reproductive ferrymen, or genetic bus drivers, delivering our DNA down the generations. All we can do is help our chances by turning up. And I do!

And not many men my age can get away with a tight polo-neck tucked inside a belted trouser. I can, and there's only a handful of us are able to say that. Andrew Marr, Jeremy Vine... Huw Edwards says he can, but he can't. The reason I can is because of what I do three mornings a week, come rain or shine. I run, like a bastard!

On today's podcast, you're gonna run with me. Me the kangaroo, you my joey, and my hoodie does have a front pouch on the midriff! I normally exercise in the Norfolk countryside, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday I'll tug on my hoodie, climb into my shorts, and I'll be off like a... off like a hare. 

[Alan is running, starting to show signs of being out of breath]

I like take the same route every week, parts of it, of course, crosses private property but when the farmer threatened to prosecute me, I threatened to tell DEFRA that he used his EEC grant to buy himself a Jag! Checkmate! He soon piped down, and I continued to run across his potatoes!

But it feels good when you when you're an experienced runner. There's a sort of fluidity to running. You can't see me of course, but former track champion Sally Gunnell once agreed when I said there's poetry to my running action, a sort of smooth locomotion making it look as if I'm going much faster than I am! But of course, it's also good for the old noggin. I don't know if you know that book called 'What I Talk About When I Talk About Running'... terrible title! 

[Alan is getting increasingly out of breath, badly balancing both running and talking aloud]

And indeed, a book I've not read but according to an Amazon reviewer, the book touches on how runners achieve an almost spiritual state as they run, and that's ... that's how I feel now! It's a kind of- there's a kind of serenity. I mean, I'm unaware of any shortness of breath... whatever I sound like... or a pounding head or screaming muscles, I mean, whatever I sound like, I just actually feel like I'm floating! And the rain doesn't bother me, I'm just enjoying my run a lot. I'm gonna run at- I'm gonna jump over this wall! 

[an exerted grunt followed by a pained whimper upon landing]

Yeah, so I thought it'd be... you'd like to join me on the podcast see how I'm able to run and talk at the same time... here... which... it's... 

[Alan is so out of breath he struggles to form coherent sentences].

It's- well it's starting to rain now, and although I feel capable of running another, at least another six miles or so, I'm gonna go inside because- not because I couldn't run at least four times the distance I've run, I'm gonna go back home... because... [struggling to breathe] it's started to thunder, I can hear thunder, and I will act as a light- if I'm in an open field I'm the tallest thing, I'll act as a lightning rod. And I don't mean a lightning rod for ideas, I mean lightning rod, literally like- literally a lightning rod and the only way to avoid that is by lying down in the field and I just bought this [catches breath again] I just bought this Asics hooded top. So, all in all, because of the weather, we're gonna go home, but that was, er... [breath] Yeah. There you go. That's it. That's me running.

[Alan is in a car, and again able to speak coherently]

Well, now I'm making my way home having had to abort the run due to the treacherous weather conditions. The mother of all storms broke as I was 3k in, and I had to abandon the other, the other twelve I would have done as a result. So, unfortunately the rain was hammering the microphone, making podcasting all but impossible. It's a shame, I felt good, but you know, the rain was deafening.

We might think of the countryside as peaceful, but there are sound issues be it birdsong, a tractor chug or the deafening moo of a passing cow that can plague broadcasting. Even experienced Countryfile presenters have admitted to me privately that they still can't work out when a cow is going to moo. 

Hence why I'm in the back of an Uber right now, FYI. Funnily enough, I once wrote a short story about the racket you can hear in the country for the parish newsletter, the piece I called 'Cacophony' and they liked it so much they asked me to write a follow-up which I called 'Pandemonium', and almost everyone who read them said they were both as good as each other.

[Uber sat-nav voice] "In 100 yards...".

Yeah, just down here and then take- just ignore the sat-nav and just take the right. 

[Uber diver] "The sat-nav says to take-".

[interrupting] Yeah, ignore the sat-nav take the right. Anyway, having called time on the run I'm now shuffling back to the Oasthouse, courtesy of the Uber driven by... sorry, what's your name?

"Martin".

Martin, you picked me up before. Did you give me a score in the app?

[inaudible]

What did you- what did you give me? 

"What did you give me?".

You say it first.

"You say it first!".

Well, we'll say on the count of three. 1-2-3... Four. 

"Five".

Just so you know, I never give anyone five, I only really go up to four. Unless they've given quite exceptional service, four is a pleasant car, capable driver, friendly banter, that's absolutely you... Five is open my door for me, take my bags for me and silence, and... and also to have no problem finding Radio 4! I marked you down because when I asked you to put on Radio 4, you looked at me as if I had asked you to solve Fermat's Last Theorem, or, or, or the Da Vinci Code! 

Yeah, it's just here on the right. Yeah, so you take this right here, right here. Right here! I don't care what the sat-nav says, it's not your dad! 

"My dad's dead".

Alright! Sorry to hear of your loss! Just, just here on the right, thanks. I'll just jump out and punch the code in... Erm... Actually, I'll walk up the drive, you don't need to a drive up the drive. But if you leave, I'll punch the code in once once you've left. 

"You don't want me to see the code?"

No. Bye!

[theme music sting]

Listen. Listen a while. Listen a while more! That's, and let's dispense with the meteorological jargon, is just a dirty, great storm! While the weather forecasters don't think it's as big as the storm of '87, I do! My dog Seldom is cowering under a nest of tables, [in a Texan drawl] and that dog ain't no pussy, don't not scare for not nobody. He doesn't scare easily! 

Listen a while longer again. Listen a bit more. And yes, there will be those who don't believe this podcast has a clear purpose now that the run has been aborted, and who accuse me of wanting to bulk it out with long pauses as a substitute for the actual content, but...

they...

are...

utterly...

wrong.

If I use a pause than I do so...

[pause, audible breathing followed by a swallow]

...for dramatic effect. 

If I was using a pause to waste your time, it... would... be...

[pause for about six seconds]

...like that one.

[another pause]

...or even that one! My pause, I'm not ripping you off, I'm adding a layer of something. The absence of sound is a sound in and of itself. If you go to a classical music concert and there's a pause in the recital, the reason the conductor has a face like a kicked-in fridge door is because the applause has ruined the silence, and therefore the peace. 

When Simon and Garfunkel sang about The Sound of Silence, people laughed their heads off, they thought they'd made a mistake! Forty years later, the penny dropped! People realised that these Jewish pop singers were onto something! A storm is not an unpleasant sound, this actually would have been good for a tape I once made of white noise. 

You look at most white noise apps, it's all babbling brooks and crashing waves, mine were a little bit more inventive and included the whirrr of a food processor, The burble of a Victorian toilet system slowly refilling, the foop-foop-foop-foop-foop-foop-foop-foop-foop-foop-foop-foop of a helicopter, in this case that of Noel Edmunds, recorded, I'm delighted to say, without his permission. The sound of hundreds of YKK zips all being deployed at the same time, a floor being swept by a quiet cleaner, the hubbub of a café packed with the young mums, not sure that one's relaxing but it certainly helps empty the mind there anything troubling, or vexing. 

Seriously, listen to that storm! I'm looking at it but it's getting worse! The rain has given way to hail the size of... cricket balls, not cricket balls, they're bloody large, they're big, they're like... like bigger than fat peas. And like, like, like white meatballs. Okay, okay, I've got to put the car in the garage.

   [theme music sting]

Well, I just...Oh my god, I've just been out there, my God, it was awful! I noticed the car was getting a drubbing and I thought "I don't feel comfortable with this, I am not comfortable with this at all. I'm gonna have to put it in the garage". But once it was in, then I realised I've got to get back to the house, I don't have the protection of the car, what do I do? I had to improvise, I found a green laundry basket which I put on my back like a sort of grotesque human-turtle hybrid, and started to crouch-walk from the garage while the hailstones battered against my 'shell'. Plus, I poked my head out of the side wearing a bike helmet, and had a cagoule which trailed behind the shell so it looked like a tail making me look even more like a turtle. 

At one point I slipped, and my shell fell off and it was like being pelted with conkers by God! Anyway, far from being an episode lacking in purpose just because I was unable to complete my run, it is one with its purpose renewed because on Twitter I've been asking people to tell me tales of keep fit from days gone by, all we seem to hear about these days are high tech, new-fangled ways to stay in shape, hot yoga, Zumba, Hot Zumba, but in the days before gyms, what did you or people do to keep fit? 

Leonard in Wandsworth Prison says, "When I was young, there were no opportunities to exercise or join sports clubs. With nothing to distract me, I fell into crime. I served time for some minor misdemeanours in my 20s, while inside I took an Open University course and my life began to change. Unfortunately, once released, I returned to crime and soon afterwards, was sentenced to life in prison for a gang-related murder. But I use this as an opportunity, an opportunity to regroup and focus. I got in shape, and now after three years I am as fit and strong as I've ever been, and I am now the Daddy and no-one fucks with me!". 

Well, er... good. You seem to have been through some trying times but glad to hear that you've... that things have turned out well for you. So yeah, good luck with the new position and I'm sure... I'm sure he'll thrive. 

He goes on say, "P.S. Was delighted the BBC invited you back into the fold last year, you are a reassuring steady hand in an otherwise volatile world". He's an odd fish this one, I can't get a handle on him! 

Christie writes on Twitter saying, "You never see James Bond go to the toilet!". Not exactly on topic, Chris, but you do have a point! I guess it's possible that Q might have invented some sort of a slim catheter concealed in the lining of his tuxedo, then again if that was the case he would struggle to run with it once it filled up. You'd have to wear quite baggy tuxedo trousers, and of course you can't fight with a big bag of piss tied around your waist! 

Another one here from... what's that? 

[distant singing] 

What's that? It's like the sound of a siren calling me to my death! Although this one's a touch flat and a bit pitchy. Hang on... Oh, it's Rosa! Of course, she thinks I'm out running! I'm always out on Wednesdays and the car's not in drive. Right. I should- I should let her know I'm here. She's obviously expressing herself in a way she wouldn't if she knew anyone could hear, I'll just close the door. Leave her to it. 

I once came home to find my assistant Lynn had let herself in and was was rehearsing things she would say when she met the bishop. It was all "Good idea, your grace!" and flirty giggles. I opened the door loudly to let her know I was there, and I came in to find her wiping off lipstick with some kitchen towel, it was pretty unseemly.

Never heard Rosa sing, I'm not familiar with Filipino music, I can just make out 'Goo-coum, goo-coum... Goo-goo-goo coumpa, Goo coumpa...  Goo coumpaaaa. Goocoumpah?' I wonder what she's singing about? It, it, it- I'm ashamed to say, it makes me realise that I know almost nothing about her. 

By the way, in my last podcast I mentioned that my housekeeper Rosa had an apron bearing the words 'Cook cook cook, cookability. That's the beauty of...' and then the final word had become illegible. I wondered what it was and many of you have kindly tweeted in to tell me what you think it is. 

Paul in Derby says "Hi Alan, its gas!", ah so it would be 'Cook cookability, that's the beauty of gas', yes, I see, I see, I see. Yes, I remember now. 

Fran in Roehampton says "Gas". JohnnyBeGood says "Gas". Bobby9000 says, "Answer is gas". Fiona in Birmingham says "Gas!". Psychokiller says "Gas". Adrian says "Think it's gas!". Derek B, with Andy, Mac and Jenny all say "Gas". Clarence in Chester says "Gas!", then you've got Philip in Devon, "Gas", Albert also in Devon, "Gas", Tigerlily "Gas", William in Felsham says "The answer is gas", and Hilary who works part time in an artisan cheese shop says, "Gas"! 

She's... she's still singing, can you hear it? Can you hear that? There's a wonderful, haunting quality to it like a lament for a lost love. You can almost imagine what she might be singing about, probably something about a young woman, not unlike Rosa, maybe... she fell head-over-heels with a local boy back in the Philippines. He, a dashing young sailor, she a headstrong young seamstress, do they call them seamstresses when they... when they're sewing footballs in a sweatshop? 

You can see it though can't you, you can just see it though can't you? Her parents wouldn't have approved, her father would have taken him to one side and on pain of death forbad her from seeing him - love saying 'forbad!', people say "That's not a word!", I say "Yes, it is actually, because it is actually!" - but their love was true, and he would not forsake her. He knew if he forsook her, also a real word, she'd be heartbroken. 

Alas, one night - and this may just have popped into my head because there's a storm outside - a great storm came! Treacherous seas, the Shipping Forecast ominous - southerly severe gale force nine continuing, moderate or poor, becoming good for a time - but he refused to stay on the shore! How could he when he'd pledged he'd provide for her? He'd have kissed her, told her to keep the fire lit! 

But that night, under a crashing wave, his boat would've snapped like a matchstick before being consumed by the swirling waters, but perhaps now, gone, consumed by the waves. He only returns in her dreams to declare his love, in Filipino, "Goo coumpa! Goo coumpa!". Poor woman's been through the mangle of life, the emotion squeezed out of her and dripping onto the floor before she... came to rest on the radiator that is Norfolk to dry off, ready to be worn again. 

You know what? Her song, 'Rosa's Song' I shall call it, it's made me realise something; cleaners are people! Because we don't really think that do we? We never dream of asking our cleaner how she is, or how her family is, or how her health is, or did she have a pleasant weekend? No. When she says "Hello Mr. Alan, happy New Year", you just say something like "The downstairs toilet needs some attention". 

When you see a postman, you just see a postman, or woman, actually... you don't see a human being with a name, a family, you don't see a person! The same with a cleaner, same with any menial worker, a cabbie, a barista, or nurse. Think about it, would any of us dream of stopping and engaging our cleaner in conversation? "How are you?", "Where are you from?", "Do you have any family?", of course not! 

Yet they are flesh and blood just as we are! They laugh, they cry, and yes of course it's important they do these things in their own time, but like it or not, these people are more than just a difficult to spell name on a zero-hours contract. 

Thinking about it I... I actually heard Rosa laugh last week, somewhere between a high-pitched cackle and a turkey being throttled, her laugh reverberated around the Oasthouse and, you know what? I'm glad! Because whatever the reason for her laughter; a filthy Filipino joke retold silently in her head; a funny message received on text, although she shouldn't really be... Whatever, I'm pleased for her! I don't think I'm going to run today. I think I should use the time I would have spent running, talking, talking to a lady I've begun to know. A lady called Rosa.

[Rosa's singing downstairs becomes more distinct]

"Goo coumpa! Goo c-"...  Right, I've just realised the song she's singing is the music from the Go Compare adverts, 'goo coumpa', yeah it's 'Go Compare'. Yep. But I still think she was probably dumped by trawlerman. Horrible people, they smell of fish.

[calling downstairs] Rosa! I'm here upstairs. Keep it down, love! [door slams shut]

[closing theme music]