S03E01: Jealous

"I was dreaming of the past 

And my heart was beating fast 

I Began to lose control 

I Began 

To lose 

Control".

The words there to the song 'Jealous Guy' by the late, dead John Lennon and later performed with a slightly more vibrato voice by Brian Ferry. I prefer Brian's version, I've never been able to muster his wobbly voice although if you drive down a cobbled street I find you can recreate it and most people over fifty will laugh when you do it. I last did it driving down the Shambles in York singing Avalon and it got a big collective chuckle from the other four men in the car.

I've always thought his voice has a feminine quality that makes Brian sound vulnerable, and nothing wrong with that. I sometimes look back at historical men and I mourn the loss of colour and frivolity in a man's wardrobe. Even talking about it makes my voice go a little camp and, again, nothing wrong with that!

Look at Henry VIII, top-half of an American footballer, bottom-half of a ballerina, but he pulls it off through his sheer commitment! Old Aitch-Eight ain't ashamed; very confident power stance, hands on hips as if to say "D'you like this? I like this!". And he was hardly what you'd call a softie or to use the old word, now no longer fashionable, pansy. Bold in cutting the heads off of wives who've crossed a line but also bold in his fashion choices, that's refreshing! Stands like a peacock, built like a brick shithouse. He was a big, wide King!

Why am I talking about this... stuff? Is it because I, Alan Partridge, am a jealous guy, and have been made to feel jealous and like song says my heart is beating fast and I have begun to lose control.

If you don't want to listen to something personal - and painful - I implore you to listen to Fern Cotton's Happy Place. This podcast will contain themes of rejection, sadness, loneliness, cuckoldry, thwarted expectations, life-disappointment and what used to be called before we had all this new words for everything, "A li'l bit fed up".

Audible asked me not to do it but according to the HR guidelines they had to let me because if I did admit to feeling low and did something daft they leave from something exposed... legally. So here goes.

I've been seeing this girl for a few months, but we definitely crossed the threshold and casual to serious. We, you know, we... share the occasional bubble bath, her reclining regally at one end with her AirPods in, me knees to my chest, back against the taps, she'll let me make jokes about the shape of her friends, she'll tease me about my nipples being too low, we're just comfortable but, you know, we still lock the toilet door and long may that continue! You need a little bit of fucking mystery, Christ!

Great talk, great food, good sex... until the other week I'd just come back from work I was going through my girlfriend's pocket looking for my car keys, but instead of my car keys I found something no man ever wants to discover in his girlfriend's pocket, a small Philips screwdriver.

So she was leaning on the kitchen island I placed it very precisely in front of her and said, "I didn't know you'd taken up DIY!", she said "What do you mean?", I said "Care to explain?". She said "What?", I said "A Philips screwdriver in a ladies pocket?". 

She said she was walking and wanted something to protect herself if someone 'sacked her, and that is absolutely fine, no-one is saying a woman has to follow the Queensbury Rules - it is perfectly fine for a woman under threat to feign vulnerability and say, "Please I just need to get my breath freshener" and then take hold of the mini screwdriver and in one fluid movement, drive it upwards through the chin and tongue of the attacker and run in the opposite direction while the attacker just says "UUUURRRRGGGGHHHH!" , before grabbing the handle of the screwdriver, which is still sticking out of the bottom of his chin remember, and pulls it out causing a rivulet of blood to squirt down onto his shirt and upwards to the roof of his mouth and out through his teeth.

Quite graphic, but you reap what you show, shunshine! oh my god I can do Sean Connery!

The use of a screwdriver as an defensive tool is fine but - oh yes, as well as an uppercut she can also do a right hook and jam it sideways into his temple, "UURRRGGGGHH!" - but where did she get the screwdriver?

But where did she get the screwdriver? The mystery deepened. A friend of mine, Ronald, says he spotted Katrina and a man together in very close proximity at the Boxley Wheatsheaf, and there must have been something going on because it was jazz night, and she would never, never go and see jazz. She doesn't like jazz or soul or disco. She likes what she calls 'traditional rock'. She prefers Elvis to Little Richard. She prefers Eric Clapton to Jimi Hendrix. She prefers Paul Young to Marvin Gaye. She prefers The Osmonds to the Jackson Five. She prefers Michael Bolton to Stevie Wonder.

But that's, yeah, that's just her preference. I don't think, yeah, I think, no, I think it's just... that's just her... that's just, she like, that's just the music she likes. [sighs] It's just, she's got some silly bees in her bonnet. I'll tell you what, she looked sensational the other night. It's just good to see a confident woman, that's all. I'm not gonna mansplain her music for her. She knows what she likes, and yeah, you heard the list. I'm not gonna repeat it. 

[jaunty acoustic guitar music] 

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Anyway, according to Ronald, she was all over this guy like a cheap suit, and Ronald knows all about cheap suits because he used to be a teacher. On that night, I confronted Katrina. I said, "I hear you've been out with another man". She said, "Yes, I have". I said, "Who is it?", and she told me it was her builder. Katrina's getting a kitchen extension because I got a modest extension last year and she wants her square footage to be bigger than mine so she's working with a contractor, a chap called Garth.

Not Gareth, mind you, 'Garth'. I wouldn't be surprised if he's called Gareth but he's a builder so he's cut a few corners and ended up with a name that doesn't quite meet building regs and hopes the customer doesn't notice! Ha haha! That's how I deal with it. He thinks he's so sexy, constantly pacing Katrina's house, measuring things with a tape measure and squatting down in shorts. You've got brown knees, big deal! 

Squatting down in shorts using a tool belt, which he only ever uses two of the tools from. The tape measure and a pencil, I think. Pencil! Grow up! Whistling ITV theme tunes, the guy's thick! Probably the only book he's ever read is a Haynes maintenance manual, I've got five! How many has he got? Probably more, but as I said earlier, they don't count as books. You don't nod and smile sagely as you're looking at a 3D-cutaway of the engine of a Ford Escort. If you do then, put simply, you're handicapped. But you can't say someone's handicapped anymore, even though you can say you've got a golf handicap, so... anyway, 

I should have walked away, but I tormented myself. "What do you do with him? Did you kiss him?", she said, yes. I said, "Okay, did he put his hand on top of your bra?", she said, "He put it over my bra. He put it under my bra, all over my tits". And she said, "We've never been exclusive!". And that rocked me, I said, "Of course we're bloody exclusive. I took you to Dubai for crying out loud!".

Then I said, "Did you listen to any music?", "Yes", she said. "Did you listen to the Theme from Howard's Way?", she said, "Don't ask me that". I said, "I have to, did you listen to the theme from Howard's Way?, the 1980s drama set amongst likable, rich yachting-folk in the fictitious town of Tarrant. Everyone knew it was Littlehampton. You know the song, it was the music I played the day we overlooked Lake Windermere. And you said you'd always think of me when you heard it. So, did you?". 

And she whispered, "Yes". Well, on that, I broke down. I said, "What about us? I thought you were my lady!". She said, "It's just a bit of fun!". I said, "A bit of fun? Throwing frisbees is a bit of fun! That sign you have in your house that says 'Wine O'clock', that's a bit of fun. The sign above the Aga that says, 'Too Glam to Give a Damn', that's a bit of fun. The chopping board you have that says 'Gindependent woman', that's a bit of fun. The apron you have that says 'Nobody Gets Out Sober', that's a bit of fun.

"The corkscrew at Alton Towers is a bit of fun. But with you, it wasn't a corkscrew, was it? It was a cock-screw". And I remember, even though my voice was cracking, I made a mental note that I should definitely try stand-up.

I said, "What's he got that I haven't got? Gets a trade discount at Screwfix they'll say, oh, well done! He can put up shelves straight. I've got a spirit level app on my iPhone, just think about that for a second! Is he better than me at spending all his time squatting down in shorts, then standing up again to give you a quote that's about thirty percent more than he knows it should be, yes. He's better at lying to women who aren't conversant with the basics of DIY than me. He is. That's all he is, Katrina. A liar in shorts". 

But she just shrugged and said, "Oh, oh, is somebody jealous?". I said, "Do you honestly think I'm jealous of a builder? Well, the truth of it, I am jealous. Not of his job, because it's menial work and you end up with sausage-fingered, rough hands, but jealous of what he means to my girlfriend". I looked at her and just quietly nodded my head, then I started shaking it. Wasn't sure which was best. I took a deep breath. I said, "You may well be the village hussy, but I will not now, nor will ever be the village idiot. Or the town crier. Oh, yay?!". Then I just left. It was perfect.

But, I'm scared I'll lose her forever and I've desperately been trying to re-woo her, which sounds like a province in China, but I really am trying hard! I've completely revamped my look, as I podcast to you right now, I'm wearing a shirt that is unbuttoned to the sternum with a neckerchief cut to cover the gap. I wasn't sure, but my hairdresser hooked me up with a style consultant called Solomon, and Solomon says "You need accents in your clothing!", apparently it's about breaking the rules. But I said, "Trainers with a suit? Are you sure?". 

I don't mind being a rule breaker, if we're talking about going through a No Exit sign to leave a car park then, yeah, but traditionally, I've always been a rock-solid Burton's man. Yeah, well, that was the old me. Recently, I found myself shopping for statement pieces from a shop called Ted Baker, which, I know, sounds like a bingo caller who died but it's actually high fashion. Nice mauve sports jacket - whoa, what's this? - turquoise lining! And that's the image I'm trying to project. Well-mannered and understated on the outside, but once you get to know me? Ker-razy! 

Sometimes I can be too melodramatic. The other day, I waited until it was pouring with rain and I went next door, which is where she lives, knocked on the door, didn't even put a coat on. She opened the door, saw me drenched, and said, "What are you doing? It's pouring down". I said, "Is it? I hadn't noticed". And then I had a big speech prepared which I'd lifted from the film Jerry Maguire, so I took in a deep intake of breath but I was leaning back too much and I inhaled a nose-ful of rainwater and just started choking while she quietly shut the door on me. 

But then I received a superb piece of advice from the most unlikely place. A completely-innocent chap who bore no more than a passing resemblance to Garth cut me up at the traffic lights and I lost it and shouted, "You blind bastard!". Yep, heat of the moment. He ended up boxing me into a lay-by, so I got out and ran down and up the other side of an old railway embankment which is now a very nice cycle path, and he looked across at me and let one of my tyres down and said, "Next time it'll be all four! And for your information, I'm not blind. The blue badge is because I've got mobility issues".

Anyway, long story short, we went for a drink. His name was Duncan. He gave me some very good advice. He said, "If you want to get her interested, go dark. You need to become Mystery Man. Be nice, be pleasant, but don't overshare. Don't be obstructed, nor be candid. Straight down the middle, a nod and a smile rather than a chuckle, or make sure she sees you holding two plane tickets. If she says, 'Oh, are you off somewhere?' just narrow your eyes and look at the horizon. 'You know how it is. Dude's got places to be', then toss your keys in the air - if you can be sure of catching them again, that's crucial - then drive away. Don't put your seatbelt on. Get around the corner, stop in a safe place and quickly put the seatbelt on and then pull away when it is safe to do so". 

But then I used a bit of reverse psychology. She made me feel jealous, surely what I should now do is be making her feel jealous. So I booked a table for a friendly lunch somewhere new, but called ahead and paid a waiter £50 to seat the two of us at the table and once seated, say, "Hello, sir, will it be the oysters again today?". A short sentence that does a lot of work, gets her thinking, 'Hang on, I've never been here before! Who did you come here with?'.

And she said, "I didn't think you ate oysters!", I said, "I don't". "So who have you been eating oysters with? One of your men-friends?". I lost it. I said, "You what? I don't want to watch another man eat oysters, you dirty get!". 

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As I speak to you now, I'm on top of Beacon Hill and I literally, and metaphorically, have a very different perspective on things. What changed? Well, Katrina called yesterday and said, "Gareth's fallen off the scaffolding, can you drive him to hospital?". I said, "Yeah, no problem!". I said to Gareth, "Come on, Spider-Man, in you get!", and helped him into the car.

He'd broken both wrists, so I had to put his belt on for him. His seat belt. And we drove to the hospital with him in the back like a child and he said, "Is this a Range Rover Sport?", I said, "Yep". He said, "Oh, I drive a two-litre Discovery Sport!". I just nodded and said, "Well, if you want family versatility that comes with seven-seat practicality, you could do a lot worse". Well, when he stepped out of the car, I just burst out laughing! Yeah.

Later on, I drove Katrina home and she said, "Are you coming in?". I said, "I thought you were more interested in Action Man". She said, "He's no use to me anymore. I need a man who can use both hands". Well, my ardour rose and my knuckles whitened as I gripped the steering wheel and floored it like a scolded cat! Meow! Meow! That's both of them. 

Suffice to say, I went back to her place, plopped her bum cheeks on the kitchen island and, well, chivalry dictates that I leave the rest to your imagination.

[closing theme music]