Alan Partridge: Nomad

by Alan Partridge

My entire body is a hurt zone, a laser-questing term for when you find yourself diving for cover but then the others find you anyway and jump on you.

As a late-joiner, he has life skills that the rest of the brigade lack. He’s also not picked up their bad habits or addiction to pornography, so he has a totally different approach to fire fighting.

The audience, not expecting to see him on ITV’s flagship channel, would exclaim, ‘Shit, look. It’s Flint!’

Also, because Flint didn’t speak in this scene, we’d be able to secure the actor that day for a discounted rate.

Even though he’s the keyboard player from Yes and they’re just ordinary people who live in Diss.

There, smiling at me, was Edmonds.

In many ways, this was his first Gotcha.

‘You’re a good man, Alan. With a good heart, and a good soul. You’re also smarter than average and can often guess the end of thrillers before they happen.

These cows really don’t mince their words (unlike their bodies).

As one of the first county councils to allow library users to access the internet for free, Norfolk is in a constant state of download, letting in ideas and influences from all over the world, so long as they respect our way of life and don’t expect a free ride at our expense.

The ‘Norwich Phil’ is what we call the Norwich Philharmonic Orchestra. We do that because by saying ‘Phil’ instead of ‘Philharmonic Orchestra’ we save ourselves time. Although by explaining that I’ve now lost time. And I’ll be honest, that’s irritated me.

To my mind, no classical composer can really be considered a success until one of his pieces has been used on an aftershave advert.

we have a very successful campaign group that fights tooth and nail (and plenty of other body parts besides) to keep Norwich more or less free of faceless multinational brands. For those interested in getting involved, meetings take place every Friday morning in the Starbucks on St Stephens Street.

Hear’Say rocker Myleene Klass

as they belted out an instrumental version of ‘Stand and Deliver’, I remember looking around the packed arena and just shouting, ‘CULTURE!!!!’

We’re also good at poetry.

LIONEL GORDON PARTRIDGE WAS my father. In my opinion, he always will be,

although there are some who argue that dads stop being your father once they’re dead.

One of my earliest memories? Standing on a pavement by a parade of shops while my mother attempted to parallel park again and again and again. We ended up shouting directions at the flustered woman, my father and I, until she got it right. I loved him that day.

Like him, I adore sandwiches, although unlike him, I will eat other foods.

a youth TV presenter says ‘could of ’ instead of ‘could have’ and there I am throwing food at the television.

From something serious like the US government’s handling of the Cuban Missile Crisis to something trivial like a black newscaster.

I have prepared my own take on the glucose sachets now favoured by endurance athletes and bin men with particularly long rounds.

How much actual science is involved in being a sports scientist anyway? I mean them no disrespect but they’re PE teachers with laptops.

With top athletes constantly searching for even the most marginal gains, it’s pretty obvious to me that jam, a product not yet on the World Anti-Doping Agency’s list of banned substances, could be of serious interest to Team GB, or to be grammatically accurate, GB’s team.

Within fifteen minutes the jam is no more. All that remains is a mouthful of spent cling film pieces and a nagging sense of self-loathing.

Like the old parlour game of patting your head while rubbing your balls, walking requires a real feat of co-ordination.

as marching songs go, you cannot beat ‘Float On’ by Modest Mouse (a 2004 track I heard at an ice rink), because the singer sounds like Bryan Ferry, whom I know from Tory party fundraisers.

I do suggest that since I’ve only had half a night’s sleep perhaps she’d like to charge me half a night’s rate. She doesn’t go for this idea, but you see the thing is she’s dug her own grave there because later today I’m going to absolutely rinse her on TripAdvisor.

like a fully functioning helicopter I’ll simply rise above that.

and even charities for animals, supported by the growing number of people who haven’t got their priorities right.

the Alvin Weinberg Foundation is the world’s first pro-nuclear charity.

I can’t help but wonder if the environmental brigade have found out what I’m up to and performed a rain dance at Greenpeace HQ , no doubt accompanied by an Enya CD.

Tilbury is home to one of Britain’s largest shipping container terminals, and it would have been a bit weird of me not to take a look.

When walking I often like to pretend I’m a car.

Listen carefully when you cycle past me on a straight bit of road and you’ll most likely hear me making the noise of a family saloon accelerating.

You’d think no one else was doing a walk. Well, they are. Me.

Who walks without shoes on? Who does he think he is, John Lennon from the Beatles?

Within minutes of striding into any office or shop, I was (and am) able to identify failing processes, dream up an attitude matrix, suggest mantras that management must repeat to staff each morning and generally map out a roadpath to collective betterment. And all without the mumbo jumbo you often get from management consultants.

I’d been shown a film called Glen Garryglen Ross – basically a movie version of The Apprentice – and it had increased my toughness by a factor of two.

To put it bluntly – without wanting to attract the ire of mental-health charities – he was a div who went schizo.

Partridge looked her in the eye(s) and then gave her one of the best handshakes she’d ever had.

‘Don’t be a hero, Alan,’ they said. I nodded but they knew I couldn’t promise that.

with the local B&Bs either closed or full or terrible,

I can’t remember the names of the constellations, but I’m pretty sure one’s named after a ride at Alton Towers.

it’s a pleasant surprise to meet a homeless person who isn’t from Glasgow.

I’m touched by his enthusiasm for my canon.

God, this sherry’s good. It’s like sherry trifle but without the trifle.

to a no-homer, bins are like supermarkets. We’re in Gravesend so it’s likely to be more Morrisons than Waitrose, but – and this is lovely writing – beggars literally can’t be choosers.

‘Sleep well, Alan. Swig of sherry?’ ‘Oh, no more drink for me, thanks.’ ‘No, I mean as mouthwash.’ And with that he gargles the celebrated cooking liquor and blasts it from his mouth into a hedge. ‘Na-night.’ What a guy.