S01E13: Convict

[opening theme music]

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

This is Alan Partridge from the Oasthouse, today I will be drinking coffee with a convict! So why coffee with a convict? Well, this podcast is all about letting you see the real me and one of the little known things about me, about the real me, is that I like to give a bit back. I'm not talking about verbals, although when I'm out in public I will do what's necessary to protect both my name and my brand. Especially if I'm in my car. If I'm in my car, nothing's off the table. 

But no, the giving a bit back of which I speak is my philanthropy. Be it my Christmases manning a soup kitchen, filling hungry bums with hot food, which I think I mentioned in an earlier episode, or my role as a mentor to a young offender. Ah, but the soup kitchen stuff, by the way, isn't just nourishing for the tummies of the homeless, it's actually nourishing for the soul of me, too. And more than anything on those days, it's not about the extra food, it's not about the tinsel, it's about the banter. I love the banter.

They might say to me, "What are you doing here on Christmas Day, Partridge? Don't you have any mates?" And quick as a flash, I'll reply, "What are you doing here on Christmas Day? Don't you have a house?". Or they might say, "Hurry up, the soup's as lukewarm as your career!", and I'll reply, quick as a flash, "Don't you have a house?". It really is great banter. 

By the way, on an earlier codpast, I suggested that I'd done eight of these soup kitchen-type things, that was inaccurate. It's closer to three. I've done it twice. Yeah, I think- I think I did the second one. 

[theme music sting]

But mentoring or mentoring is different. Every week, or less frequently if I have something on, as I have had for the last six weeks, I spend an hour with a troubled teen who goes by the name of Daniel, which is his name. We hunker down in a local café and just chew the fat. Although I mean that metaphorically, he does chew fat. Whereas I pull my rind away from my bacon and leave it coiled at the rim of the plate, he chews his fat like his life depends on it, which it might do.

He is a very thin, willowy boy. So no agenda, no rules, just one guy with a bit of wisdom nattering to another guy, short of a bit. And yes, I am sure we make for an odd sight, me and he facing each other with a cuppa and a bag of crisps, him skinny as a whippet, pierced ears, Peaky Blinder short back and sides, earphones in his ears.

Me, greying but glossy, buttoned-down shirt tucked into a belted, pleated chino, pair of hand-stitched Bally brogues on my feet, but... let 'em laugh, I say, because I prefer to look at the commonalities we have. We both eat ready salted Hula Hoops. We're both wearing baseball caps. We both laugh together at the Snapchat videos he shows me. We share quite a lot of silences a lot of the time.

And that silence is a shared silence, fifty percent his, fifty percent mine. Unless he's texting on his phone, in which case it's sixty-forty his. Eventually I'll fill it with a laugh-cum-cough, followed by a single hummed note, which is a sort of social parachute I deploy when a silence becomes frankly unbearable. It's this. [gentle single cough leading into a single "Ha", followed after a pause by an audible, bored sigh] But my meetings with Daniel, they're not some social experiment or the basis of a potentially heart-warming TV documentary.

I do it because it's just a good, kind thing to do. The idea was put to me by a woman called Charlotte who runs Best Foot, a charity which rehabilitates sex offenders. 

[sting; rising electronic chord]

Hello, Alan Partridge here. On listening back to this episode, I realised that my diction wasn't what it was, and that the phrase rehabilitates ex-offenders sounded very much like rehabilitates sex-offenders. 

Of course, in reality, it's nigh-on impossible to rehabilitate sex offenders. You can ask them if they have any other interests, but unless it turns them on, they'll just become bored and resentful, because tragically, for a sex offender, everything has to be sexy.

[sting; descending electronic chord]

The Charlotte that runs the charity, what can I say? I don't want to ruffle any feminist feathers, but... I don't know any other way to put it... by George, she is some lady! I noticed she had her driving licence open on the table, and I saw that her second name was Anne, and I said, "That makes you a Charlotte-Anne, a charlatan!", and she cocked her head on one side and sort of... frowned... but she had a twinkle, and I melted and I just- at that moment, I just said, "Never mind the ruddy charity,
what can I do for you?" 

I didn't touch her. You can't, and I don't, do that. That's no longer... no, no. I spread my arms, I did an open palm gesture, like a Christ statue, tilting my head and widening my eyes, not wide-wide, not like a raunchy window cleaner, or a butler, you know, just seen a woman's drawers, but wide enough to suggest, "Hey, I'm a guy who likes to talk to women. And then let them talk if they want to!".

My friends at the racket club rib me and say, "Oh, aye, oh, aye, what's she like?", and I roll my eyes and say, "It's not like that, guys!". But, you know, if you must know, she's quite a lot like Amanda Burton in Silent Witness, down to the little frown and the quiet voice. She's, yeah, she's softly spoken, to an almost annoying degree, but the guys think she might do that deliberately, because it means people have to lean in to hear and that gives you status, and I do it myself now.

Ask me at a party what projects I'm working on, and I'll say something like, you know, [quieter timbre, mumbling at times] "Talking to a lot of people at the moment, some very exciting synergies, um, to do with various partners we're hoping to manage in terms of the cost, sort of, possibly a seven-figure package, and, obviously, you know, I've been searching around with various meetings of people we're hoping to talk to, most notably in talks with Idris Elba. So, of course, he divides people under certain... to some he's an actor... others, 'a bit of a wanker' school of thought". 

[theme music sting]

It all came about after I hosted a Christmas charity auction for NCHOC, Norwich Chamber of Commerce, dressed as a pantomime dame. It was a pretty raucous night, with big men having big laughs, and raising big money for various local charities one of which was Charlotte's. And I'll never forget, she stood on the stage to receive the check, and she said, "Thanks, but instead of just spending money on these kids, will anyone here pledge to spend time on them?". 

And, I don't know, there was something about this passionate, softly spoken woman addressing a room of business bigwigs - captains of industry, call them what you will - silent, but for the sound of shuffling and throat clearing, that shamed me. I didn't just feel sheepish, I had a curly white panto wig on, so I actually looked sheepish!

Standing next to her on stage, dressed as an ugly sister, a busty, ugly sister, I raised my hand, and within days I was put in touch with Daniel. I said to Charlotte the night before the first meeting with Daniel, "Listen Chas", I heard a friend refer to her as that and I quickly made a note, I said, "Listen Chas, should you and me get there early, just to get our ducks in a row strategy-wise?", and she frowned that Silent Witness frown and said, "No, it'll just be you and Daniel tomorrow", and I said, "Cool, cool, cool, N-A-P, not a problem". 

Anyway, next morning I knocked on her door and said, "I know you were going to take a rain check today, re the Daniel meeting, but the offer still stands. I've left the car running, there's room under this brolly, I reckon Dan would like to see you, and I know I'd love you to join". But she said, "No, it's just you and Daniel today", I said, "Cool, cool, cool, NAP!". 

Got to say, the first meeting with Daniel, it didn't go well. I opted for a tough love approach, minus the love, and I kept saying, "Sit up straight, this conversation isn't starting until you sit up straight. Sit up straight, now!". He didn't sit up straight, so it was a long hour. Next time we met, I opted for a kinda Good Cop approach, plonked a couple of Magnums on the table, scooched one across to him, said, "Get your laughing tackle round that skinny-boy!", and something seemed to thaw between us, and I'm pleased to say it wasn't the choc-ices! [giggle]

Today, things are cool. Yes, I swear more than usual, but that's so that the guy feels at home. I'll say, "What are you having? I'm having a bloody cuppa and a fucking scone". People ask, "What do you talk about?", well, I'm not mentoring the kid in a career sense. I mean, I'm happy to advise young broadcasters if they need a bit of steering in the fine art of being a presen'er, but that tends to be graduates or teenage kids of people I'm friends with. Daniel, on the other hand, has never indicated he'd like to become a broadcaster, and even if he did, I'd have to explain it'd never work, because he mumbles, and he's got a grumpy face. Not his fault, he's had a grumpy life. 

Instead, my job is to be an adult sounding board. He's young. He spent two years in the slammer, and he needs guidance. Truth be told, my main worry is that he'll slip back into drug use, so I try to show him a world where he can get his kicks from other things. So I might say things like, "Yeah, drugs make you feel good, but you know what's a bigger high? When I see a kingfisher swooping down over the Norfolk Broads, it almost makes my eyes roll back in their sockets, it feels that good! And when I see a restored 1904 Panhard Levassor motor car on the London to Brighton Run, it makes my legs give way, my tongue rolls in my mouth, and I'm a hop, skip, and a jump from being so blissed out, I just go, 'Ehhhhhhh!'. Because you've got all the drugs you could ever need in your brain! They're called dopamine and serotonin! Why do heroin when, for free, you can get off your tits on nature and vintage cars?" 

Other times, to bring him out of himself, I'll ask him what he's into. I'll say, "What's your favourite band?" And when he tells me, I'll say, "Tell me about them!". And as he begins to chat about a grime artist, I'll zone out. But the point is, he feels like he's had a conversation. He feels like someone has engaged with him, even though obviously I have no interest in his answer.

Career-wise, I try to be there for him too. Rather than telling him that him becoming a rap star is about as likely as him ever becoming chairman of the Royal Opera House, I'll let him down gently. I'll say something like, "Have you thought about Carphone Warehouse?" Or I'll shift it a little bit, I'll say "Another kind of rapping is wrapping things in an Amazon warehouse! Bubble wrap can drop a beat if you want it to. Snap, snap, snappity-snap, and away you go!". 

Because there are always subtle ways into things. The other week I said to him, "Hey Daniel, want to hear a sweet fact? Leeds Castle is actually in Kent! They used to have loads of battles there in the olden days. Hey, speaking of battles, ever thought of joining the British Army?", because they will take anyone.

He wasn't sure at first, but I was firm with him, and an hour later, I dropped him off at an army recruitment centre. I was meeting friends at a local cheese festival, and it meant I could really enjoy the cheese. Because the knowledge that, thanks to me, Daniel might soon be stationed in some dusty trouble spot, dispatching a couple of ne'er-do-wells, and maybe gaining a bit of self-respect in the process, was enough to make even the mildest cheddar sing in my mouth!

And what's in it for me? Well, I've always been fascinated by people from different backgrounds to mine, whether that be the differently abled, drug-likers, the travelling community, labourers, the super-wealthy or the super-super-wealthy. I genuinely believe special things can happen when two very different worlds collide. Look at all the odd-pairings which raised eyebrows, only later to prove the doubters wrong, and skepper the scuptics.

Catherine Zeta-Jones, stunningly beautiful woman, gets together with Michael Douglas, looks like a grey crow. He's American, she's from an angry little country called Wales. She's 50, he's what, 90? But through some weird alchemy, it just works. Eamon Holmes, co-presenting This Morning with his own wife! When he broke the news, myself and several other presenters staged an intervention. "Eams", we said "It ain't gonna work, the chemistry's off cock, tell her no!". But, on TV they just dovetail, clinging together against the odds, like the tangs on the zip of his slacks. 

Me and Eams laugh about it. I say, "Imagine me presenting a show with my wife, my ex-wife!". I'd be chatting to a guest, and Carol would be sitting next to me getting a blotchy neck, or tutting, or smiling at nothing. And when- I'd say, "What are you smiling at?", she'd exchange a meaningful glance with the studio guest and say, "Oh, no reason!". And I'd say, "No, what are you smiling at?" And she'd probably say, "Oh god, does it matter?! No need to get yourself so het up!". And I'd say, "I'm not getting het up Carol, I just want to know what the smile was about", and then she doesn't reply. And I say, "I've got an idea, why don't you pocket dial me, so when I listen back to my voicemail, all I can hear is you having sex with your personal trainer?".

You know, some people just shouldn't really, you know, co-present. That's the point I'm making. 

[theme music sting]

Daniel's dad hasn't been around, and that's been tough for the 19-year-old mixed-race bad-boy.
And I can relate to that, in a way. I mean, it's not easy when you lose a family member. For Daniel, it was his dad. Daniel's dad got to know Daniel, and for whatever reason, decided he wasn't going to get much out of being a dad to Daniel. For me, it was my granddad. He didn't move away. I mean, why would he? I was nice. No, unlike Daniel's dad, my granddad, Graham, went away in the sense that he died. My mum tried to soften the blow. She said "He called a taxi and said, 'To heaven, please!'". I was seven at the time, and it seemed somehow plausible. Mum said he'd be happy enough in heaven. He'd probably organise coach trips to other planets. And it worked. You know, for ages, whenever I saw a shooting star, I imagined it was granddad Graham going at a million miles an hour in a bus specially adapted for the dead.

Granddad Graham. Granddad... [long, sombre pause] And now Daniel and I, or Daniel and me, as he'd probably have me say, have a real bond. And today is my eighth meeting. [phone vibrating] Oh, this is him now. This is him now. 

Yo, Danny boy. All right then, yo, Daniel. 

Yeah, usual place and ting. I'll buy you a cup of tea and a scone. 

Fanta? You need vitamin C! Or you're going to get open sores!

You don't wanna have no future and bad skin. By the way, have you any more thoughts about checking out the paper mill in Wookie Hole at Cheddar Gorge? 

You will. You will, mate. Promise you. 

You've got three things, a big gorge, a paper mill, and a cave. You know, one, two, three! Bang, bang, bang. 

Okay, if you want that tea and flapjack, be there. Snooze you lose.

Ciao. See you fucking later, nutbag!

All right, well, I'm in my car now on the way to meet Daniel at a greasy spoon, which is colloquial English for bad café. But I think the thing I found most satisfying about mentoring is... [long car horn] Are you- are you trying to bum me?! Nearly went right into the arse of me. Keep your distance! I said... Hang on, excuse me. 

[winds window down] I said, keep your distance. What are you trying to do? Are you trying to bum me with your car? Well, back off! If you haven't got ABS, back off!

Um, the thing that's most satisfying about mentoring is the ability to make a real difference to someone's life. And if that helps the brand along the way, then so be it. [car horn] Are you... Your horn is supposed to be to warn someone, not as a rebuke. The horn is to warn, not rebuke. Yeah. Shouldn't you be taking your test again soon, darling? You look like you should.

I, um... Yeah, I think you're obliged to retake your test, I think, when you're 80. Fairly sure. Anyway, we're approaching the café now. I'm hoping Daniel will let me record our conversation for the podcast to help inspire other potential mentors. So, I normally pull up just here so that I keep an eye on the car because... with the best will in the world, unfortunately, this is a rather rundown area and poor people steal nice cars.

Daniel, of course, is the person I'll be talking to, so that's one suspect less than I have to worry about. It's just all his ruddy mates that I've got to worry about. Anyway, here we go. Here we go. 

Well, I'm sitting here with Daniel. Unfortunately, he hasn't agreed to let me record him for the podcast, which I absolutely accept, but legally, he can't prevent me recording my side of the conversation, which I've explained to him.

Daniel, how the devil are you? 

[Daniel's responses are redacted with a grating, too loud beep]

Cool, cool. And what have you been up to? 

Well, you must have been doing something. 

Watching TV. I thought you didn't have one. 

You got one from where? 

What friend? 

What do you mean you can't remember? 

You didn't, you...! [sigh] What brand was it? 

[Alan getting annoyed]

No, you were prepared to go back to jail for a Sanyo!

You would, you'd go back to jail! You'd get caught trying to steal a bad hi-fi and they'll throw the book at you! Just take the Sanyo back. I don't care where it came from. Get rid of it. I've got a spare TV in my bedroom. You can have that. 

[Alan getting increasingly agitated]

Panasonic! It doesn't matter! It's free and I have the receipt! 

It's fine. Just stop getting electrical items from friends. It looks bad! That's the third time you've had to give something back and I've had to give you something. 

Yes, it is. There was the Alexa and the iPad. 

I did, when we met at TGI Fridays. 

You're confused because I definitely gave you an iPad. 

Well, I'm 200% sure I did. 

[long pause, Alan takes a swig of tea and sighs contentedly]

[theme music sting]

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

 

Well, it's a few days later. I've not had any further contact with Daniel and I've been told by Best Foot that there are unlikely to be any further meetings. I put my Best Foot forward, I think Daniel tried to put his Best Foot forward also. Whether that foot is now donning an army boot or a prison slipper, none of us will ever know because Best Foot won't tell me.

So instead, I thought I'd pop round to Charlotte's house, not to talk about Daniel really, just to chat with Charlotte and hand over a simple gift basket; chocolates, champagne truffles, posh tea, some crackers, jar of chutney, jar of jam and just some straw, which you can use as kindling for a fire. And a £50 voucher for John Lewis. I said, "Yeah, use it to get some gloves. Or if there's something that you like that's more expensive, you can use the voucher towards the purchase cost, but that's very much up to you". 

But crucially, I said, just because there are no plans for Daniel and I to meet again, it doesn't mean we can't see each other. And she said, "I'm not sure that's a good idea". And again, I was like, cool, cool, cool. Because I think realistically I was not at her level. She'd been out with Jez Butterworth, the playwright, so I'm just never going to be able to compete.

I just came to the conclusion that I'm not her cup of tea. She's mine, she's definitely mine. I'm not hers. And with the best will in the world, you ain't never going to change that. And sometimes you've got to see the positives. If I'm not the guy for her, then maybe she wouldn't be right for me either in the long term, and I'd come to regret it. So if anything, I appreciate her honesty.

That's how I dealt with it. But I certainly won't be helping any more young offenders. 

[closing theme music]