Scissored Isle
[ALAN is sitting alone in a video edit suite, paused on the main screen is the incident from Mid Morning Matters preceding "Mental Monday" and ALAN's suspension]
I was interviewing some teenagers and was very much on their level...
ALAN
That was Funky Gibbon by The Goodies to show that we are not averse to a little bit of An-ar-chy!
...but when one of them accused me of bestial filth...
[MARVIN bleats]
ALAN
What was that supposed to mean?.
MARVIN
That you shag sheep!.
...I literally went berserk...
ALAN
"You dick! Calling me a sheep-shagger, I might... I think maybe you're a sheep-shagger! Yeah, magazines under your bed, spooning them with your hot balls pushed up against his woolly back, you're just a bloody chav!" [echoes; chav chav chav chav chav chav]
Watching that footage back that makes me feel pretty crummy. I vowed never to make the same mistake again and yet, in an incident that beggars belief, I made a similar mistake the
following night at a golf club dinner...
following night at a golf club dinner...
ALAN
I was actually chatting with fipe chavs, sorry, sorry, I was chatting with five chaps...
MAN
Fight chavs?
ALAN
Not fight chavs! You come here to get away from the chavs! "Back to your council houses!" [echoes; council houses, council houses, council houses, council houses]
...I knew I was in trouble.
ALAN [leaning to speak to someone sat next to him]
There's a shitstorm coming my way.
In the days that followed, the footage went viral. And while I hope the person who leaked it also goes viral, I'm talking about Ebola, the public response was damning.
[shots of YouTube comments]
Jooools Foy, 1 month ago
so fckin arrogant
Vivian G, 1 month ago
Pejudiced old dinosaur
Lynn Benfield, 1 month ago
Leave him be.
Stelios McVee, 1 month ago
Hateful man
Lynn Benfield, 1 month ago
Leave him alone.
I was labelled ignorant, prejudiced, hateful... and, in a comment that chilled me to the bone, a man who said he'd secretly filmed me taking my trunks off at the David Lloyd Leisure Centre threatened to use it as revenge porn...
Steve Baratheon, 1 month ago
I should cleave him in two with a broadsword, see how he likes that
Lynn Benfield, 1 month ago
Only god can smite him
Caige Fyter, 1 month ago
Got a video of him getting changed. Might stick it online as revenge porn
Lynn Benfield, 1 month ago
what is revenge porn
I found myself upbraided by management, listeners and a North Norfolk Digital producer who doesn't even work on my show. And then my sponsors began to walk. Chaucer's Country Kitchen, gone! NPP Escrow, gone! United Farm & Animal Feed, wanted to reduce fee. It was the lowest point of my career, but was I to blame or society?
Because it seems to me that, in this once 'United' Kingdom, a 'schasm' has formed. A schism or a chasm between the haves and the have-nots, or haven'ts, and that realization has given me the idea for a uniquely insightful documentary format. A journey of redemption to the wrong side of the tracks. Join me as I explore an unreported Britain, inhabited by the very people I had offended and, God-willing, become a better citizen, a better man, and a better, more sought after broadcaster.
ALAN
Welcome to Alan Partridge's Scissored Isle!
[titles]
Good morning, It's 8am, and I'm about to spend a week with people from a very different background from myself. As you can see, I live in pretty salubrious digs. And while the mortgage crippled me, my name is on the deed. I live here, it's my house. Anyway, this is the life I'll be leaving behind.
See ya!
[a Land Rover Defender lurches out of the driveway of Denton House, and off down the road]
So, that's the life I'm leaving behind, but where am I headed? Well, for the next seven days, I'll be living in one of Britain's most deprived areas, the spiritual home of the needy... Manchester.
You only need hear the locals speak to realise that this is an area severely handicapped by poverty. Once a thriving industrial hub, it's today better known for its teeming gay and lesbian scene and, coincidence or otherwise, the recent arrival of the BBC in Salford.
Fortunately, I'm accompanied on this journey by my best friend, a chum with real pedigree! Seldom, a pedigree chum. Although he only eats boiled eggs!
Slightly apprehensive about the week ahead. Had a bit of an up-and-down night. Probably just nerves. Had my usual anxiety dream, stuck in a lift with Diane Abbott.
#dianneabbott
SAT-NAV
Stay right.
ALAN
I am! [snorts incredulously]
From the dawn of the Industrial Revolution to sometime in the late 1970s, Britain was the workshop of the world. For the people of Manchester, employed in cushy jobs, in mills and factories where there was work for Mum, Dad and even the kids...
CHILDREN
Hooray! Factory work!
ALAN
..it must have seemed like the good times would never end. But then... China happened!
Nowadays, the boys from Beijing manufacture everything from knock-off pistols to dildos. And that's hit Britain hard.
So, when the UK's manufacturing sector collapsed like a warm Easter egg, where did all the workers go? Well, today, over a million of them are employed in one of these. It's called a supermarket. It's much more than a place to buy cheese, chops, chocs and cheap chicken. And chicory and chives.
[supermarket]
Hello. Alan Partridge. You must be Paul.
DAVID
Er, it's... It's David.
ALAN
Right.
This was store manager, David Paul.
It really is like an enormous cathedral, isn't it? Where people come to worship shampoo and grapes.
DAVID
That's right, yeah.
ALAN
You don't own the store, do you?
DAVID
No, I'm the manager.
ALAN
The manager, of course. Yeah, absolutely. Yeah. I love the hot flush from the warm air curtain on entry.
[ALAN on the checkouts, scanning eggs for a middle-aged male customer, the conveyor belt laden with a colossal amount of bottled booze]
David had agreed to let me do a shift in store to experience first-hand what it was like to work on the front line of modern retail.
Have you checked your eggs? Yeah, just a bit of chicken shit, but we all follow through now and again, don't we?
Men may take all the top jobs in driving and science, but across the UK, women dominate nearly all forms of till-based employment. But could I, as a man, pass muster? Or scan mustard?
ELDERLY WOMAN
Morning!
ALAN
Do you want to pop your things on the conveyor? Don't worry about that, we're just making a documentary. Pop your things on the conveyor belt? No, not the basket, just the items. No, don't put them on the floor, cos you'll have to keep bending down to pick them up, so just... just pop them back at the end. That's all right. Yeah. But not on the conveyor, at the very end. Okay. Shall we scan your items?
ELDERLY WOMAN
Yes, please.
ALAN
OK. Yeah, well, no, don't bring them to me. I move them forward like this and so just... So, put the beans back. No, not in the basket. Not in the basket. No, don't bring them to me. Just put them on the conveyor. No, back at the end. No, not in the basket. Put the beans down on the conveyor belt. Now get off. No, down! Leave the beans alone! Not in the basket, on the conveyor belt!
DAVID
Alan...
ALAN [frustrated]
She's not listening to me! [to the confused WOMAN] What are you doing?
But as my shift on the tills wore on, I realised something extraordinary. I was absolutely brilliant at scanning. The female side of my brain, long dormant, had somehow been re-triggered. Some said I was scanning even quicker than Tesco-lifer, Pat Bevan. Pat could barely conceal her rage.
[ALAN hammering through items on the conveyor far quicker than the customer can bag them at the other end]
That's £24.40, please, love. Take your time. Take your time. Have a very relaxing weekend. You've got some nice ingredients there. You go careful there, now, my love. You all right packing?
By entering a form of hyper-concentration, I'd achieved the Holy Grail of being able to chat and scan. An almost Zen-like state that would give the Dalai Llama a run for its money.
You all right packing? They call them bags for life, don't they? But I must have two dozen of them in the boot of the car.
MALE CUSTOMER
Looking for self-raising flour?
ALAN [running three conversations at once]
Aisle four, chuck. They should call them bags for the drive home! Sal, price on Tetley's pack of forty? Every time I get to the checkout, I'm like, "Oh, where's me... where's me bags for life?!"
FEMALE CUSTOMER
I heard you were always going out with an old bag!
ALAN
Chance would be a fine thing!
MALE CUSTOMER
What aisle was the flour?
ALAN
Aisle four.
SAL
One nineteen for the Tetley.
ALAN
Thanks, Sal! That's £16.90. You go careful there now, my love. You all right packing?
These ladies enter this state each and every day, displaying the kind of physical and mental dexterity we normally associate with fighter pilots. Checkout women, the people of Britain salute you.
Well, after some initial doubts, I'm impressed with the working conditions here. The store itself is clean and well ventilated, and there seems little chance of workers succumbing to the
kind of chronic lung conditions that blighted the mining communities and made their snot black.
All in all, Tesco's are just better than local shops. But there was one employee who really stuck with me. There was a quiet dignity to this man. Without him, the entire car park would look like a drained canal. And watching him work over the gentle clank of his giant trolley-train made me wonder... Who was he? Where was he from? What were his dreams? What were his fears? What was his name? Of course, I'd never know.
[in his car, lost in a reverie over the trolley collector, before a car horn shakes him to his senses]
All right! Go round! Stupid woman.
I later found out his name was Carl, because there are hundreds of Carls. Not just in supermarkets, but Kwik-Fits, HSS Tool Hires, Greggs. Carls are the backbone of Britain. Carls won us the War. Carls keep us safe. Clothed, tool-hired, Greggsed. Carls... Carls... Carls.
[break]
[driving, with SELDOM in the passenger seat]
ALAN
He's in a bit of a mood because, erm... I've got four Pepperamis in the glove box and, erm...
he knows.
While Seldom's mind turned to the peppery meat rods he craved, mine turned to the man I'd met called Carl.
[a sudden brake, annoying SELDOM]
ALAN [calming SELDOM]5
Sorry, I'm sorry.
While we all owe debts to the Carls of this world, all too often the Carls owe debts to someone else - payday lenders. And for those mired in debt, life can feel an awful lot like this... [drops a tied black bag of SELDOM's faeces into a bin]
For the next leg of my journey, I'd come down to the town of Cheadle to meet a woman who is being circled by loan sharks. Barely afloat on a lilo of debt, it was only a matter of time before one of them used his teeth to pop it. She's agreed to talk to me on condition of anonymity, fearing that being on camera would lead to reprisals from one of the sharks. In this report, her name has been changed.
Shakira, your life has been clattered by debt. Tell us your story.
Shakira's voice has been modified for her own safety.
SHAKIRA [gruff male voice, pixelated face]
I took out the loan to tide me over when I were a bit short. Just temporary, like, to cover bills.
ALAN
Right, so this was essential expenditure. It wasn't as if you were - for want of a better word -spaffing the money on new skirts or shoes?
SHAKIRA
Are you having a laugh? No way! But as soon as I fell behind on the payments, I was screwed, do you know what I mean? It just shows it can affect anyone. I mean, I work. It's not like I go on the...
ALAN
Game...
SHAKIRA
...dole or anything!
ALAN
How do you feel? I mean, because it's just a money thing, isn't it? It's just a money thing.
If you could solve that...
SHAKIRA [her face briefly unpixelated]
Yeah, I know, I feel like it's the only thing holding me back.
ALAN [face pixelated]
Yeah, I think you would soar like an osprey.
SHAKIRA
I think so.
ALAN
I can tell by the expression on your face, which I am fortunate enough to... Um, do you know the phrase, "A face doesn't lie"?
SHAKIRA
No.
ALAN
It's quite a new one. So, how do you feel now about payday lenders?
SHAKIRA
I think they're scum.
ALAN
Mmm. I think they're worse than scum. I think they're... I want to say sludge?
#scum
ALAN
It galls me to think I'm going to have to smudge out that young lady's face. In fact, I can honestly say that hearing her story has made me more angry than at any time since the 9/11 debacle. That's why I've come here to confront the man who owns the company that has shat all over her life.
And like so many of history's most famous moneylenders - from Shylock, to those guys in the temple when Jesus went bananas - "GET OUT!" - this one also turned out to be a man. Kevin Ruddock, founder of First Person Finance.
First Person Finance declined our request for an interview, so I've come here to Mr Ruddock's
comfortable pebble-dashed suburban home to see if we can get some answers.
[KEVIN emerges from his front door and is faced by a man at the end of his drive holding a boom mic]
ALAN
Kevin Ruddock, First Person Finance?
KEVIN
What is this?
ALAN
Alan Partridge, Pear Tree Productions. Do you think it's right that you charge customers extortionate rates of interest? Why do you charge your customers extortionate rates of interest, Kevin? Why are you walking away, Kevin? I'm sure your customers would like to know why you're walking away. I'm sure your customers would like to know why you're walking past these trees, sort of looking over there for no reason. Hmm? Why do you charge extortionate rates of interest? It's a simple question, Kevin! You can answer a simple question, you're a big boy, you eat your greens. Eh? You... You... You... You... You tie your own shoelaces, don't you, Kevin? You eat your crusts. Answer the question. You wipe your own bum. Have you always been flat-footed, Kevin? You sound like you're slapping the pavement with two pieces of ham.
[KEVIN gets in his car]
You stink of toothpaste, by the way. Have you just brushed your teeth? You've got a clean mouth, why don't you use it? Why do you charge your customers extortionate rates of interest?
[KEVIN attempts to drive off but ALAN opens the boot, causing his to stop and get out again]
Why? Eh? Kevin? Why are your cheeks so big?
KEVIN
Get off my car.
ALAN
Is that where you store your money? Are you a coin squirrel, Kevin? Why do you look like a sad teddy? Why do you look like a sad teddy in a suit?
KEVIN
Not very good at this, are you?
ALAN
What?!
KEVIN
I think you should just stick to radio.
ALAN
What? Do you... When have you heard my radio show?
KEVIN
I listen to it every morning, mate.
ALAN
It's only on in the Norfolk area.
KEVIN
I've got a DAB.
ALAN
Right. All right, then, what's your favourite bloody bit then?
KEVIN
Lunchtime Lunatics.
ALAN
Yeah, that's mine. It's my idea. [sighs] Look... er, Kev... in. Just go easy on your rates of
interest, Okay?
KEVIN
Okay.
ALAN
You know, I get it, you've got a business to run, bills to pay, customers to keep happy. I'm the same, I run a business, so I understand the... the pressures. But, you know, if you can, go easy on your rates of interest. If you can.
KEVIN
I'll take a look at it.
ALAN
Cheers.
[ALAN pats the car roof, and KEVIN drives off]
I was now two days into my journey of redemption and Seldom was taking me on a long country walk. One of his little eccentricities is that if you look him in the eye, he'll attack you. And as I stopped to explain this to a leggy stranger, something dawned on me - Seldom wasn't the only thing I was avoiding eye contact with...
[driving a classic, open-topped Bullnose Morris into the expansive grounds of a stately home]
I'd left the grim desperation of Manchester and headed here to Hallgarth Hall, in the little-known county of Lancashire, to sample the fragrant musk of old money. For I have realised something, how could I ever hope to understand the lives of the have-nots if I didn't first understand the lives of the haves? Or should I say Havants?
[meeting him at the door is JAMES HAVANT-BROWN. In his caption, the name 'Havant' flashes]
Built in centuries gone by, even before Hitler was a little baby, it's the kind of home which would make Julian Fellowes cream himself. Hallgarth Hall.
[walking the grounds]
ALAN
Ah, this really is a magical realm. Half expect a wood-nymph or a fawn to appear.
JAMES
Oh, a baby deer?
ALAN
No, no, no, the mythical creature. It's the mind and face of a man grafted to the limbs of a goat. Well, it sounds awful but apparently it's Narnia, so...
JAMES
Oh. Next time I'm in a wardrobe, I'll ask the lion and the witch if they've seen one.
ALAN
Ha-ha-ha! That's brilliant. Quite brilliant. Erm... But you remind me of a... a super, rich guy
I'm quite friendly with. I don't mean he's super-rich. I mean he's just a super, rich guy.
But then, a lot of them are. Now, you're a member of the Countryside Alliance, aren't you?
JAMES
Indeed, I am.
ALAN
Yeah, me, too. I don't have my membership on me, but I stand shoulder to shoulder
with our countryside cousins. Or brothers. Although, in remote areas, they're often the same thing, and that's the tragedy.
JAMES
Do you think that sort of thing still goes on?
ALAN
Nooo! Now, let's talk about poverty, because a lot of people - petty people, bitter people, people who vote for the red team - say that poverty is the fault of the wealthy. Now, thick or not, that must rankle.
JAMES
Well, I can understand it. I can't pretend that I haven't been given certain advantages. Almost everything that you can see now, I inherited from my father.
ALAN
I once inherited a clock, beats buying 'em!
JAMES
But with those advantages come certain responsibilities.
ALAN
Mmm.
JAMES
The concept of noblesse oblige.
ALAN
Yeah. Oui, magnifique.
I knew exactly what he meant. Like James, I'm not short of a bob or two and I feel I have a duty to use my wealth and status to help people less fortunate, such as emceeing an annual charity gala for violent children, sponsored by Taylors of Harrogate.
I've just found a Malteser in my waistcoat pocket. Bit weird. I hired this.
[ALAN pops the Malteser in his mouth]
[entrance hall]
ALAN
Beautiful embroidery. This chap up here, erm... bears a striking resemblance to how I imagine the father of Bryan May would look. She's gorgeous.
JAMES
Yeah, that is Lord Sebastien.
ALAN
Yeah, no, he's, erm... [pause] He's still pretty. Thank you for this time together.
[drawing room]
JAMES
Of course, you don't own a house like this, you're a custodian.
ALAN
What a good attitude!
JAMES
Which is why the house is open to the public.
ALAN
Mmm. I'm amazed you do that.
JAMES
Well, of course, there are certain subsidies.
ALAN
Right. Gotcha. Yeah, trouser it, mate.
JAMES
And you can't let them run amok. Equally, we have 50 staff here who rely on the estate for
their livelihood, and I'm a great believer in rewarding hard work.
ALAN
Hmm, you can incentivise people, I think, too much. Before you know it, you've got a live-wire on your hands who's suggesting the workers get "organised". Give me a break.
JAMES
Well, no, we like them lively!
ALAN
Yeah, but do... do keep an eye on it, Lord James. I once had a gardener and a cleaner who came on the same day and I saw them talking one afternoon and I thought, "Hmm." So, I just... I just gently eased them into a staggered arrangement.
JAMES
Would you like to see the estate?
ALAN
Oh, God, yeah!
JAMES
What would you like to see?
ALAN
Oh, erm... orangery and the herb garden, please!
JAMES
Well, come this way.
ALAN
I must thank you again for making me feel so at home.
JAMES
Oh!
ALAN
It's amazing, isn't it, that you've got this big house and yet people give you money!
JAMES
Please don't touch that.
ALAN
No, God, I would... I never touch doors in stately homes. Even to open them. I just stand and wait.
[countryside, walking SELDOM]
Before I left, there was just time for Seldom and I to explore the estate.
[exiting a field of sheep, closing the gate behind him and releasing SELDOM from his leash]
Good dog. Come here. Well, watching that shepherd corral his sheep into the pen put me in mind of another chap I met earlier who wrangled a different kind of flock - one made of metal and wheels. His name was Carl. For what is a trolleyman but a shepherd of the town? Could it be that, despite our vastly different backgrounds, we aren't so very different after all,
and that what binds us together is so much stronger than what sets us apart?
[SELDOM barks, ALAN anxiously glances over]
Right, he's through the fence. Seldom! Seldom! Seldom! Oh, fuck, he's got one!
[break]
[driving, with SELDOM]
The next day, I headed back to Manchester.
ALAN [to SELDOM]
Seldom, have you let off?
I wanted to make contact with another unreported group...
Oh, you dirty bastard!
...a demographic pandered to but forever claiming victimhood, like young mums in a coffee shop....
It's making my eyes are water!
...I'm talking about youths.
Acidic!
But these are no ordinary youths, keen on Duke of Edinburgh awards and family barbecues - these are gnarled inner-city youths, lawless men and women who make up Britain's street gangs, and I want to speak with them. Yet arranging a hook-up wasn't going to be easy. They're notoriously flighty and deeply suspicious of outsiders. From my operation's nerve centre ten feet below street level...
#reconstruction
...I fire off calls, texts, e-mails and snap-cats, trying to find a gang prepared to talk. But I come up against dead ends, cold leads and rude idiots.
Eventually, through an intermediary, I made contact with a gang from inner Manchester and, with a little persuasion, they agreed to meet.
[shot of ALAN's phone, a text saying "Rendezvous Chicken Cottage NO GUNS!"]
It's 7pm, I'm wearing a stab vest and I've just spotted the gang. So, here goes. Guys!
[freeze-frame of ALAN approaching the gang; caption:
GANG FACTSName: NoneManor: Ancoats Library / Chicken CottageMembers: 5Special skills: Fast textingOther info: None]
A gesture of goodwill. It's some... two hundred cigarettes, unused, mainly Marlboro, a couple of dozen Mayfair, some Lambert and Butler and ten chocolate cigarettes because I believe one of you is under 16.
Keep them cigs coming, then...
Don't worry, you'll get more than that! I'll get you cigs and I'll get you booze...
Giving them that big bag of fags had bought me some time, but I was still wary. Life is cheap on the sink estates of Manchester, and, with a rap sheet that included bicycle theft, fighting, loud ball sports and backchat to constables, this wasn't a crew to be messed with.
...It was a film a few years ago with Kevin Costner.
One wrong move from me and things could turn seriously ugly.
He's a pretty respected actor.
They agreed to let me hang out with them and, after strolling up and down this road so we could film them walking in slow motion, the group splintered. Gavin went to buy oven chips. Was McCain a nod to cocaine? The gang wouldn't say. I knew they didn't trust me. What I needed was an act of kinship, something that would show that I had genuine street cred. I went for broke.
[ALAN performs a 90° handbrake turn]
Did you like that?
GANG MEMBER
Where did you learn to do that, you?
ALAN
A wet car park in Kent. Did you like that? Did you like it? Yeah? Shall I do a J-turn?
GANG MEMBER
What?
ALAN
I'll do a J-turn. It's a 180 in reverse.
It was one of the sickest handbrake turns I'd ever pulled off in a hot hatch. They agreed to share their experiences with me.
[ALAN and the gang sat on benches, passing a basketball to each other between each response]
ALAN
So, Jack, it must be pretty tough growing up in the inner city as a young person, is it?
JACK
Yeah, it is.
I was using a technique called 'Speak Ball'.
ALAN
Can you elaborate?
GANG MEMBER #2
Basically...
ALAN
Right, you can only speak when you're holding the speak ball. Do you understand?
GANG MEMBER #2
Yeah.
ALAN
Do you?
JACK
Yeah.
ALAN
Do you?
GANG MEMBER #4
What was the question?
ALAN
Do you... No.
GANG MEMBER #3
Do you understand that you can only speak when you're holding the basketball?
ALAN
It's called the Speak Ball...
Speak ball is an American counselling technique I'd used on my own son when he went through a phase of throwing chairs at his teacher, to which I later bought the global rights in perpetuity. It was also something I'd incorporated into Forward Solutions, the life-coaching programme devised in the '90s for weak people and dysfunctional sales teams.
Where're you going?
The genius of the idea lies in its combination of order and fun. Speak Ball. An Alan Partridge brand.
Thanks a lot, guys. Well done. Well, we're getting on great now and I think the Alan Partridge Speak Ball system has demonstrated itself as an innovative and effective...
[The Speak Ball hits his head, GANG laughs]
...effective way to... effective way to connect and shows that... that if you give these lads a chance, they will open up.
Despite suffering a badly squashed ear, 'I was actually delighted they'd thrown the b-ball at me. It was exactly the kind of friendly hijinks that proved I was now on the inside. I was even allowed to join their smoking circle.
[the GANG and ALAN are leaning up against a fence, smoking]
Where's Baz?
GANG MEMBER #5
He's at his gran's.
[inside at a house party, various youths drink and smoke but it's pretty well-behaved]
ALAN [to various people, on his way to get a bottle of beer]
How are you doing? All right? All right? Yeah, not bad.
A gangland house party, and proof I'd been accepted as one of their own. This was, nevertheless, a tinderbox of underage booze, suspicious glances and fear of outsiders. But I managed to blend in by stooping slightly and saying 'All right?' instead of 'Hello'.
This is an ecstasy pellet. The guys here tell me these change hands for £120 each, although they sold me this one at a mates' rate of just seventy. It's chilling to think how easily these can fall into the wrong hands - not to mention, a teenage tummy. I'll be disposing of this on my next toilet visit.
Because so-called recreational drugs have blighted the lives of junkie teenagers for years - from Aled Jones to Zammo, to my assistant's nephew, Tim Benfield. And so, dispose of it I did, but not before checking it was legit by nibbling a corner off like television detectives do. And whilst this did give me a mild high during which I felt a bit hot and couldn't stop talking about Lewis Hamilton, it was nothing I couldn't handle, and I have no regrets about nibbling it whatsoever....
ALAN [in the back seat of a crowded car, wearing only his vest on his top half]
Where are we going now?
In actual fact, I enjoyed a perfectly pleasant evening meeting new friends, chatting amiably, and I was still on the dance floor at eight o'clock the next morning.
[Manchester Town Hall]
At ten o'clock, I had a meeting with the mayor, which gave me just enough time for a sink wash and an egg baguette, after which I was back to my old self and ready to get some answers.
ALAN [MDMA comedown; lacking in energy, sipping from a bottle of water]
What do you think... Sorry. Do you think there's a growing divide between the haves and the have-nots?
MAYOR
Well, life for the poorest sections of society is incredibly tough. The challenge for us as a council is to tackle these problems at a time when our budgets have been cut by central government and we're unable to raise council tax.
ALAN [struggling]
Mmm. Erm... and... er...
ALAN [dubbed over]
What can you tell me about your plan to boost inward investment in the area?
MAYOR
Well, our main aim for Manchester in the next few years is the economy, stupid. That's a Bill Clinton quote, by the way. I didn't mean you, Alan!
ALAN [dubbed over]
Ha ha ha ha! Lovely.
MAYOR
We believe that over the next five years we can bring in over 500 million of inward investment to the area.
ALAN [dubbed over]
Right, which I think I'm right in saying will make Manchester the leading recipient of inward
investment of any major... [pause to drink water] ...city in the G8. Lady Mayor, thank you
for speaking to me.
MAYOR
It's my pleasure.
ALAN [dubbed over, trying to lip-sync]
Ha! Mmm.
ALAN [in the room, whispered]
I'm so cold.
[driving, with SELDOM]
I'd enjoyed sparring with the Lady Lord Mayor, despite having a minor cold. But it was time to move on and tackle another of the challenges facing underprivileged people in Britain today.
We've all got our favourite kind of bank, high street, investment, sand and sperm. But who's heard of a food bank?
[SELDOM barks]
What's a food bank? Well, it's free food... for poor people.
And while the idea of getting free food sounds superb, we only have to think back to how we all picked on the boy who got free school dinners to realise it's more complicated than that because, for the people on the receiving end, it can be a demeaning experience. But what if there was another way?
[walking up to a middle-class detached home to meet JOEL MAIDMENT. I mean, there's no boot-scraper outside but he's clearly reasonably well-off]
Joel Maidment is what is known as a freegan. And while that may sound like a type of Irishman, it's actually a term for someone who finds and eats food thrown away by supermarkets.
[sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea]
ALAN
Now, when most people picture the kind of person who rummages through bins for food,
they imagine a certain type. Someone who's fallen through the cracks in society. And yet, this is not the kitchen of a tramp! This is rather lovely.
JOEL MAIDMENT
Thank you.
ALAN
And whilst nothing in here is brand-new, that's also sort of part of your philosophy, isn't it? I noticed when I came in, for example, your TV is fairly old, quite small.
JOEL
Oh, well, we don't watch much TV.
ALAN
Yeah, I sometimes say that. Point is, you're comfortably off.
JOEL
Yes, I guess - my wife's a lecturer.
ALAN
Aren't they all?! Erm... but you are a freegan. You scavenge for free food.
JOEL
Correct. Erm, yeah, freegans try and live off what other people throw away. It's an ethical decision to prevent waste.
ALAN
So, you make good use of the things that you find. The things that we, every day, throw...
leave behind. You're a Womble!
[snorts happily and offers to shake JOEL's hand]
JOEL
Erm, well, in Britain, we throw away six million tonnes of food every year, and much of it is in very good condition, so, I think as a society, we should feel ashamed of that.
ALAN
I'm just as guilty. I'm just... I, er... There's a burger van on the A47. I always order the half pounder, erm... But do I get through the second patty?
JOEL [realising the question wasn't rhetorical]
No?
ALAN
No. I just... You know, fist it into a discarded coffee beaker and pop it in the canal.
JOEL
Well, I think, erm...
ALAN
So, you would eat anything within reason?
JOEL
Within reason.
ALAN
For example, an egg mayonnaise sandwich still in its wrapping.
JOEL
Mm-hmm. Yeah, if it's still in its wrapping, I'd eat that.
ALAN
Okay. A plastic bottle of Irn Bru, but the top's been chewed...
JOEL
Yes.
ALAN
...by a rat.
JOEL
If the seal hasn't been broken, I would drink that.
ALAN
An egg in a sock.
JOEL
Yes, I mean, if food looks good, it generally is good.
ALAN
Okay, an egg still in its shell, looks fine, but it's from the '90s!
JOEL
I... Well, maybe.
ALAN
Erm... A... condom full of grapes?
JOEL
Yes.
ALAN
You need to sort yourself out, mate.
[extreme close-up of ALAN's face, from a camera mounted onto a skate helmet]
ALAN
Well, it's one of the coldest nights of the year and I'm about to go on a scavenge with Joel. I'm wearing a head-mounted GoPro camera, exactly the same sort worn by US Navy Seals when they assassinated Osama bin Laden, and I'm hoping to find a bin, laden with food! Let's freegan!
JOEL
This skip here is just jam-packed with food.
ALAN
Right. Sounds like a garage, full of food, isn't it? Actually reminds me of Moira Stewart's garage, hers was full of snacks during a low point in her life. She survived for a year on Quavers, Cheetos and Pringles.
JOEL
Really?
ALAN
Yeah, she got scurvy. Actually, she told me that in confidence. So...
JOEL
Oh, it's... I won't say anything. So, yeah, go... That ladder there, go up there. You can get into... it's basically self-sufficiency, isn't it?
Yeah.
JOEL
You know, it's like they say, give a man a fish, he eats for a day, give him a fishing rod...
ALAN
Yeah, he'll probably come back the next day, saying, "You know that fishing rod you gave
me?", "Go on", "Can I have another?" [sigh] "What happened to the one I gave you?", "Oh, I sold it", "Let me guess, to buy some skag", "No, to buy some fish, I was hungry", "Did it not occur to you that you could have used the fishing rod to catch some fish?", "Oh, I haven't got a permit and I don't know how to get one!", "Google it!".
JOEL
When did this happen?
Hmm? Oh, it didn't, it's just... a generic, annoying man who lives inside my mind. A head squatter. I don't mean a dominatrix.
SECURITY GUARD [distant]
Hey!
JOEL
Oh, shit! [he runs off]
ALAN
Wait! Where you going? I thought we were allowed!
[JOEL escpaes, leaving ALAN to run into the warehouse and hide behind a stack of pallets]
[whispering] I think the noise you can hear out there was a security guard. Whilst technically we weren't breaking the law by being out there, security guards tend to have a bit of a chip on their shoulder... and no qualifications. That's quite a combination. Oh, my God. I think I can
hear them locking the doors. Shit. Come on, come on. Come on... Come on! Hello! Come on, please!
As I pummel the shutter, I catch sight of a figure through a crack in the corrugated door.
I can see someone out there. Hello? Man! He's not responding. Chav! I'm deliberately trying to rile him, get him to respond that way. Chav man! Fat boy! You! Stop just standing there!
I was later to discover that the figure I'd seen 'was nothing more than a cardboard cut-out of a Nolan sister holding some Activia.
I'll report you!
I am trapped.
[break]
I'm locked in a warehouse because a man who goes on about ethics deserted me to save himself. Funny old world. He could find a banquet in a bin bag, but couldn't find real balls in his own ballbag.
[heavy breathing, a white caption on a black background goes from 22:59 to 23:00]
It was now three hours since my last meal, and while Joel the freegan was probably tucking into chicken soup, chicken pie and lily-livered pâté - the man was a coward - I was becoming dangerously hungry.
Now, normally I...I carry a Snickers bar concealed in my bicep pocket. Some people think that water is more important, wrong. Bear Grylls, Christian hard man, told me that you can always drink your own urine. But when you're hungry, you want to eat a Snickers.
Unfortunately, my bad assistant has washed the fleece without checking for contents, and the pocket now contains a flaky chocolate brick and handfuls of nut dust. Then, a brainwave. Special forces are trained to think outside of the box, if I could get some of this food outside of the box - or its box - I could survive. I struck gold with what I can only describe as a cross section of an egg and ham slice.
...I can only describe as a kind of a CAT scan of a square Scotch egg. And I know that if I eat two of those, and four Wagon Wheels...
Looking back, I can see that the GoPro's fish-eye lens has made me look grotesque. Put this image on my Tinder profile, and it will be a barren few months indeed.
[picture of Alan in the Midmorning Matters NND studio wearing a black polo-neck sweater, black chinos and a cerise blazer]
This is the picture I use on Tinder.
[heavy breathing, a white caption on a black background goes from 02:59 to 03:00]
Being here is unsettling. I am gripped by a lonely introspection. Like Andrew Neil on the train or an elephant at Chester Zoo.
In the '80s, I once climbed onto the roof of a bus shelter to rescue a cuddly lion I'd won
for Carol at a funfair, some boys had thrown it up there. This was when I was still married to her. [pauses wistfully] Felt like I could do anything when I was married to Carol.
But danger is looming, because, like Carol, the warehouse had grown incredibly cold and unloving.
It's absolutely freezing in here. I've not been this cold since I had to dial 999 after I did the ice-bucket challenge.
I begin to panic, running up and down in a futile attempt to keep warm. My extremities are now stinging. Unless I find a way to warm up soon, I'll be dead by morning, just another one of the ghosts that haunt the aisles and corridors of this facility... like the one I witnessed when watching back CCTV footage from the warehouse cameras. What was this glowing figure, this strange, spectral form? It took me a full ten seconds before I remembered that it was me. In my desperation to keep warm, I'd used packing material and box tape to fashion what most people would describe as a classic bubble-wrap double gown and cowl.
[ALAN wrapped in so much thick bubble-wrap he looks like a white plastic Jabba The Hutt with an ALAN face]
Well, I'm warm as toast. Unfortunately, I look like the bastard love child of a bubble-wrapped Honey Monster and some sort of demented Scottish Widow. Horrific thought! A Honey Monster, forcing himself on a Scottish widow. She's been through enough.
#honeywidow
The lovely bubbly warmth is just the fillip I need in the minutes before the warehouse is due to open. Unfortunately, it turns out their warehouse is closed at weekends, and it is to be another 51 hours before I am discovered, by which time, my mental state has become fragile.
SECURITY GUARD
What are you doing?
ALAN
I'm not a weird thief! Ceasefire, ceasefire!
SECURITY GUARD
It's the bubble wrap!
ALAN
Ceasefire! Hold your fire!
SECURITY GUARD
It's the noise of the bubble wrap!
ALAN
Oh, yeah.
SECURITY GUARD
What have you done with your fucking clothes?
ALAN
They're folded up over there.
[break]
[back on the road with SELDOM]
ALAN
I genuinely feel I've emerged a changed man, and one who's undergone a conversion every bit as dramatic as St. Paul on the road to Damascus, and a good deal safer. Try to convert to Christianity on the roads of modern-day Syria and you'll be bundled into a car by the bad bastards of Isis, forced to read a prepared statement on YouTube, and then beheaded by a ten-year-old. Unspeakable men. And a horrible boy.
[in a studio, a woman applies make-up]
It was time for me to become a better man, starting with an apology I should have made some time ago to the very person who'd started me off on this journey - the chap I'd so grossly offended, Marvin. Twas time to make amends.
[having a mic clipped on, a studio floodlight illuminates]
So, I've prepared a statement that I will be reading to...
CREW [off]
Marvin.
ALAN
...Marvin, to make sure that the apology is unequivocal... ensure that...that happens. "I, Alan Partridge, of sound mind, do humbly state that I am sorry if you felt offended, or were offended. I was under a lot of pressure at the time because the woman I loved had decided she no longer felt similarly towards me. Nevertheless, I was wrong to imply that you have feelings for sheep, or, if you do, that you give physical expression to those feelings through ovine congress. I also regret shoving you in the car park" - that was another thing that happened - "And calling you a chav, a horrible, pejorative term that should be confined to the museum
of no-longer-acceptable-words like strumpet, nancy-boy or Paki"... Paki or Chinky?
CREW [off]
Paki.
ALAN
Paki. Thank you. "I apologise unreservedly. Equally, I'm sure that there are a number of things about that day that you'd like to reflect on, too". At that point, as a peace offering, I'll offer to take him to Chapelfield Shopping Centre for a fizzy drink and a sandwich. Do kids still drink sandwiches? Erm, eat...fizzy drinks? Well?
[ALAN waits in the assembled one-to-one meeting set, alone]
Well, unfortunately, Marvin was a no-show, which is a shame, but I wanted to have my say, so I texted him my statement/apology and he has responded with an emoji of a sheep. If you can see that, there. Hard to know what that means. If it's a humorous comment, fine. If it's a rehashing of his original sheep-shagging comment, then I shan't dignify it with a response, in much the same way that David Cameron deftly swatted away those rather scurrilous rumours. I don't know if you remember, there was a suggestion that David put his cock in a pig's mouth, which in any case should be seen in the context of his many great achievements, such as tax breaks for big business. One in the eye for the taxman. Although there is no suggestion that he... he put it there.
Well, I may not be able to set the record straight with Marvin, but just because one disadvantaged teenager wanted to act the prick, it didn't mean I couldn't reach out to others. And I knew exactly who to call. Their names were Gavin, Mark, Riley, Darren and another Gavin.
[emerging at the crest of a hill followed by the GANG MEMBERS from earlier]
ALAN
Come on, lads! Darren. Put your high-vis on, mate.
DARREN
This ain't Venture Scouts, man.
ALAN
I know, but it's...it's insurance reasons, come on.
DARREN
Why do you want me looking like a melon for, though?
ALAN
We've been through this.
Yes, in their own, sullen way, I sensed that these boys had never felt more alive.
ALAN
Who's for a swig of Bovril?
GAVIN
What's that?
ALAN
Bovril? Basically, beef tea. [drinks from the cap of a Thermos flask] Aah! Do you like hot salt drinks?
We stomped up hills and scrambled across scree, and the only brain-altering highs they were allowed this time were the kind of geological facts that would give them flashbacks for the rest of their lives.
Those rock formations, up there, were formed from the fossilised shells of dead sea creatures. So, if you think about it, the entire Peak District is one enormous scampi graveyard! Pretty cool, yeah? Come on, let's take a closer look.
I don't believe in reincarnation, but if I have had a previous life, it would probably be as one of Britain's leading geography teachers. If you'd have suggested that, after making this documentary, my life would have been put into perspective by five teenagers from Manchester, I would have pushed you into some bushes. And yet, here we are. Because, while these lads weren't going to win any awards for Greek or Latin, they'd get an A+ if there was a BTEC in fun.
[the boys, holding ALAN's arms and legs swing him off a pier into the water, the picture freezing mid-flight]
And as I hurtled through the air, feeling calm and relaxed, I found myself looking back on what had been, by any measure, an incredible journey. And whilst you're not going to convince everyone, it was clear I'd achieved genuine redemption.
[picture unfreezes and ALAN goes into the water, only to emerge triumphantly, the boys on the pier laugh and then the film reverses]
I was cleansed, absolved... perhaps even at peace. Could this be the time to sink back into the deep, dark depths of obscurity? To bow out, gracefully? Or maybe, just maybe, the time to emerge renewed, reborn, resurrected... not just a better man, but a better, more sought-after broadcaster?
A woman I know who's a Baptist wept when she saw these pictures, as I suspect many of you are now. All that remains is for me to bid you a fond farewell. For I must go now back to my flock, certain to be welcomed with open arms by listeners, YouTube commentators and sponsors alike. Goodbye. Or should I say, au revoir?
Goodbye.
[credits roll, Smells Like Teen Spirit performed by The Flying Pickets]
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