S02E08: Katrina

[in car] I think... er, right, I think that should be recording. Apologies for the slightly rough-and-ready start to the podcast. I hadn't planned to record today, I was due to cast my next podcast tomorrow afternoon, which would have charted a live haircut. Never done that before on a podcast, from conception and initial ideas, to arrival at the salon and "Do I want a coffee?", through to the execution of the haircut, including my thoughts on how she's getting on, culminating in a sit-down with the stylist and her manager where we conduct an honest assessment of what went right and what, if anything, didn't.

Usually her problem is yeah, is over-chatting. But a hairdressing podcast will have to wait for another day, because something has just happened that has quickened my pulse and tightened my chest and I thought, "This is what you should be doing, Alan!". It's a real-time, seat-of-your-pants, heart-in-your-mouth moment, or heart-in-your-pants, seat-of-your-mouth moment - not sure what that means - which needs capturing and which will surely, surely scoop me a nomination at the British Podcasting Awards, if there is such a thing.

Mind you, the idea of sitting in a room filled almost exclusively with fellow podcaster seems pretty unbearable. Picture the kind of person who puts their hands up at a Q&A and says, "Hi, it's more of a comment than a question, really". Imagine that, but that's everyone in the room.

Why is my heart beating like the clappers? Well, it's not because I've just got a big coffee on an empty stomach, I don't do that anymore after I briefly went berserk at a Channel 4 pitch meeting and delivered my entire pitch in the form of a rap! Yeah, I mean, I just... I just lost the run of myself. Nor is it because I've been on a call to an IT help desk in Mumbai - rolls his eyes! - No, it's because after years of looking for the person I want to spend the rest of my goddamned life with, I think I may have found, yeah, the right gal! I wouldn't say anything as cheesy as 'She completes me', but she certainly, er... finishes me off. It's one of those times when you think, you know, "Is this really happening?" [hearty laugh] 

And from talking to other podcasters, they just say, "Alan, figure it out on air, you know, work through your thoughts on the mic". - - yeah, I mean, yeah, do both as Ds - I mean, yeah! Yeah, I feel like I'm... flying? Does that make sense? As if I'm zip-wiring across a valley in the Lake District going, 'Ahhhhhh!'. A lot of people scream when they do it. I mean, truth be told, I just hold my breath and I tend to go [two quick breaths and then holding breath then audible exhale] 'Duhhhhh!', you know. 

But yeah, yeah! And I'm on my way to tell her, I'm literally in my car in hot pursuit of a very special lady who I plan to - [laughs] I can't believe I'm... fricking saying it! - open my heart to! If that sounds like a scene from a Hollywood movie or a mini-series, then I make no apologies for that. You know, maybe you should lighten up a bit, especially if you're someone who curls their lip at romance. You know, we need more romance. We need a bit more Paul McCartney and a bit less John Lennon.

You have to tread slightly carefully. The rules have changed somewhat in the #MeToo era, as regards the romantic pursuit of a woman. A time was when a man on an advert could repel up the side of a woman's residence, steal in through an open window, place a box of competitively-priced chocolates on a bedside table and then abseil or swallow dive his way into the night, all while she is in the en suite, having a shower or a poo.

Today, a man tiptoeing through a woman's bedroom would be considered alarming, rather than dashing. Have we lost something, I wonder? Likewise, deodorant adverts would feature men's heads being turned by the sweet aroma of an Impulse antiperspirant, beneath the smooth armpits of a delectable young woman. He'd run up behind her, wheel around her and say, "Oi you! I just bought you some flowers!".

You can't even do that anymore. Running after a woman now on a busy high street is pretty much, yeah, I'd say unacceptable across the board. The only stranger who can give a woman flowers now is an Amazon driver. He might not even fancy her! Crazy! It's a shame, in some ways I feel sorry for young women who- sweep them off their feet? You can't even tap them on the shoulder unless you say, "Do you mind if I tap you on the shoulder?", which defeats the whole point of tapping them on the shoulder. 

What romantic man has not dreamt of bursting into a church just as a couple are about to tie the knot and she turns around and says, "Gavin, what are you doing here?", at which point everyone looks at you. You take a few small steps forward, catch sight of a statue of Jesus on the cross. "Here goes. Wish me luck, old fella!". Very fusty old woman with the big hat scowls and looks disapproving, she's old-fashioned, but the viewers and you, and Sarah, are not old-fashioned. A grumpy looking vicar says, "Well, if you're quite finished with this interjection, we'd like to resume".

"It's now or never", you think. "Say something!", you think, "Say anything!". "Sarah", you'd say, not knowing where the sentence is going to go. "I don't know why I'm here". People would grimace as if thinking 'This is a rubbish way to start a speech!', but you'd get it back on track. 

"I don't know why I'm here", you repeat, "But I am. And I know people think we'd never work. Me, a corporate lawyer, you a humble kindergarten teacher, but Sarah, I love you! I may not be all the things you want. I can't play polo or take you skiing in cloisters or... skipper a yacht", referring to a scene earlier where her fiancé had skippered a yacht, "But I can sit on a blanket in Hyde Park with a couple of beers and do an impression of your favourite Muppet. So what's it to be? Yachts or Muppets?!" And she just looks away sadly and says, "It's time to play the music".

The organist starts, and with a sigh and a nod you start to walk away, knowing you've made a right fool of yourself. Outside, you'd think, "It's time to play the music, what does she mean? Wait. Wait! It's time to play the music! It's time to light the lights! It's time to meet the Muppets on The Muppet Show tonight!". At that moment, your thoughts are interrupted by a voice that says, "Oi, Big Bird! You forgot your hat". Because I'd taken my hat off in church, because you have to in church.

You spin round and realise, oh-emm-gee, it's her! "We'd better be quick", she says, "They'll be wondering where I am". You look at your car. Damn, it has a flat tyre! "Don't worry", she says, "We can just take the van!". You realise she means the ice-cream van that they booked to give out free ice-creams at the reception.

"I just remembered", you say. "Remembered?", she'd say, "Remembered what?". "Why I love you". And she'd think, "Why not say the whole sentence in one go, you stupid cunt!". That kind of thing, you know, pretty standard stuff.

Yeah, society says you can't make big romantic gestures like that anymore. Well, I say, screw society! I have developed feelings for someone. I just watched her drive away and I thought, "I have to go after her! I have to tell her how I feel!". So I jumped in my teal Range Rover Sport to follow her granite-black Range Rover Sport, what a sight! You could not make it up! If you put that in a script, no-one would believe you. And yet we're both Range Rover drivers! 

Oh... shit. Traffic jam. Yeah, just trying to join the A11. Ahhhh, this is frustrating! She can't be far ahead of me. In fact, I think that's her Range Rover up ahead. It sticks up above the traffic. I like that. Easier to spot in a car park.

Let me in. Let me in. Let me in. [two short horn honks] Can you let me in, please? Can you let me in, please? Idiot. Pretending he can't even see me, even though I'm slap-bang in his peripheral vision.

Oh, you can see me all right. Look at him trying to act natural. You can see the cogs whirring. He's thinking, "What does natural look like? What would I be doing if I wasn't pretending I couldn't see another car trying to merge into my lane?". Thrumming the steering wheel with his fingers, half-pretending to whistle. Scratch of the nose. You're overthinking it, mate! You're a pitiful actor and a selfish road-user, and your car's far too small for you. Crammed into your Dacia Sandero! You look like Gérard Depardieu in a shopping trolley! Absolutely laughable- Oh yeah, he's letting me in. Thank you.  Thank you. 

So who is she, who is the Juliet to my Romeo? The Judy to my Richard, the Camilla to my HRH POW? Well, it's a funny one. They do sometimes say, "You only find what you need when you stop looking!". They say that about love, but I find it only applies to... Glasses, wallets, car keys, iPhones and bloody remote controls! I've got to try stand-up, for crying out loud, that is really good stuff! Give it a go, couldn't I? 

I'm loathe to use Tinder. If you stay on it too long, you end up encountering the same old faces. Some people say "There's plenty more fish in the sea", but certain fish-stocks are dwindling and you need to allow time for the fish population to replenish. So that's not strictly true, it just doesn't hold water. Unlike the sea, which holds loads. And it's all to do with overfishing! And I guess, within the, sort-of, dating-world, blonde divorcees with tans and good hair have been overfished. You have to wait, be patient, and when you see one, pounce.

For a man my age, online dating can be a bit demeaning. I mean, my ex-wife, Carol, seems to think it's highly amusing I'm on Tinder. You wouldn't catch her on Tinder! She's too analogue for that, she thinks she's going to find Mr. Right on a P&O cruise. Good luck with that! Unless your idea of Mr. Right is a geography teacher from Peterborough, but that's Carol for you. People say, "What's your ex-wife like?", quickest way to describe her? She's like spent uranium rods. Never not toxic.

I've looked everywhere for relationships. There's a young man I'm friends with, a chap in his twenties by the name of Nathan, he subbed on our pop quiz team one night, aced the music round but hopeless and current affairs, much like the late Simon Bates. But he is a very, very talented musician. He does jingles for radio ads. He's produced some real earworms!

Anyone who listens to local radio in East Anglia will be familiar with his work. You can't turn on your radio without hearing, [singing jingle] "Open up your horizons with caravans from Dreysons!". I said to him, "Nathan, that could have been written by the Pet Shop Boys". He said, "Do you think so?". I said, "Yeah! Definitely a B-side!". We'll sometimes jam together, he'll play a few instruments and head up the singing and I'll lob in a backing vocal or a lyric.

He doesn't chat much, a man of few words. If I say, "Do you fancy writing a musical slash concept album about Isambard Kingdom Brunel?", he'll say, "Yeah, cool", and he'll just start beavering away at it. I said to him, "Nath, I'm looking for a woman to be my girlfriend. Would you mind if I asked your mother? Or would that be weird? Don't worry, because I wouldn't become some sort of dad-figure to you unless you wanted me to, in which case, cool", and he just went very quiet and said, "I'd rather you didn't ask her". And I said, "Yep. Absolutely cool". 

[theme music sting]

So Tinder it was. I updated my profile. 'Desirable man, mid-50s', you have to massage the figures, everyone else does, late-40s seems to cover everyone born between 1977 and the Battle of Hastings. So yeah, 'Sesirable man, mid-50s, seeks sophisticated, demure female with own income and full, clean driving license for friendship and love'. And I've had a smattering of matches.

Pose for your profile picture with a bit of fake tan on and the mountaineering rope slung over your shoulder and you're guaranteed half a dozen right swipes. For whatever reason, women seem to be attracted to brown mountain climbers. Problem is, as a man, it can be tricky to separate the wheat from the time wasters. I thought, "I need a woman's perspective!". And I knew just the woman, my next door neighbour, Katrina. She is one of the most no nonsense women I've had the pleasure of befriending.

She's fiercely apolitical. She campaigned for Brexit, but that's it, and has a sense of humor that would honestly not sound out of place on Top Gear. We've not always been friends, she burns leaves in her garden whenever she likes and if someone's having a family gathering for a christening, "That's their problem". And she steadfastly refused to clap for carers during the pandemic. A few of us asked her about it. And she said, "Well, they get paid, don't they?", which you have to admit is pretty hard to argue with. She said, "They deserve a round of applause because they clean up after people soil themselves. I clean up after my horses, I don't see anyone clapping me!" and I thought, wow, she's dead right there! And I stopped clapping after that as well. 

We kept sight of each other over the hedge while everyone else was clapping. And we just roll our eyes as if to say, "Please!", which is a word she doesn't often use. Like I say, no nonsense. Anyway, I explained I've been on Tinder and I wasn't sure how to weed out the bad ones and she said she'd run the rule over them for me. So Katrina came round to cast her eye over my matches and she didn't mince her words. 

"This woman has emojis in her profile. She's thick". 

"This one says she's a widow twice in one paragraph! Imagine how much she's going to go on about it in real life".

"This one likes yoga. She probably doesn't drink". 

"This one says she wants to meet a gentleman, that means she expects you to pay". 

She is a master, or a mistress, of decoding lady bullshit! Here's the thing, as she scrolled dismissively through the list, I glanced across at her, her glossy blonde hair, the scowl playing across her face, the hilariously catty comments. I thought, "Oh, my god! The answer is staring me in the face. Or rather, I'm staring in her face!".

It's Katrina! She's single. She's sassy. She's solvent, I know she did very well out of her divorce. She drives a Range Rover Sport. She has lemon-blonde hair and she lives next door for crying out loud! I wouldn't even have to get a post-coital taxi if she'd rather I went home, I could just weave my way through a fat hedge.

I know that sounds rude, but it's also true! Plus, my assistant Lynn can't stand her, which is always a thumbs up! Lynne is a stunningly bad judge of character, she was very active in the campaign to get Rolf Harris released. Me, I never liked the guy. When I heard Harris had had his collar felt and was doing bird in a clink, I thought "Good riddance! Have some of that!". I never bought his whole Stylophone, wobble-board, didgeridoo shtick. Whenever I heard Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport it would send a shiver down my spine. Sick bastard! Good drawer, though.

While I was thinking this, Katrina poo-pooed all of my matches and got up to leave, saying she had places to be, of course she did. I thanked her, but I was tongue-tied and I accidentally pronounced Tinder as Kinder, the German-based confectionery and toy specialist. She said, "Well, Kinder are more appealing than these women. At least they still produce eggs". Well, I roared, and was still laughing when she left. 

She is right-wing, funny, and when she lays off the fags, smells great! I sat there momentarily and I thought, I need to be a big boy here. I'm too long in the tooth to play games, I need to tell her how I feel about her and I need to tell her now. So I got outside and she was just pulling away in the Range Rover. I grabbed my keys and followed. Katrina is wonderful, how to describe her? She's like a more right wing, Kirstie Allsopp with, as I say, lemony blonde hair. Imagine Liz Truss. 

So yeah, hopefully I'll catch up before I lose her in the traffic. In fact, that's her, just a couple of cars ahead, my God, I love the way she drives. She has the seat bolt upright. It lends a regal quality to her seating position. Look at her, swivelling her head this way and that as if she's a queen surveying her kingdom. Whenever I see a woman in a four-wheel-drive not sitting too close to the steering wheel, I'm always intrigued. 

Look at that, very decisive on the brake! Too many drivers these days nervously rest their foot on the brake, dabbing at it constantly when they go around a very slight bend. Why are you braking?! You know? Your car's not going to fall over, you knob! But not Katrina, a dabber she ain't, if she's braking, she's braking and I adore that about her. I think, er... yeah, no, she's turning off into the garden centre.

Okay, I need to compose myself and decide... Yeah, I've decided I'm not going to make a speech, I'm just going to speak from the heart and what comes out comes out. Right, okay, just parked. And here we go. Just take the microphone off. I probably won't let on that I was following her, the key thing is to act natural, laugh off the coincidence, just take it from there.

[opens car door, calling] Hey, Katrina! Hey, girl! Can't believe you're here too! Yeah, no, I just came to buy two rakes and a bag of bulbs! [car door shuts, muffling the sound] Fancy, er... grabbing a brew? 

[bright, strummy acoustic guitar music, voiceover voice is not Alan]

Fed-up of foreign holidays? Why not go on a staycation where you're never too far from a friendly face and a full English? Rent a Columbus caravan and Marco Polo camper from Dreysens in Norwich. You'd be surprised how cheap they are!

[female chorus jingle] Open up your horizons with caravans from Dreysens. 

[getting back in car] Oh, okay, here it is. Sorry about that. I left the microphone in the car, maybe just as well. I worked myself up into a right old lather. I said, "Katrina, do you want to spend the weekend at the Goodwood Revival Festival looking at vintage cars and sharing a Winnebago with me?". She said, "Is that where they put old bangers through the paces?", and I laughed. 

She said, "I've got a set of jump leads in my bag", and I laughed even though I was anxious, but I decided to commit to the nervous laughter and forced it into a guffaw. She said, "Be at mine at 8pm. Be warned, I'll be the one wearing the trousers". I said, "I hope that doesn't mean I'll be wearing a dress!", she said, "It depends if you're a sissy". And I laughed, combining the chuckle with a "Get lost!", and I did laugh but, listener, I have to admit, I was sporting an erection.

To be continued... Because this episode is a two-parter. Audible said, "Why don't you just make this episode an extra long one?" I said, "Will I get paid double for that episode?" They said no. I said, "Then it's in two parts, each one constituting a single podcast".

Got it? End of. Thank you.

[closing theme music]