I'm Alan Partridge

Alan Partridge:
You work in a petrol station Michael. It's not the Gulf War. Which ironically is like a large petrol station.

Alan Partridge:
Back of the net!

Alan Partridge:
Kiss my face!

[Inspecting the bathroom in a house he wishes to purchase]

Alan Partridge:
You know what this room says to me? Aqua. Which is French for water. It's like being inside an enormous Fox's Glacier Mint, which again, to me, is a bonus.

Alan Partridge:
[expanding a dining table] Yes, it's an extender! Fantastic. That is the icing on the cake. You know, if King Arthur had an extender on his table.

Estate Agent:
Would have been a different story, really.

Alan Partridge:
Well, it wouldn't have been round.

[Alan is driving his Rover 800, using a hands-free phone headset]

Alan Partridge:
Lynn, message from Alan. Something to pitch to Tony Hayers at BBC lunch, Friday. Idea for film extravaganza. Plot, thus: Malcolm McDowell is trapped in the future. He's being pursued by a cyberpunk from the past, played by Rutger Hauer. Erm, terrible idea. No one will watch that. I've not thought it through, Lynn. I'll call you back.

[Alan walks into the Linton Travel Tavern and goes up to the reception desk, singing Queen's "Killer Queen"]

Alan Partridge:
[singing] Guaranteed to blow your mind!

Susan:
[With a sunny smile] Good morning, Alan, how are you today?

Alan Partridge:
Classic Queen! I'm very well, thank you, how are you?

Susan:
I'm fine.

Alan Partridge:
I like the, uh, I like those earrings. Are they gold?

Susan:
Yes, they're rose gold.

Alan Partridge:
Well, that's not really gold, is it? But, er, they're very nice. Like little tears, little wax tears dripping from your ears because they're sad. Don't cry, ears, you're on the side of a lovely head!

Alan Partridge:
Right, well, I'm afraid, Susan, I've got some very bad news.

Susan:
Oh?

Alan Partridge:
I'm leaving you, you cow! [Susan looks bemused and slightly scared. There is an awkward pause] Sorry, bit of a joke there. Backfired. No, I'm basically saying I'm going to be checking out at the end of the week.

Michael:
Morning, Mr Partridge.

Alan Partridge:
Yeah, Michael, I was just saying to Susan, bit of a job for you, unfortunately some vandals have sworn all over my car again.

Michael:
[Very thick Geordie accent] Vandals, eh, Mr Partridge? Y'know, makes yeh wonder what it's all aboot.

Alan Partridge:
[Confused] Aboot?

Michael:
Aye. Y'know, vandals, y'know? What is it all aboot?

Alan Partridge:
Oh, about. Sorry, sometimes it's difficult to understand the Geordie... people.

Michael:
[Speaking too quickly] Ye knaw, what ah reckon is that, if they had the'selves proper jobs, they wouldn't be up to all this, y'know, larkin' every night.

Alan Partridge:
What?

Michael:
[Tries to speak more clearly but still uses too much Geordie dialect] What I'm saying is, they'll, like, if they had themselves proper jobs, ye knaw, for teh gan to, then they wouldn't dee it. Y'know, a lot a' them's from broken hawmes.

Alan Partridge:
Sorry, Michael, that was just a noise. All I got there was "broken homes". And a broken home is not an excuse for evil. You, look at you, do you, uh... go around drawing, I don't know, peephole bras on the wall?

Michael:
Aye. But it was different for me, like, cos, you know, ah was in the army when I was seventeen.

Alan Partridge:
[Stepping into the lift] Well, there you go. They taught you a trade. Minor repairs.

Michael:
Aye. That and killin'.

[Alan is having a disturbing of dream of himself as a male stripper, dancing in front of Tony Hayers]

Alan Partridge:
Would you like me to lap dance for you?

[Tony offers a bank note]

Alan Partridge:
[Dismissively] Uh-uh. I want a second series.

Alan Partridge:
OK, Lynn, quick practice for this meeting with Tony Hayers this Friday. So, iou be Tony Hayers. Hello, Tony. How are you?

Lynn:
I'm fine. How are you?

Alan Partridge:
Um... Oh, very busy. I've been working like a Japanese prisoner of war. But a happy one.

Lynn:
Good. Would you like a second series of your chat show?

Alan Partridge:
I think he'll be a bit tougher than that, Lynn.

Lynn:
We might give you a second series.

Alan Partridge:
That's about right. OK, uh... small-talk. Would you like a Cuban cigar, Tony?

Lynn:
Oh, yes please.

Alan Partridge:
Rolled on the thighs of a virgin.

[Taken aback, Lynn looks uncomfortable and doesn't say anything]

Alan Partridge:
I'm being bawdy, Lynn. Enjoy it.

[Alan is being shown around a new house]

Estate Agent:
Living room.

Alan Partridge:
Oh, I like this. Yes. Certainly enough room to swing a cat in here, isn't there?

Estate Agent:
Could swing a tiger in here, really!

Alan Partridge:
You could, couldn't you, yes. Wouldn't want to, though. Not unless it had been stunned. Even then it's going to weigh the best part of a ton.

Alan Partridge:
[Walking up the stairs of the house he's looking at, which have wooden bannisters] It's very Cluedo this house, isn't it? Colonel Mustard in the ensuite bathroom with the lead pipe. Battered.

Alan Partridge:
I do like that toilet. It's very futuristic, isn't it? Very, sort of, high-tech, space age. I can imagine Buck Rogers taking a dump on that. In the twenty-first century. Mind if I... have a go?

Estate Agent:
Sure. Help yourself.

[a pause as Alan looks at the estate agent]

Alan Partridge:
Uh, have a go on the loo?

[Another short pause before the penny drops]

Estate Agent:
Oh, sorry! Sorry. Yes.

Alan Partridge:
I prefer to go alone.

Estate Agent:
Sure, sure! [He laughs and leaves the room]

Alan Partridge:
Most times.

[He shuts the door. Cut to the lounge downstairs, where Lynn and the Estate Agent are waiting in silence for Alan. Alan then bursts in through the double doors]

Alan Partridge:
It flushed on the first yank! I love this house.

[Alan is having lunch with Tony Hayers, a senior BBC executive]

Alan Partridge:
[raising his wine glass] Here's to our future relationship at the BBC.

[Tony hasn't been poured any wine yet, so Alan just clinks his empty glass on the table]

Tony Hayers:
[smiling amiably] You know, I don't think you should see your future just at the BBC, Alan. I just think it's time for you to consider moving on to new pastures.

Alan Partridge:
Have I got a second series?

Tony Hayers:
There's so many opportunities for a man...

Alan Partridge:
[interrupting] Actually, let-let-let me rephrase that. Can I... No, in fact I'll just repeat the question. Have I got a second series?

Tony Hayers:
No.

Alan Partridge:
[quietly] Thank you. That's all I wanted to know.

[they are then interrupted by a man who comes up to the table and greets Tony]

Peter Linehan:
Tony!

Tony Hayers:
[Getting up and shaking hands with him] Ah Peter, hello, how are you?

Peter Linehan:
Fine, fine.

Tony Hayers:
Alan, this is Peter Linehan, he's revamping our current affairs output.

[Alan shrugs wordlessly. He isn't interested]

Peter Linehan:
We haven't met but I liked your chat show.

Alan Partridge:
Thank you very much.

Peter Linehan:
Has he given you another series?

Alan Partridge:
[forcing a smile] No, he won't give me one.

[Peter laughs]

Peter Linehan:
[to Tony] Give him another series, you swine!

Alan Partridge:
Yeah, give me another series, you sh*t.

[Tony Hayers has told Alan that although there won't be another series of his chat show, he'll still be open to any other ideas in future, so Alan seizes the opportunity to pitch his ideas for programs]

Alan Partridge:
[Opening a file] Right, OK. Shoestring, Taggart, Spender, Bergerac, Morse. What does that say to you about regional detective series?

Tony Hayers:
There's too many of them?

Alan Partridge:
That's one way of looking at it, another way of looking at it is, people like them, let's make some more of them. A detective series based in Norwich called "Swallow". Swallow is a detective who tackles vandalism. Bit of a maverick, not afraid to break the law if he thinks it's necessary. He's not a criminal, you know, but he will, perhaps, travel 80mph on the motorway if, for example, he wants to get somewhere quickly... [Tony shakes his head] Think about it. No one had heard of Oxford before Inspector Morse. I mean, this will put Norwich on the map.

Tony Hayers:
Why would I want to do that?

Alan Partridge:
Yep, fair point. [He turns to another page] OK, right. "Alan Attack!". Like the Cook Report, but with a more slapstick approach. [Tony shakes his head again] 'Arm Wrestling with Chas and Dave'.

Tony Hayers:
I don't think so.

Alan Partridge:
Pity, because they were very keen on that one. Right, now you'll like this... "Knowing M.E., Knowing You". I, Alan Partridge, talk to M.E. sufferers about the condition. You know, we intersperse it with their favourite pop songs, make it light-hearted, you know, give them a platform, you've got to keep the energy up, because... [Tony shakes his head, horrified] You don't like it? That's alright, that's OK... "Inner-City Sumo".

Tony Hayers:
What's that?

Alan Partridge:
We take fat people from the inner cities, put them in big nappies, and then get them to throw each other out of a circle that we draw with chalk on the ground.

Tony Hayers:
[laughing and shaking his head] No, no, it's a bad idea.

Alan Partridge:
Very cheap to make. Do it in a pub car park.

Tony Hayers:
[laughing] No.

Tony Hayers:
If you don't do it, Sky will.

Alan Partridge:
Well, I'll live with that. Is that it?

Alan Partridge:
Well, no, no, um... Cooking in prison.

Tony Hayers:
[laughing] Oh, no.

Alan Partridge:
Uh, uh... "A Partridge Amongst The Pigeons".

Tony Hayers:
What's that?

Alan Partridge:
Well, it's just a title, I mean... Erm... No, uh-uh-uh, opening sequence, me, in Trafalgar Square, feeding the pigeons, going "Oh God!"

Tony Hayers:
[Holds his hands up] No, I'm sorry, no! Stop!

Alan Partridge:
[Stammers] Erm, erm... Youth Hosteling with... Chris Eubank.

Tony Hayers:
[laughs] No! [a pause as Alan tries to think of something else]

Alan Partridge:
Monkey Tennis?

Tony Hayers:
There is to be no second series. And I've listened to your ideas, I've listened to them all, and I haven't liked a single one.

Alan Partridge:
Tony... I've, I've just bought a house. It's like, it's got a Buck Rogers toilet. One yank, all gone.

Tony Hayers:
We don't owe you a living. You are someone who has a proven track record for making mostly bad television programs.

Alan Partridge:
That's bollocks, but carry on.

Tony Hayers:
It's not bollocks. Your programmes were appalling. The ratings were a ninth of what we could have expected, they started badly, they got worse...

Alan Partridge:
[mimicking him] They started badly, they got worse... Oh, oh, your programs, your programs...

Tony Hayers:
Now, you're making a fool of yourself.

Alan Partridge:
Whooo... whooo... who do you think you are?

Tony Hayers:
Well, unfortunately for you, I am the Chief Commissioning Editor of BBC Television.

Alan Partridge:
Oh, let's forget about all this...

[He sticks his fork into a large block of stilton cheese on the trolley next to him and lifts it up]

Alan Partridge:
You want some cheese?

Tony Hayers:
No, thank you.

Alan Partridge:
[sniffing it] It's quite nice. Mmm... smells. Do you want to want to smell it?

Tony Hayers:
No, thank you.

Alan Partridge:
Smell the cheese.

Tony Hayers:
No, I don't want to.

Alan Partridge:
Smell my cheese.

Tony Hayers:
Alan, please...

[Alan gets up from his seat and thrusts the cheese into Tony Hayers' face]

Alan Partridge:
Smell my cheese, you mother!

Alan Partridge:
That was Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell, a song in which Joni complains they 'Paved paradise to put up a parking lot', a measure which actually would have alleviated traffic congestion on the outskirts of paradise, something which Joni singularly fails to point out, perhaps because it doesn't quite fit in with her blinkered view of the world. Nevertheless, nice song.

Alan Partridge:
[about to have sex] Let battle commence.

Susan:
Um, Alan, Did you send Sophie a Valentine's card this morning?

Alan Partridge:
Oh God, no, no, I'm old enough to be her father! Well, her older brother. Either way it's incest.

Lynn Benfield:
Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news?

Alan Partridge:
The good news.

Lynn Benfield:
Well, Rawlinson's say you can have another fifty of the shop-soiled chocolate oranges if you plug them again tomorrow.

Alan Partridge:
Excellent. And the bad news?

Lynn Benfield:
The accountants say that since you've definitely not got a second series at the BBC you're going to have to sack everyone at Pear Tree Productions and close the office down. Otherwise they're going to declare you bankrupt on Friday.

Alan Partridge:
Right. Still, good news about the chocolate oranges.

Lynn Benfield:
Now, Alan, you're going to have to trade down your Rover 800 for a smaller car.

Alan Partridge:
Go on.

Lynn Benfield:
I picked up these brochures for the new Metro. It's a lovely car. And if you do...

Alan Partridge:
[Interrupting] Lynn, I'm not driving a Mini-Metro.

Lynn Benfield:
But you do have to make substantial savings.

Alan Partridge:
Lynn, I am not driving a Mini Metro.

Lynn Benfield:
But if you do, you can keep Pear Tree Productions going with a skeleton staff of two, and...

Alan Partridge:
There's no point finishing the sentence, Lynn, because I am not driving a Mini-Metro.

Lynn Benfield:
But if you...

Alan Partridge:
Lynn! I'll just speak over you. [Lynn tries to speak] No! Go on, try and finish the sentence and see what I do. Go on. [They both talk together]

Lynn Benfield:
With a skeleton staff of two...

Alan Partridge:
I'm not driving a Mini-Metro, I'm not driving a Mini-Metro, I'm not driving a Mini-Metro.

Lynn Benfield:
No, no, no, it's different. It's called a Rover Metro now.

Alan Partridge:
They've rebadged it, you fool!

Lynn Benfield:
Well, Alan, if you want a Rover 200 you're going to have to sack everyone at Pear Tree Productions.

Alan Partridge:
Fine.

Lynn Benfield:
Including Jill.

Alan Partridge:
Jill. Lovely Jill. She's my favourite. But fine, I'll sack her.

Alan Partridge:
You smiled then, Lynn.

Lynn:
No, I didn't.

Alan Partridge:
Yes, you did. I can read you like a book. And not a very good book. Certainly not 'Bravo Two Zero' by Andy McNabb. Which actually improves with every read.

Michael:
[in his very broad Geordie accent] Aye-aye, Mr. Partridge! Morning! Valentine's Day today, eh? Love is in the air!

Alan Partridge:
It's Valentine's Day today, and love is in the air?

Michael:
[nodding] Aye! Aye!

Alan Partridge:
I'm getting the hang of this! Mind you, I have been here ten weeks.

Michael:
So, are we having the full English breakfast?

Alan Partridge:
Yes, please. Can I have my sausages burnt to a crisp, please? So that they can only be identified by reference to their dental records.

Michael:
OK. Either that or their fingerprints, eh?

Alan Partridge:
Can you fingerprint a sausage?

Michael:
Yeah, well, I suppose technically y'could, aye.

Alan Partridge:
I suppose if I was a burglar and I wanted to avoid detection I could strap sausages to my fingers. Probably survive a couple of break-ins before they started to fall apart.

Michael:
Aye. Maybes, maybes just have, like, a beefburger for your palm, y'know?

Alan Partridge:
No, that's a bit too far-fetched. I do enjoy these chats in the morning.

[Alan is having his disturbing recurring daydream of himself as a male stripper]

Tony Hayers:
I like your thong.

Alan Partridge:
Yeah, it's vulcanised rubber, which means it won't perish.

[the distracted Alan returns to reality]

Jason:
[putting a party hat on Alan's head] Wahey!

Alan Partridge:
[startled, throwing the hat off] Bash your arse!

Alan Partridge:
Lion bar?

Jill:
No. I prefer fingers.

Alan Partridge:
Ugh. Chocolate ones?

Jill:
Don't mind, really.

[Alan makes a long, drawn-out leering noise and giggles. Jill smiles at him]

Alan Partridge:
Jill, you are so dirty.

[Alan is on a date with Jill at an owl sanctuary]

Alan Partridge:
You know, when I used to see you in reception, do you know what I used to think?

Jill:
No.

Alan Partridge:
I used to think "Ooohh... she's nicer than my wife."

Jill:
[laughs] What? That's terrible. That's a terrible thing to say, Alan.

[they smile coyly at each other. Alan puts his hands on his hips with his legs apart, puffs up his cheeks and makes a farting sound]

Jill:
[giggling] You're mad, you are!

Alan Partridge:
Oh, I know, I am a bit mad.

[he raises his hands like a monster in an old horror film]

Alan Partridge:
AAHHH!

[she shrieks and laughs. Alan looks behind him and speaks to someone in the distance, out of shot]

Alan Partridge:
It's alright. No, it's alright, I was just portraying a madman.

Alan Partridge:
Ah, that is the best Valentine's Day I've had in eight years.

Jill:
What did you do eight years ago?

Alan Partridge:
Just had a better one.

Jill:
What'd you do?

Alan Partridge:
Went to Silverstone. Shook Jackie Stewart's hand. Superb. My marriage fell apart soon after that.

Michael:
[serving them their desserts] Here you go. Two chocolate mousses.

Jill:
Ah, thank you.

[Michael leaves]

Jill:
I love chocolate.

Alan Partridge:
Yeah, so do I.

[they lean in close to each other, face to face]

Jill:
Whispers.

Alan Partridge:
Aeros.

Jill:
Ripples.

Alan Partridge:
Flakes.

Jill:
Caramac.

Alan Partridge:
It's good this, isn't it? Even though we're basically just listing chocolate bars.

[Lynn has come to the hotel to tell Alan that she's negotiated a walnut gearknob for his new, smaller Rover]

Alan Partridge:
Why are you wearing that snazzy cardigan?

Lynn:
Oh, I just threw it on.

Alan Partridge:
If you think you can upstage Jill by wearing that you're very much mistaken. Thanks very much for the gearknob, and good night.

Lynn:
[to Jill] We're in the same area, I wondered if you'd like to take a taxi back with me, you know, make a saving?

Jill:
Well...

Alan Partridge:
No, Jill will be sleeping with me tonight.

Jill:
I don't recall saying that.

Alan Partridge:
Oh, come on.

Jill:
Yeah, alright then.

[Alan is about to get into bed with Jill. He puts some coins on the bedside cabinet]

Jill:
Is that for me, Alan?

Alan Partridge:
That? Oh, God no! No, I always put my money there in the evening. No, if it was you could add a zero to that. It's seven pounds six.

Jill:
Seventy quid?

Alan Partridge:
Well, no, double it.

Jill:
Well, it's still cheap!

Alan Partridge:
I'm not haggling! I was trying to pay you a compliment, unless I've grossly misread the situation. It was my understanding in the lift that no money would change hands.

[Jill has just smeared Alan with chocolate mousse, there is a knock at the door. Alan answers it, it's Michael]

Michael:
Is everything all right, Mr Partridge? I heard a bit of commotion.

Alan Partridge:
No, no, it's fine.

Michael:
Oh, right. Erm, do you know you've got chocolate on your face?

Alan Partridge:
Yeah, I've just been eating some mousse.

Michael:
Oh right. Fine.

[Alan wipes a little bit off his cheek and licks it. His face is still covered in mousse]

Michael:
Aye, well, you've missed a bit.

Alan Partridge:
I'll deal with it later.

Michael:
Right. Hey, it reminds me of this time, y'know, we'd camouflaged ourselves up cos we were doing jungle exercises, right, out in Belize, but...

Alan Partridge:
[interrupting] Michael, can we talk about this in the morning?

Michael:
Er, well, no, I won't out in the morning cos I'm dee'in lates now, right, so I don't come out 'til about two o'clock. So, you know...

Alan Partridge:
Well, you know,

[tries to do a Geordie accent]

Alan Partridge:
When the boat comes in. Er, er, booger off!

Michael:
Aye, OK.

[saluting]

Michael:
Message understood, sir!

Alan Partridge:
Stand down, at ease... you're not in the army anymore.

Alison:
Any more news, Alan?

Alan Partridge:
Er, no, just: second series in the bag, you're all on board, details to follow and, um... and who left this coffee cup here?

Jason:
Sorry, Alan, I meant to clean it last night.

Alan Partridge:
Yeah, well, that's not good enough. You're sacked.

[the others laugh, thinking it's a joke]

Jason:
What?

Alan Partridge:
I will not have uncleansed coffee cups in Pear Tree Productions. The plague started from a mal-attended surface.

Martin:
What are you doing, Alan?

Alan Partridge:
You're sacked too.

Martin:
Why?

Alan Partridge:
Because... because you do this all the time.

[to show what he means, he tuts and rolls his eyes]

Martin:
What?

[Martin does the tutting and eye-rolling thing himself]

Alan Partridge:
See, you did it again! Yeah, you're definitely sacked. Now, Alison, you are a lady, I don't want this to be unpleasant...

Alison:
Are you sacking me as well?

Alan Partridge:
Yes, I am.

Alison:
You rotten sh*t!

Alan Partridge:
Yeah, you're a rotten sh*t too, get your coat!

[Alan backs out of the door with Lynn]

Alan Partridge:
[to Lynn] Start the car.

[he shuts the door and goes to another room]

Alan Partridge:
[talking to them over a speakerphone] Hello, it's Alan again. I've locked you all in the boardroom so you don't get me. You can leave via the fire escape. We haven't got a second series, I just didn't have the guts to say that earlier. Bit like doing my radio show this, isn't it? You're listening to Up with the Partridge, A-ha. Bye!

[Alan's employees leave the building by climbing down the outside fire escape stairway]

Alan Partridge:
[while having sex] Do you mind if I talk? It helps me keep the wolf from the door, so to speak. Jill, what do you think of the pedestrianization of Norwich city centre? I'll be honest, I'm dead against it. I mean, people forget that traders need access to *DIXONS*! They do say it'll help people in *wheeeelchairs*.

Alan Partridge:
Right, I'll tell you an anecdote. In 1974 I was catching the London train from Crewe station. It was very crowded; I found myself in a last-minute rush for the one remaining seat beside a tall, good-looking man with collar-length hair, it was the seventies; buckaroo! I looked up and saw it was none other than Peter Purves, it was the height of his Blue Peter career. He said, "You jammy bastard" and quick as a flash, I replied, "Don't be blue, Peter!" Needless to say, I had the last laugh, now f*** off!

Sonja:
"The Spy Who Loved Me" is a brilliant film. It begin in forest in Germany...

Alan Partridge:
It's Austria! Austria!

John:
What's the one where the laser beam goes up his jack...

Alan Partridge:
"Goldfinger"!

Michael:
What's the one with the, with the volcano, and it splits up and a big rocket comes out with all Chinkies jumping up and down?

Tex:
Isn't that, er, "Thunderball"?

Alan Partridge:
No. No! No! No! Stop getting Bond wrong! I'll tell you about "The Spy Who Loved Me". All do that with your fingers round your eye. I am Roger Moore. Bang! Blood dribbles down. We're on a submarine. Two sailors sit down and have a game of chess. Then the cups start wobbling and then a man who used to be in "The Onedin Line" comes in and goes, "Why are the cups wobbling? What's going on?" And then... yeah, you can stop doing that now. And then he peers down the periscope thing and looks through it and goes, "Oh my God. The submarine's being eaten by a a giant tanker." And then we cut to Moscow. And there's a man there and he's Russian - he's got eyebrows, you know - and he's on the phone going, "What, a whole submarine? You're joking! I'm gonna have to tell some other Russians. See ya!" Right, and then, and then, it cuts to James - Roger Moore - and er, yes, he's with a lady. Yeah. Yeah. He's, he's necking with her. And he goes, "I've got to go, love. Something's come up."

Michael:
Aye. He means his cock.

Alan Partridge:
Anyway, then he, he, he puts on his underpants and his ski suit and he gets on his skis and he starts skiing. And he's being chased by these Russian shits in black jumpsuits with lemon piping. And, er, he's just skiing along like that, and they start shooting at him, and he goes, "Right! I've had enough of that! Just stop it!" And he turns round with his gun and then he does a backward somersault off this ramp, and he, he lands on his feet - I'm not sure why, but he's not showing off. And then, then he goes over a cliff and he's falling and you think, oh God, James Bond's going to die! He's going to die! But then at the last minute...

Michael:
He pulls a ripcord, right? And a, a, a parachute comes out and it's got a Union Jack...

Alan Partridge:
Michael! Michael!

Michael:
But that'show it ends.

Alan Partridge:
That's not the end of the beginning. The end of the beginning goes like this: glang! Glanalangalangalangalangalang! Glanalang, langalangalanga, nobody does it better - and I'm a naked woman in silhouette with a gun, spinning round - Makes me feel sad for the rest. Nobody does it - ooh, bit of nipple - quite as good as you. Baby, you're the best. Da, da, da - and now a really big bounce right over and I land on my feet. Da, da, da, da, da, der. I wasn't looking, so now you found me... ooh, bit of bush, er - I tried to hide from your love life - and a woman swinging on a Luger, a giant Luger; ooh, look at that... Like heaven above me - and now another naked woman walking along the top of a gun, completely Billy Bollocks... The spy who loved me is keeping all my secrets safe tonight - and then one more big swing from the woman; legs go right up - ooh, what was that? Too late... Nobody does it half as good as you, baby you're the best!

Alan Partridge:
Stop getting Bond wrong!

Alan Partridge:
Ah-haaaaa! What a year it's been for Dante. Fires. Maybe you're here tonight with a wife or an old flame. But what is the burning issue? Hit your targets or you'll be... fired. But today's also about fun. Have you all got your fun packs? I've got one here. Dropped it. It's all right. I've got a list. Here. It should contain a torch, a CurlyWurly, a book of stamps, a free digital watch with denim strap, a vodka miniature, a Bic-style razor and a copy of the Daily Express. Ooooooh, it's a good paper. Now, first award tonight is for best Christ. Not Christ. Er, sorry. Keep saying 'Christ'. Er, I know some of you may be religious and to those people I apologi- Sorry. I was supposed to hit that later. I'll just wait for it to finish. A, a glittering year ahead. You might want to read your Daily Express. Don't shine that torch in my face, mate. I've just lost a pint of blood. On now as we look at a fantastic year for - I'm going to be sick again. You know that feeling when there's nothing coming up. Urrgh. Jesus. Urrgh. August knocked the trend for downturn in fireplace sales. Oh God. Oh, I sound like the devil. Bits come out my shoe. That's not going back in again. You want some more glitter? Two grand, that cost. I was gonna give out some... some awards. But, er, that's not going to happen. Look at me. Go and eat some coffee. Erm, drink it. It's soup you can eat - that's not so liquid.

Alan Partridge:
Hello, commuters with your computers. This book would fit ideally into, er, an attache case or the thigh pocket of a pair of fashionable combat trousers. Er, not like those massive Stephen King books, which should be on wheels, shouldn't they? Yeah. It's embarrassing. Idiot. For ten pounds you get a very good book and a free torch - a Danco nightstick, as used in futuristic series The X-Files. There's a demonstration model tied to the chair with a skipping rope by that woman. Wh-what is it you want? Right. Train for Lowestoft is on platform four, er, it leaves in... five minutes, so, er, better learn to jog again quickly. No, seriously, run. You will miss it. This book is a top business aid. As I'm sure, er, as I'm sure you are, sir. Look at that: not even listening. Off to London, no doubt. Go to London! I guarantee you'll either be mugged or not appreciated. Catch the train to London, stopping at Rejection, Disappointment, Backstabbing Central and Shattered Dreams Parkway.

Michael:
Me, I'd, I-I-I'd have an, an Apache attack helicopter.

Alan Partridge:
Oh, great.

Michael:
Aye. I'd gan back to school. But first I'd take out the labs and then I'd type into the attack computer 'Mr Cragg, chemistry teacher'. Blow 'im to bits.

Alan Partridge:
Yeah, I know the feeling.

Michael:
And then I'd go looking for Tom Donaldson. I'd be hovering just down the road from his house, there. And he'd see us, but I'd duck down behind the trees, and he thinks he's safe, right? And he's just about to put the key in his front door, and I come up from behind the hedge, 'Hello, you bastard.' He panics, right? And he goes in the house, so I get the 30-millimetre canon and I take out the fish pond, coy carp in there couple of rounds each, right? And then I just tilt the helicopter over to one side and the machine-gun bullets is chewing up the drive, right? He comes out. 'Oh no! Not me Triumph Stag! I've just had it resprayed!' I cut it right in half, right? And then he goes, 'Ahhh!' He runs up on to the garage roof. I say, 'Right. This is for you, Tom.' He goes, 'No, no!' He's begging us, he's begging us man, 'No, please don't!' And then I fly off to Cornwall and I just smash in the sea in a big ball of flames.

Alan Partridge:
Sleep well, Michael. Erm, who's Tom Donaldson?

Michael:
Oh, he's just a mate.

Alan Partridge:
Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! That's English for stop a horse!

Piet Morant:
NO YOU CAN'T!

Alan Partridge:
Well there's no need for that!

Alan Partridge:
Britain has some of the safest roads in Europe. But this isn't Britain... This is der Autobahn!

Alan Partridge:
It's just a wet t-shirt competition, Lynn. It's not hardcore super-sex.

Alan Partridge:
Michael, release the headmaster!

Alan Partridge:
Calm down, Lynn! You're suffering from minor women's whiplash!

Alan Partridge:
'Sunday Bloody Sunday'. What a great song. It really encapsulates the frustration of a Sunday, doesn't it? You wake up in the morning, you've got to read all the Sunday papers, the kids are running round, you've got to mow the lawn, wash the car, and you think "Sunday, bloody Sunday!".

Aidan Walsh:
I really hate to do this to you, Alan, but it's actually a song about...

Paul Tool:
Yeah, bloody Sunday is actually about a massacre in Derry in 1972.

Alan Partridge:
A massacre? Ugh. I'm not playing that again.

Alan Partridge:
Fire, fire, the fayre's on fire!

Alan Partridge:
Jurassic Park!

Alan Partridge:
You farmers, you don't like outsiders, do you? You like to stick to your own.

Peter Baxendale Thomas:
What do you mean by that?

Alan Partridge:
I've seen the big-eared boys on farms.

Peter Baxendale Thomas:
Oh, for goodness' sake.

Alan Partridge:
If you see a lovely field with a family having a picnic, and there's a nice pond in it, you fill in the pond with concrete, you plough the family into the field, you blow up the tree, and use the leaves to make a dress for your wife who's also your brother.

Alan Partridge:
You are a big posh sod with plums in your mouth, and the plums have mutated and they have got beaks. You make pigs smoke. You feed beef burgers to swans. You have big sheds, but nobody's allowed in. And in these sheds you have 20ft high chickens, and these chickens are scared because the don't know why they're so big, and they're going, "Oh why am I so massive?" and they're looking down at all the little chickens and they think they're in an aeroplane because all the other chickens are so small. Do you deny that? No, I think his silence speaks volumes.

Alan Partridge:
You sound like a James Bond villian. Dr. No... Vocal Cords.

Alan Partridge:
Thank you for being this morning's farmer, Robert Moon. Have you had your breakfast this morning, Robert?

Robert Moon:
Well, the way things is going, I dunno...

Alan Partridge:
Can you just answer "yes", for the purposes of a joke?

Robert Moon:
...Yes.

Alan Partridge:
Well, then, you must be a full moon!

[pause]

Alan Partridge:
Hello?

Robert Moon:
I'm still here.

Alan Partridge:
I was... I was just making a pun on your name.

Robert Moon:
Oh. Oh, right.

Alan Partridge:
Thank you for being this morning's farmer.

[hangs up]

Alan Partridge:
Old Robert a bit slow on the uptake there, dunno what he had for breakfast this morning... Presumably an infected spinal column in a bap.