Lynn

partridge (n.)

"type of four-toed Eurasian bird," c. 1300, partrich (late 12c. as a surname, Ailwardus Pertiz), from Old French pertis, alteration of perdis (perhaps influenced by fem. suffix -tris), from Latin perdicem (nominative perdix) "plover, lapwing," from Greek perdix, the Greek partridge, a name probably related to perdesthai "to break wind," in reference to the whirring noise of the bird's wings, from PIE imitative base *perd- "to break wind" (source also of Sanskrit pardate "breaks wind," Lithuanian perdžiu, persti, Russian perdet, Old High German ferzan, Old Norse freta, Middle English farten).

EXT. RADIO STATION/POLICE CORDON – DAY 3 

Lynn tries to walk past the media. 

JOURNALIST 

Lynn? Lynn Benfield, can we have a word? 

LYNN 

Alan doesn’t like me speaking to The Press. 

JOURNALIST 

But we’re not Press, 

We’re Television. 

LYNN 

Well, I’m not really … 

She touches her hair. 

JOURNALIST 

We’ve got hair and make-up. 

Beat. 

LYNN 

Oh. 

INT. RADIO STATION – HOSTAGE ROOM – DAY 3 

Alan is in the hostage room. 

There’s a swagger about him, largely because 

he’s currently on the TV. 

BBC NEWSCASTER 

Back now to Norwich, where DJ Alan Partridge 

continues to bring news … 

ALAN (Playfully) 

Angela? Someone wants a word with you. 

ANGELA Who? 

ALAN 

Him. 

He nods towards the TV, 

but by the time Angela looks round, 

he’s no longer on-screen. 

It’s Kim Jong-un. 

ANGELA 

Why? 

He looks up. 

ALAN 

Oh, shit. 

Alan flicks through dozens and dozens of channels at high speed. The camera stays on his face and his expression goes from contentment to confusion to irritation to mounting concern. Eventually, he finds a channel where he’s on. 

ALAN (CONT’D) 

Him! Look — me, on the TV. Good photo. 

INT. RADIO STATION – DISABLED TOILET – DAY 3 

Alan leads Angela into a disabled toilet, trying to act breezy. 

ALAN 

Yeah, it’s just your basic disabled loo. 

You’ve got your lowered seat pan, back pad, 

hi-vis grab bar, panic cord, lady bin … 

ANGELA 

Alan, calm down, you’re being all hectic. 

This is because you’re on TV, isn’t it? 

You’re all puffed up like a robin. 

ALAN 

It’s like you can see in me … 

ANGELA 

Alan, you didn’t bring me in here to 

talk about disabled toilet facilities, did you? 

ALAN 

Yeah, I did. (Beat) 

No, I didn’t. 

EXT. RADIO STATION – DAY 3 

Lynn emerges from a make-up trailer. 

JOURNALIST 

Oh, wow. Lynn, you look fantastic. 

The journalist hands Lynn a mirror. 

She looks at herself and seems surprised. 

She has volumised hair and colour in her cheeks. 

LYNN 

Good gracious. 

INT. RADIO STATION – DISABLED TOILETS – DAY 3

 Angela and Alan are standing very close to each other. 

ALAN 

You know, I have this mad dream 

where the two of us have a day out 

in the Scottish Highlands. 

And we’re standing on this craggy rock — 

well, more of a rocky crag — 

just staring out majestically 

and roaring into the abyss. 

ANGELA 

Just shouting, ‘Scotland!’ 

ALAN 

Yeah. Or I prefer, ‘The UK!’ 

ANGELA 

And what else did we do? 

ALAN 

We laid on the grass, looking up at the sky, 

pretending to be Scottish people 

and laughing our heads off. 

ANGELA 

We ‘lay’ on the grass. 

ALAN 

No, I was using the past tense. 

Laid on the grass. 

ANGELA 

I know, but ‘lay’ is the intransitive past tense of ‘lie’. 

This sinks in. 

ALAN 

Oh, yeah. Where are you from? The … 

ANGELA 

Ipsw— 

ALAN 

Wait …! The Planet Knockout? 

ANGELA 

Ipswich. 

She moves closer. 

She’s clearly about to kiss him. 

There’s a whistle from his nose. 

ALAN 

I’m sorry about the nasal whistle. 

It’s when I’m anxious.

It whistles again but she puts a finger 

on his nostril to silence it. 

And with her finger still there, she kisses him noisily.

Eventually, he breaks away to speak. 

ALAN (CONT’D) 

Mm. You know ‘Shape — the way you want it to be’?

 ANGELA 

Yes. 

ALAN 

Well, your shape’s the way I want it to be. 

I’m on about your body. 

She looks down at his groin. 

ANGELA 

And what might this be? 

ALAN 

That is my damn todger, and it’s 

all the fault of a certain Miss Angela … 

I’m sorry, I don’t know your second name. 

INT. RADIO STATION – HOSTAGE ROOM – DAY 3 

Jason is watching the TV in the hostage room 

as Lynn gives an interview to camera. 

LYNN 

He’s very brave. He was once feeding ducks in the park. 

One took a peck at him, and instead of retreating 

he hit it with the back of his hand. 

He just rapped its bill. 

Jason looks through, sees Alan in the studio 

and beckons him in. 

JASON 

Hi! 

ALAN 

Hey! 

JASON 

Got time for a quick waah-waah? Alan looks at him blankly. 

JASON (CONT’D) 

A quick waah-waah? 

ALAN Oh, you mean ‘wa-wa’? 

JASON 

Yes. 

ALAN 

Sorry. You just did a different noise. 

JASON 

Look, how are you feeling about this, 

this whole media circus? 

How are you feeling? 

ALAN 

Between you and me, 

pretty puffed up, like … an owl. 

JASON 

Well, let’s hope you’re a wise one. 

ALAN 

Nice. I pitched it up, 

you knocked it out of the park. (Interlocking his fingers) 

Synergy. Oh, no, that’s lesbians. 

JASON 

Let me tell you something, Alan. 

As far as the press is concerned, 

you are the face of this siege. 

ALAN 

I am Siege Face. 

JASON 

Exactly. After this, you’ll get more offers 

than a whore at our Christmas party! 

ALAN 

(Laughing bawdily) I like that! 

JASON 

Yes, you’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you? 

ALAN 

That would be … (Twirls imaginary moustache) 

That’s a moustache. 

JASON 

Seriously, did you give her one? 

ALAN 

Well, I gave her a ruddy big kiss she won’t forget in a hurry.

Hand on the outside of the bra — reconnaissance — 

and then I just held her in my arms, because 

she told me she never knew her mother. 

And I said, ‘Well, my mother raised me 

and lived to a ripe old age, but — guess what? — 

I never really knew her, and …’ 

(Composing himself) To get back on track, yes. Woo! 

JASON 

I like you. 

ALAN (Instantly) 

I like you. 

INT. RADIO STATION – CORRIDOR – DAY 3 

Alan is talking to Lynn on the phone 

as he strides down the corridor. 

Intercut with Lynn at home. 

ALAN 

He likes me, Lynn. 

Jason Tresswell likes me.

LYNN 

Alan, are you okay? 

ALAN 

I’ve got to be quick. 

Pat only thinks I’ve borrowed his phone 

to play Angry Birds on the toilet. 

LYNN 

Of course. What is it? 

ALAN 

It’s a computerised bird-throwing game. 

LYNN 

No, I meant … 

ALAN 

I’m joking, Lynn! Enjoy me. Everyone else is. 

Gordale Media think I’m some sort of Christ 2.0. 

Do you know, I’m within a brair’s headth 

of getting the breakfast show? 

I’m going to call myself 

the morning rooster, 

or the talking cock. 

LYNN 

Alan, you’re not thinking clearly. 

ALAN 

Yes, I am. Lynn, I’ll say this once and I’ll say it again. 

My career is getting a shot in the arm from this siege, 

and if I can stay in here until the bitter end, 

I will be the biggest thing to come out of Norwich 

since Lord Nelson, or Trisha. 

Think about that, Lynn. 

Think about what that means. 

LYNN 

Your first priority should be 

the welfare of the hostages. 

ALAN 

That’s good. Put that out 

as a press release 

and say I said it.

LYNN 

Alan, Your Ego’s getting The Better of you. 

ALAN 

I’ve just got to stay alert and focused. 

I’m playing them like an oboe, Lynn. 

How effed up is that? 

As Alan says this he pushes through a door. 

It closes behind him. 

EXT. RADIO STATION – REAR – DAY 3 

It takes a second to sink in, then he looks at the door. 

It was a fire exit at the back of the building. He’s outside. 

He pulls at the door, trying to get back in. It won’t open. 

ALAN 

Oh. 

Looking around, Alan sees a ground-floor 

bathroom window slightly ajar. 

He climbs over the fire-escape railings 

so he can approach it from above 

and opens the window 

to slide his legs in first. 

He gets his balance wrong, though, 

and ends up jammed in the small opening like a stuck pig. 

Legs inside, body outside, hinging at the waist. 

His belt is caught on the window latch. 

ALAN (CONT’D) 

Not now! Oh, for God’s sake. I’m caught on the latch. 

He accepts that he needs to gets his legs out 

and try again, so he lets his body fall. 

His legs follow, and his trousers 

and underpants start to come off. 

ALAN (CONT’D) 

Come on, please! 

Eventually, his trousers and underpants are off completely. 

He gets up from the floor and reaches for his trousers. 

ARMED POLICEMAN 

Stop! Armed police. Get your hands above your head. 

Alan turns to see an armed officer pointing a gun at him. 

He covers his genitals with one hand 

and tries to grab his trousers with the other. 

ALAN 

I can’t … I’ve just … 

ARMED POLICEMAN 

Get your hands above your head! 

ALAN 

I just want to get those trousers. 

ARMED POLICEMAN 

Do it! Get your hands above your head. Do it! 

ALAN 

They’re my trousers. 

ARMED POLICEMAN 

Get your hands above your head, now. 

Alan hesitates and then puts them up. 

He’s tucked his penis between his legs. 

ARMED POLICEMAN (CONT’D) 

What are you doing? It’s weird. 

ALAN 

There are paparazzi all over the place 

and I do not want them to get 

a photograph of my genitals. 

At that moment, a photographer emerges 

out of nowhere and snaps him from behind. 

ALAN (CONT’D) 

Ah, come on! He turns to glare at the guy. 

PHOTOGRAPHER 

That’s it! Look at me. 

Eventually, the photographer finishes 

snapping him and walks off. 

INT. SCHOOL/POLICE INCIDENT ROOM – DAY 3 

Alan wears paper forensic trousers. 

He is being debriefed by Janet and Martin. 

MARTIN 

And how were the hostages when you left? 

ALAN 

Crouched, brave, big. 

MARTIN 

I mean, what’s their state of mind? 

ALAN 

If I’m honest, a bit moany. 

Is someone writing this down? 

An officer in the corner raises his hand. 

ALAN (CONT’D) 

Oh, sorry. I thought you were some clothes. 

Thanks for the forensic trousers, by the way. 

MARTIN 

Could you just …? 

He signals for him to sit with his legs closed. 

ALAN 

Oh, crikey! Yes, sorry. I was going to fashion 

a sort of makeshift modesty sporran 

from the vacant arm flaps. 

He crams the arm flaps under his buttocks 

to block the view, then looks up. 

JANET 

Okay, I think we’re done here. 

ALAN 

Any chance of freshening up? 

I just need to wipe my face with a big hot towel, 

and presumably you want to use me 

as part of your media strat? 

JANET No. 

ALAN 

Do you agree? 

MARTIN 

Hundred per cent. 

ALAN 

Got you. 

He marches out confidently, to save face. 

INT. ALAN’S LOUNGE – NIGHT 3 

Alan’s sat watching TV, looking despondent. 

On-screen is the rolling news of the siege. Lynn is with him. 

LYNN 

The Police said you could do media interviews 

when the siege is over. 

He stands up and walks across the room. 

ALAN 

It’ll be too late then, Lynn. 

People move on. 

Gordale Media’ll move on. 

LYNN 

But you’re still being talked about. 

ALAN 

Only because every time I look at the telly 

they’re showing a picture of my arse. 

Behind Alan, on TV, Lynn’s face is on-screen. 

Whenever Alan mentions his backside, 

Lynn appears. And vice versa. 

ALAN (CONT’D) 

It’s all right for you. Every other time I look 

they’re showing a picture of your face, 

and then the next time — 

surprise, surprise 

— my arse again. 

LYNN 

I mean, I was only telling people about you. 

ALAN 

You know, I was Gordale’s golden goose 

and now I’m just partridge pie … with peas. 

LYNN 

But why do you want to work for 

people like that? 

Gordale are bullies. 

ALAN 

Yes, and what do you do with a bully, then? 

You make friends with the bully 

so they bully someone else. 

LYNN 

‘What doth it profit a man …’ 

ALAN 

Doth? 

LYNN 

‘… if he gains the whole world yet loses his soul?’ 

Matthew, chapter eight … 

ALAN 

Yes, I know who wrote it. 

I’m not going to sell my soul, Lynn. 

I want to, if you like, lend my soul to Gordale Media 

on a long-term basis for cash. It’s a very different thing. 

It, it, it … 

Unable to think of a point to make, he just stares her out. 

LYNN 

I don’t know how you can look yourself in the eye. 

ALAN 

I can’t, Lynn. My nose is in the way. 

And you can talk, prattling away 

on every news bulletin. 

I mean, Who The Heck 

Do You Think You Are? 

LYNN (Defiantly) 

I’m Lynn Benfield. 

ALAN 

You don’t look like Lynn Benfield. 

I mean, what has happened to you? 

With your attitude and your hair, 

you’ve literally become a big head. 

LYNN 

I like it. 

ALAN 

I take no pleasure in saying this, Lynn, 

but a lot of people think it looks like 

a photograph of an explosion. 

LYNN 

I don’t know if I want to 

work for a man like you. 

ALAN 

I don’t know that I want to employ 

someone who looks like a madam. 

And I don’t mean a Parisian one, 

I mean one who lives in a terraced 

house behind a train station. 

Lynn’s had enough. She storms off, 

leaving Alan alone with his nasal whistle.