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.
