S01E15: Hair

[opening theme music]

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

You're listening to Alan Partridge, from the Oasthouse, and today I want to talk about hair. What you do with it, why we like it, how to clean it, how to comb it. But first, why am I sounding so damn chipper? Well, it's because that's a choice I made. Today, I'm going to be cheerful.

Yesterday, gotta admit, was a pretty blue Monday but today, there's a 'new order'. A little reference there to a band who were very popular in the '90s, and if any of you remember 'Madchester', if you're over forty, you certainly will. Teenagers with floppy hair looked like Dougal from the Magic Roundabout. Again, anyone over 40 will understand that reference. Pop songs with drum machines instead of real drums. Loads of kids meeting in service station car parks to go to a secret rave.

That, I had a problem with. You're getting in people's way. Service stations provide a central haven for the weary traveller. Whether it's families that need to get out and stretch the legs, get a snack. Mum wants a magazine. Busy salesman rushing in to grab a coffee. Just another lorry driver popping into the toilets for a wank. Service stations are a vital cog in our transport infrastructure.

Why was yesterday a bit of a crummy one? Well, to put it bluntly, I, Alan Partridge, moulted. It's never happened to me before, but yeah, I was combing my hair in front of the bathroom mirror, and a clump of hair fell out, leaving a smooth bit of head about the size of a fifty-pence piece. There was no yank, certainly no pain. It's as if the follicles just... let go, like when you're distracted and you forget to hold on at the climbing wall, and you just sway away in the harness.

Yeah, a blue Monday. Blue Monday. I have to say, it rocked me. I mean, hair is one of those parts of the body that you don't think much about, much like your skin or your teeth or your perineum. Most of us have never even seen our perineums. I mean, how would you unless you squatted over a compact mirror or a mirrored coffee table that can take your weight? But when there's a problem, boy, do you dwell on it!

I'm still on about hair, and my perineum has never been a problem. I think I nicked it once when I tried to vault above my fence, but it healed within weeks. I've certainly never lost a chunk of hair before.

My little toenail fell off once after a gay man rollerbladed over it, and it just never grew back, and since then I've never been able to wear flip-flops. To this day, if I see a man on an EasyJet flight with sandals on both feet, I get a twinge of envy. I can wear a pair, but I have to sock on one.

But my hair has never been a problem. It's always been very cherished, dear to me, dear to me. There was a time in 2013 when I briefly grew it longer at the back, and everyone would say, that's not Alan's hair. "Alan doesn't have his hair like that!", and I'd think, what do you mean it's not my hair? I am me, and that is my hair. Talk about something else, stupid! So to see a segment of hair tumble into the sink like a discarded merkin was tough.

I just grabbed the clump of hair, I don't know what I was doing, and I was just patting it onto the scalp saying, "Please, please, please, please!", hoping it would stick. And of course it didn't. So, yes, I spent yesterday down in the dumps, had a bit of a goo, had a bit of a cry, and then I thought, "Get a grip, not of your hair, it might come out", and that made me laugh.

And sometimes that's all you need. Stick ten of those in a row and you can change your whole outlook. One moment you're staring at a light switch with your eyes half closed, half an hour later you're giggling like a teenage girl with loads of make-up!

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For a few minutes I thought, maybe I can use this. At a fusty drinks reception or an awkward meeting, a barren bit of scalp can be a fantastic icebreaker. But you've got to roll the dice, so you say, "Everyone, gather round, look at this bald bit of skin on my head!".

That can go one of two ways. Either everyone's laughing their heads off, or now they're doing the light switch thing. So what I've done is hide the patch by combing my hair to the left, something I swore once I would never do, that is not a club I want to be in. If you comb right, you comb right, that's all there is to it. Crossing that Rubicon is like Dylan going electric, or when we persuaded Chris Packham to eat meat again.

The comb-to-the-right gang include some of the biggest gorillas in UK TV; Des Lynham, Michael Parkinson, David Dimbleby, Aled Jones. Guys with swagger, panache, or to use Alan Titchmarsh's horrible phrase, 'big dick energy'.

Who combs their hair to the left? I'll tell you who; John Major, Nicky Campbell, Sebastian Coe. You know the type, people with a certain shiftiness, a feyness, or, Titchmarsh again, 'fanny vibes'.

But needs must, and I have to say, after some initial discomfort and about three cans of hairspray, I'm gradually getting the nap of the hair to sit down and fall to the left. Has it changed who I am? Of course it has, I feel different. I walk different. I act different. Left-sided combers have a totally different set of values, a different MO.

But, we are where we are. [phone rings] Sorry, I've got to get this, I'm having a bit of a dispute with my Rackets Club.

Paul, thanks for getting back. Well, it's not really a complaint. It's more of an inquiry. What it was, was I was in the car park yesterday and a man said I'd come in the wrong way, but I hadn't.

Well, no, the crux is I'm not sure he's a member.

Exactly. Ha ha ha! Yes, well, my thoughts entirely. I wouldn't put it quite like that, but I certainly wouldn't disagree with you.

I'd just like his name. A slightly thick set, close-cropped hair, not much of a neck. Yeah, and he was whistling, which you don't tend to hear.

No, but I mean, you don't hear it in the VIP car park.

Hmm. So, I mean, yeah, if you just find out his name and who he works for and just give me a call, you know, today.

Everything else all right? Mm-hm. Right. OK.

Hello? Hello? I think I've lost you, Paul. Oh, can you remember to call back about the guy? Great. Lost you again!

The other thing that helped me feel better was, as I said at the beginning, my choosing to be happier. And this is something I've advocated for literally donkey's years to the clinically depressed, teenage self-harmers and sad new mums. I don't want to pass off bits of my Forward Solutions motivational seminar to my podcast listeners.

FYI, that would cost you £20 for the Junior Pack containing a paperback copy of the book, £40 for the VIP Pack, which includes a half-hour personal phone consultation with me, or £999.99 plus VAT for the weekend retreat, but grab the early bird offer and it's £899.99 plus VAT. Satisfaction guaranteed, or up to half your money back.

But if you're feeling low, tell yourself, today I choose to be happy, and you will be. It really is that simple. Of course, you get the naysayers who say it's not as simple as that, who say that's facile, that depression is a chemical imbalance that can't just be wished away, that I should read a book or eff off. Well, I strongly disagree, and today I choose to be happy.

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The other thing I did when the clump of hair tumbled out was fire up the laptop and through a veil of sniffles and snivels sent out a tweet saying I was very sad about my hair. And people have been really, really lovely. The support I've had has been overwhelming. Well, not overwhelming, verywhelming.

Advice, kind wishes, yeah, even jokes, good-natured ones. There's some very nasty ones, people who take pleasure in other people's misfortune. But you can get hung up on these things, but I just take a deep breath, step back and think to myself, I hope something awful happens to him or someone he cares about. In time, in time. What goes around comes around, as my grandma used to say. Yes, she wasn't a nice person. She used to stare me out. Imagine doing that to a kid.

One here from Walter in Medlock who says, "Hair loss is a natural stage of evolution. While today we have thick hair only on our heads and pubic regions, at one time we would have had a similarly-thick covering all over our bodies. In such circumstances, I sometimes wonder if I would maintain a single hairstyle all over my body or enjoy different styles on different parts of my anatomy, e.g. tight perm on the back, long glossy hair on the legs, Mohican on each buttock". That's hilarious! That's the kind of humour I like!

But it's an interesting thought, Walter. I think if it was me, in all seriousness, I would like to be neat and uniform, so I'd probably go for something like a 15mm Marine Buzzcut all over my body, which would effectively make me a half an inch bigger in every direction. So that's what I'd do.

This one from Tanya in London says, "Sudden hair loss, just like the loss of appetite or inability to sleep, is a clear sign of stress. It may be that something is causing you anxiety". Well, if there is, I'd love to hear about it, I am riding higher than I've ever ridden. Yeah, solid career, plenty of dough; Poggenpohl kitchen, Corian work surface, I mean, what do you want to know? Sonos throughout, I go horse riding with the head of Norwich CID. Friends with the mayor. I don't mean a horse, I mean the mayor. Get on fine with the horses.

Half my enemies are dead or moved. Erm... I'm working on a novel set in the Victorian era called The Lamplighter, about a deaf and dumb gaslamp-lighter called Chris, who has to deal with electrification. He's just at the very end of the gaslamp-lighting era, really exciting. Some people sort of furrow their brow and I say, "Okay, just imagine you'd invested all your money in big, fat paper catalogues just as the Internet Era was dawning". People say, "Ooh, I'd read about that!", and I say, "Well, I'm not writing about that. I'm writing about a gas lamp-lighter in the age of electrification!".

So yeah, I'm in a very good place. There's nothing I'm doing that I don't want to do, apart from promote Corsodill Mouthwash, but there's only a year left of that to run.

[sombre strings music]

A brief announcement.

The Partridge Playhouse production of As Time Goes By will no longer be happening, in part due to a rights dispute from the creator of ATGB, can't remember his name, but largely due to the calibre of auditionees at our recent open casting.

For future reference, you may have all the talent in the world, you may have all the ideas in the world, but if you can't listen, and you can't take direction, you'll get nowhere. If you want to collaborate, go and do improv. If you want to act, be prepared to do as you're told! And as I say, listen!

I'm on my third date with a dog groomer and said as much on social media. Some of you emailed to ask how my date had gone, and the answer is, very well. I thought I'd ruined things when I tried to remove a bit of food from her face. I thought it was a bit of brown bread, but it turned out to be a mole, so her skin tented in my fingers. But she couldn't have been nicer. She couldn't have been nicer about the whole thing. She just rolled her eyes and said, "Ooh, everyone does that".

So no, I can't think of anything causing me stress. Someone else has tweeted to say, "Is it the fact that you're being trolled by that man?". Uh, I don't think so. I mean, sure, after a particularly vile barrage of invective, I might have a sudden loss of appetite and skip the odd meal, grab a few hours less sleep that night, but most of the time, I just feel a bit down for a day or two. So no, I don't think- I think you're connecting.

I mean, anyone can... I don't think it's that, is it? It can't be. I mean, I hope it- I mean, I hope it is! Uh, whoo-hoo! If I have to get hair loss treatment with the Svenson Hair Clinic and I take him to court and wallop him with that bill, whoo-hoo! He will not know what hit him. This is great!

Thank you for that. If you're listening, troll mate, you know what this is? [rapid hand rubbing] That's me rubbing my hands together. Glee, mate, glee!

[Rosa, from downstairs] "Mr. Partridge?!"

Hang on, sorry.

I'm podcasting, what is it?

"What is on this plate that you left here?".

Some of my hair.

"What did I hear?".

I said, it's some of my hair.

"Okay, I'll put it in-".

No, just throw it away.

"Okay, I'll put in your bedroom in the drawer".

I put it on the saucer to see how much of it there was.

"So I'll keep it for you, yes?".

Well, why would I want it kept?

"Just in my country, we put old hair inside cushions. I can make this for you!".

Okay.

That's interesting. She said that in the olden days, people used hair to stuff cushions. Uh, yeah. Weird, though. Why is she talking about keeping it? I mean, God knows if there's any truth in it. There can't be. It's just, apparently witches, if they get hair, can start to make you feel things or get sick or become lame. But, uh, I'm sure she's not a witch. Excuse me.

Rosa?! Are you Romanian or Hungarian?

"I'm Filipino".

Sorry, I forgot!

She's Filipino, of course she is. It's fine, it's fine. Sorry about that, I just got the heebie-jeebies. Sometimes you sort of get... irrational.

Anyway, yeah, witches and the occult have always held a bit of a fascination for me, though. I remember as a teenager, I was watching a dirty movie about some gay vampires, gay lady vampires, I should add. In one scene, the lezzy vampire has bitten into the neck of a gentleman caller and as she pulled away, blood dribbled down her chin and onto her Transylvanian boobs. And it just seemed so confusing. And it haunted me! It haunted me.

Yes. It's a deeply unsettling blue movie. I do worry about this hair loss, though. If it carries on like this, I'll end up stranded deep in toupee territory, a land I never imagined I'd have to visit.

I was once in Pizza Express in Woking and a kid came up to me, pointed at my hair and said, you wear a wig. Well, I just lost it. I made him grab a clump of my hair and pull it as hard as he could. It really hurt and I actually cried, but it did prove my point. I said to him, "Why are you saying I wear a wig? Is it because your dad's bald and you know in ten years' time you're going to be bald? Get back to your table!". You're listening to Alan Partridge, From the Oasthouse.

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Tweets, Ethel in Kilmarnock says, "In Elizabethan times, women would set their hair with lard or beef marrow, while it helped to hold their hair in place. At night, the smell would attract rats, so women would wear cages over their heads to keep them away!", well warranted, Ethel!

Horrific thought, wearing a cage to keep rats off your head. I suppose it's the opposite of the cage in 1984, I don't know if you know the film or famous novel by George Orwell, but John Hurt, the actor, the late, great John Hurt, who played the Elephant Man, is made to wear a cage filled with peckish rats who, if released, would eat their way out through his face.

I bet he wished he still had the Elephant Man head. The rats would be like, "I'm actually not that hungry?". Oh, I've got to do stand-up. I saw The Handmaid's Tale recently. Got to say, very one-sided. I mean, if you've got a population problem, you know, you've got to... It's difficult, isn't it?

But anyway, to go back to Ethel's tip about hairstyling, thanks for the advice, Ethel, but I tend to use Schwarzkopf Glossing Mousse. A touch of powder to enhance volume and a fine mist of Elnett to finish. I never apply the hairspray directly, do that and you're going to get hot spots of what look like plastic hair. My own system for achieving an even coverage is to spray a cloud of Elnett into the air, then pinch my nose, close my mouth, bow my head and walk through it at normal speed.

Thinking about 1984, though, everyone goes on about how mean Big Brother is, of course he's mean, he's a big brother. That's what they do. Flick you with a towel, mess up your hair, pop your head in a rat cage, it doesn't mean they don't love you!

I wish I'd had a big brother to deal with all the nasty boys. He'd march me into school and say, "Which ones?" And I'd say, "That one, that one, that one and that one, but do him last". He'd nod and I'd say, "But will you remember who they were?", and he'd be chewing a match and he'd just say, "I got 'em". And I'd say, "Are you going to get them now?", and he'd say, "Lader", because he's American, in my film, er, the dream, the memory, thought. Yeah, we'd lie in wait on the way to school for each of the bullies to walk past.

When we saw the first one, my big brother, my very strong big brother, Liam, would step out from the hedge and say, "Going somewhere?". And the bully would see Dutch - that's his name in the film, in my memory, at school, he's called Dutch by the way - looming over them, still chewing his match don't forget, and they would absolutely bob their loads! He'd put his face next to their ear and just whisper, "I hear you've been bullying my kid brother. You ever so much as say another word, you'll have me to deal with. On your way". And then he'd just step back into the hedge. Actually, no, he'd grab the hood of their Parka and swing them into a hedge.

[urgent radio traffic jingle]

Quick announcement drivers, a new speed camera has been installed on the A47 Norwich Southern Bypass. It's on the eastbound lane near Postwick.

Drivers are warned, it does come at you unexpectedly after the Broadland-Northway bend, so keep it steady until then, but once you're past it, there isn't another one until Damgate, and it's a cracking bit of road!

I like to think of it as Norfolk's very own slice of Autobahn!

And finally, our Letter of the Week this week is from Mark in Weybridge, who says, "Do you know where I can obtain a large tin of Swarfega? I know you can get the plastic tubs, but does anyone know where I can still get the big tins?", and then he goes on at some length about his dead father. That's Letter of the Week.

So I tweeted Mark's request, and so far we've had one, two, three... six replies, and they say, "No", "No", "No", and "You can still get the plastic tubs", he doesn't want them, he wants the tins. And then one from Jean that says, "No, sorry", thanks for the apology.... Jean.

That's all from me. Good bye.

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