S01E14: Dreams

[opening theme music]

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

T'was five in the morning, 

And all through the Oasthouse, 

Nothing was stirring, 

Not even a ghost mouse. 

That is a rhyming summary of the situation I'm currently in, 'ghost mouse' being one of the few phrases that rhymes with Oasthouse. Others include roast grouse, toast nous, and boast spouse which, I suppose, is a bit, you know, yeah I mean, sort of... grasping at straws, I don't think any of them are quite as good as the one we arrived upon. The time is 4:50am, and I'm sitting in my kitchen.

I'm not sat in my kitchen, as many would say, that would have suggested I'd been being seated here by someone, I haven't, I sat of my own volition, and I am sitting here, I'm not sat here, I'm just sick of it! Anyway, sorry for being a bit of a grammar grump, it is very early. So let me try and warm things up a bit.

I'm actually... to tell you... to... paint a little picture for you. So I'm sitting at a kitchen table, but why am I up so - not sat - why am I up so early? Well, I've just woken up after an alarmingly vivid dream that's left me discombobulated, excited, shaken, elated, panicky... satisfied, and hot. Partly because I'm wearing too many clothes, I'm in a baggy, long-sleeved Wham! t-shirt, on top of which is a baggy, short-sleeved Wham! t-shirt, leggings from Etam, I'm wearing some sheepskin slipper boots. I suppose I look like an aging choreographer, but I don't mind! No-one can see me apart from the security cameras and my housekeeper, and she's signed an NDA.

[theme music sting]

And what I did is, as soon as I have a dream, if I awoke from the dream, I'd immediately scribble down a few key words. But of course, none of it made sense. There'd be the odd word you could pick out, like supersonic, trapeze, Edmonds, very hard to find the thread between those three things. So what I opted for instead was to record my thoughts, my dream thoughts, on my iPhone Pro Record app, which I did. So let's have a listen back to that. It should work okay, let's have a listen.

"It's three in the morning, and all through the Oasthouse, nothing is stirring, not even a ghost mouse..."

Sorry, I said that poem earlier. That's not, I shouldn't, I didn't... I didn't, I'd forgotten that I repeated it when I awoke. I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I wouldn't have said it earlier if I knew I was going to do it on the recording, that's all. So I'll, I'll... sorry about that. That's not what you're paying your money for. Sorry, listen to this. 

"...and erm... so I can remember it, I'm recording this as a... a record. I just... [clears throat loudly] I was dreaming, but erm...". [long pause then the sound of snoring]

Well sorry about that, it appears I've fallen back to sleep. So that's... sorry, I'm trying to turn this off, I don't want to listen to myself breathing.

So I woke up and I thought, "Hang on, you just had a dream. Why not do a podcast about a dream?", and no time like the present. Also, fresh in the mind, I thought I can still probably analyse this because it's still percolating. Get downstairs, do the podcast now. I like to be spontaneous now and again, sometimes if I see a pretty woman in the street, I may well, just as a gesture, run up to her and give her a bunch of flowers. And seven times out of ten, a very welcome gesture it is.

[theme music sting]

So I've padded downstairs while the dream's still fresh in my mind to record a podcast. We're here for a very special edition of Alan Partridge From the Oasthouse about me, my dreams, and to a lesser extent, you and your dreams, and what, if anything, they mean. To that end, I'm tweeting all the night-owls out there, or rather 'twit-twooing' them, and I'm asking... [tapping on a phone screen] sorry, my nails are really long at the moment... send. Hopefully get some thoughts on that. Actually, I'm just going to add, "Please answer the specific question. And don't just tell me about your dream. Thank you".

Interesting fact about 'twit-twooing', it was pointed out to me by a... not a twitcher, but a birder who said that the 'twit' is the mating-call and the 'twoo' is the response, it's a call and response so no single owl emits a 'twit' and a 'twoo', it's either a 'twit' or a 'twoo'. So if someone goes 'twit-twoo' at a party, you can turn to them with great satisfaction and tell them that, anatomically and ornithologically, it's bollocks. You're listening to Alan Partridge, From the Oasthouse. 

[Seldom starts barking]

Shit! Sorry, I've got to pop a pan of eggs on for my dog, Seldom. Gotta do this, he likes them hard-boiled with plenty of salt. Put the pan on, add the eggs... 1, 2, 3... 4, 5, 6, 7, 8... 9, 10, 11, 12... 13, 14 and two makes 16. I put him on a meat-free diet because, well, in the hope that it would temper his bloodlust. And he is more subdued but an egg-heavy diet, as I'm sure you can imagine, comes at a price.

[theme music sting]

So it's 4:55am and I have to say, I love this time of day. You feel like you've stolen a march on the rest of the human race, and somehow you're going to win. Also, it's the atmosphere. It's a magical time of day, which I think is why witches traditionally get up early. Is that right? Is it witches or cleaners? I don't kn- It's one of the broom women, anyway.

There's an especially potent atmosphere here at the Oasthouse, and it makes me wonder how it would have been back in the 1800s when the oasthouses, of course, were still in use and work would have just been starting for the day. I adore the past and history, hate geography though, and yet I love places!

But back to this dream, so let me think. So it started normally enough; I'm in Pakistan, walking in the mountains of Peshawar. Next thing I know, I'm captured and imprisoned by fighters loyal to Islamist militants, and I know they think I'm a spy and I also know that they'll start torturing me. And I kept thinking about all the things I've done wrong in my life and all the mistakes I've made and the path that's led me here. 

And the door swings open and my interrogator walks in, and it's Noel Edmonds! And he says, "Do you want to come and test drive the new Ranger over with me?", and I think, yeah, of course. Anything's better than here, so yeah, definitely. Yeah.

So we drive around a bit in the Chilterns - don't know how we got to the Chilterns - and then we went for a really good pub lunch, also in the Chilterns, just me, Noel and Peter Gabriel. But then when Peter goes to the toilet, Noel puts his hand on mine and I laugh, thinking he's joking. But then he starts to stroke my knuckle with his thumb. And it's then that I realized, and this felt so real, I realised that I am a woman... which is a bombshell!

And eventually I drive home in floods of tears, utterly bewildered. And from there, it was just a matter of coming to terms with it and building a life for myself, a new life. And I have to say, my friends rallied round. They, with a few exceptions, but mainly they were great. It didn't go so well with my dog Seldom, though. 

The poor guy was totally spun out by it, he wouldn't look at me. I called his name, in my admittedly slightly-higher voice, and he just turned his back, he no-platformed me. I actually wondered if it was less him being confused and more prejudice. When anyone else approached, he'd just roll over and have them tickle his belly. Felt like I was being cuckolded by my own dog. 

The most confusing thing was that no one knew how it had happened. They said, what are you going to do, Alana? And I didn't know, I was just utterly befuddled. Then two of my oldest friends said, "We're going to take you shopping". I said, "I've not become gay. I've just become a woman, I've just become a busty woman. I don't want to be camp or draggy!". They said, "Fair enough. Let's go to M&S", and I was a bit happier then. Linda said, "M&S, then Karen Millen, get you that coat you like". I said, "Linda, that's absolutely perfect. That's exactly what I want!".

And it was when I went to try on a cocktail dress that a funny thing happened. I looked at myself in the mirror and became bewitched by the way this new dress seemed to cling to every bump and curve of my new body, and I found myself starting to move my hips whilst singing a song by Chaka Khan. And this went on for a good couple of minutes before I heard someone say, "Are you all right in there?". But I remember thinking, "Alana, this is a new chapter, that's all it is. Don't see this as the end of being a man, see this as the beginning of being a woman, a busty woman".

And as I pulled my dress off and looked at my naked body in the mirror, do you know the other thing I thought? I thought, "You're ever so hairy!". But that was okay because I had a hunch it would be easy enough to keep on top of. Light but regular pruning. Little and often. That's the trick.

When I woke though, I did feel immense relief even though in the dream I'd been trying to talk myself into it. The only thing I want to add is, Jackie, Linda, Gillian, when I was at my lowest point, you lifted me up. Thank you. And I'd also like to say thank you, and I know I didn't mention this part of the dream, to a chap called Luigi. You know how to make a woman feel special.

[ominous sound effects]

Your home is precious to you, and so are the things inside it, including your loved ones.

With Excalibur Roller Shutters you can keep the outside outside, letting you and your family relax and enjoy your home. That noise outside might be a fox or a badger, but what if it's a prowler, a peeping-tom, a burglar, or a deranged person who wants to harm you and your family physically?

Peace of mind is important, and there are more disturbed people around than ever before. The kind who a few years ago would have been detained in a mental hospital, but are now free to peer in at windows and to force open patio doors. Cuts to police budgets mean response time is at a record high, so if an intruder does get inside, they can really go to town.

 [sounds fade into a gentle guitar music]

Thankfully, Excalibur's remote-controlled shutter system is tough enough to withstand even the most frenzied hammer attack. Excalibur Roller Shutters. Don't worry!

Now, there are those who would say that, well, it's just a random collection of thoughts colliding with each other. I don't know. I do believe dreams have meaning, but what? Well, let's see if there's been any response on Twitter to my question, 'Do dreams mean anything?'. 

One here from Dominic St. John, Assistant Professor of Neuropsychology at Brunel University, a specialist in oneirology - which of course is the science of dreams - and the author of The Way We Dream, and he says "No". Refreshingly frank and clear, a lot of professors can go on a bit. Good to see Dominic can be more succinct.

One here from Veronica Evans, who owns a shop in Brighton, which she says sells trinkets. She says dreams do have meaning. She had one about her teeth falling out, and a month later, one did fall out.
So fascinating opinions on both sides of the debate there. 

Tweet from Grant in Dunstable, who says he has a dream in which he hovers above the pavement. Doesn't say how. Oh, yes he does, he says it's a pair of electromagnetic shoes, which work on a similar principle to the maglev train in Japan, with the shoes containing a reverse-polarity to the pavement. He adds, "As long as there's a slight decline from the horizontal and my clothes are largely frictionless, it's able to carry me along at a velocity approaching the national speed limit. ps, I despise people who have dreams that pay no heed to the rudiments of physics!". Well, I can't disagree, Grant. And the tech you describe seems sound, but as I said, people telling me about their own dreams is precisely what I was hoping to avoid. But thank you. 

Another tweet here. Oh god, it's from my very own troll High Noon. I'm not going to read that. 

[Alan quietly reads the email]

Hmm-mm. Yeah.

Well, yeah. 

All I'll say is credit to him for responding at what, 5:30 in the morning. At least he despises round the clock.

Mm-hmm. That's clever. 

[gentle laugh] Yeah, that's quite funny. 

Yeah, I'm not reading that out.

I'm not going to respond. I'm not going to rise to the bait or descend to his level with petty... bickering. All I would say is that when your mum dies, you'll have nowhere to live. You're listening to From the Oasthouse. 

[theatrical oboe music]

Casting call! Alan Partridge and Terence Coombs are pleased to announce open auditions for Partridge Playhouse's new production of As Time Goes By, a tribute to the 1980s BBC sitcom.

That's right! After mentioning the Playhouse on my first podcast, my former co-impresario Terry Coombs got in touch. We got talking and are now thinking of bringing the Playhouse back, which is why we're inviting performers to pop along to open auditions at King's Lynn Town Hall this Saturday at midday.

The part of Lionel played famously, if unenthusiastically, by Geoffrey Palmer will be taken by me. We're now looking for exciting talent to fill the Judi Dench role of Jean, Lionel's 59-year-old lover. 

Applicants should be able-bodied with a full, clean driving licence and between 30 and 39 years of age.

So... Twitter activity is quite thin to be honest with you. Hang on, there's someone outside. Hang- well there we go, don't look- [Alan opens a window]

Hello... boy?! 

I'm just gonna get... don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Hello?

"Hi".

What's your name?

"Paul".

Do you want to answer some questions on a podcast?

"Er, yeah, alright".

Come on in. Great. Just shut the door. Shouldn't take two secs. Yeah. Shoot yourself in the house.

"Okay".

Come on in. Sorry about that. I just saw this boy, well, chap, man, from the local farm who delivers my butter and eggs a couple of times a week and I thought, seeing as he's up, let's bring him in here. So, Paul, what do you know about dreams? 

"Not that much". 

Okay. That's fine. That's fine. But if you had to make an educated guess, what do you think dreams mean? What do you think they're trying to tell us? Because it's often said that dreams are like a premonition. 

"I don't think there's any evidence dreams can predict the future or anything like that. I think they're just electrical impulses the brain generates during REM". 

And the eggs are on the side, are they? 

"Yeah. Yeah".

Okay. Great. See you next week. Don't forget your shoes! 

I love farm fresh eggs, you know, as long as they're not warm. It's really how eggs have traditionally come to us from right through the ages, from Churchill, Dickens, Dick Turpin, Henry VIII, Robin Hood, Richard III, Richard II, Richard... and before him, Adrian and the Wall. And of course, there've been women in history too. It's just in a very changing, unstable, volatile world. It's lovely to get your eggs delivered. I think something marvellously traditional about that, unchanging. You can still get your eggs delivered by a farm boy! 

[theme music sting]

Got a tweet here from KingyKong331, he, or she, says, "I had a dream that could easily have applications in real life. I dreamed of a world where embryos were gestated ex-utero, allowing foetuses-", or foetii, I'm not sure which that would be, "to be incubated in baby farms, allowing women to bypass months of poor mobility, making them more productive and boosting the British economy". I'm finding that... hard to argue with, Kingy.

My wife's first pregnancy made her so grouchy that when she fell pregnant a second time, I, and I'm rather ashamed to admit this now, but I told her that I'd got a radio job exploring the history of Devon and that I had to move there for just over three months. Just because it was the first trimester and that's when they tend to be at their least reasonable. It's funny, isn't it, how things turn out? Because Carol was naturally quite suspicious. So I ended up having to actually make the programme just to fill my days. And even though it was never broadcast, Devon, The Untold Story, remains one of the most creatively rewarding experiences of my life. 

The reason they didn't make it, there were two competing ideas at the time. They loved both of them. And in the end, it was more or less a toss up between 'Devon, The Untold Story with Alan Partridge' or 'Around the World in 80 Days with Michael Palin', and Palin got the gig. Still, you know, you pay your money, you take your chance. I've nothing against Michael, I think he's a very funny man, I just don't think he can present travel programmes for shit. 

And just quickly, a tweet here from Andrew in Blackpool, responding to the earlier one from Gavin. He says, "I also have a dream. I can levitate a bit like your maglev train, but my method of suspension is a cushion of compressed air fired at the ground pneumatically from tubes in the soles of my shoes. A collapsible curtain around the rim of each shoe means I'm effectively standing on two small hovercrafts". I'm sorry, Andrew, but hovercrafts had their chance and they blew it. But who knows? Maybe there'll be a comeback. 

I mean, it happened with the trams, didn't it? Trams used to be everywhere, [then at] the turn of the century disappeared. And then, at the end of the 20th century, hello, hello, they're back again! I once said that to my assistant. She said, "Well, look at the ones in San Francisco". I said, "Oh, I didn't know they had trams in San Francisco". She said, "Oh, yeah, yeah". I said, "Really? How long have they had trams for in San Francisco?" She said, "Oh, years". I went, "Right. You mean as well as cable cars?" She said, "Oh, no, that's what I mean". I said, "What do you mean?", she said, "They're the same thing, aren't they?" I said, "Are they? The same thing?"

"Oh, right. I thought that trams traversed by gaining electricity from a rod that dragged itself along an electrical cable above the road. And that cable cars, I always understood that cable cars were trolleys that clasped a cable beneath the road. And that's what helped them traverse up and down the road. I thought that was why they were different. But I'm sorry, what what what have you- have you heard something else?" She said, "Oh, no, no, I've not heard anything else. That sounds right". I went, "Oh, right. So do you think those are the same things?" And she went, "Well, no, not anymore" and I went, "Oh, good". 

I know there'll be people out there saying, "Well, it's the same thing, same thing", same thing? Say that to a San Franciscan man, he's likely to have a tizzy and slap you.

[Seldom whimpering in the next room]

Oh, shit! That's Seldom, I've forgotten about his eggs. I'm coming, boy!

That's all from Alan Partridge From the Oasthouse today. Calm down. Calm down!

[Seldom continues barking]

Join me next week for more windows into my world, doorways into my domain, and embrasures, the arrow-slits found in castle walls, into... oh, my God, he's going ballistic. So, OK, bye. I'm coming!

[closing theme music]