I, Partridge - Alan Partridge [22]
‘Whether you regard it as an ancient art form, a woodland hunting technique or just a big version of darts, this is archery,’ I boomed. ‘And we’ll be following every twang, whoosh and gadoyng of what is shaping up to be a classic British Archery Championships.’
It was sports broadcasting with real panache, that much should be obvious, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. That was until, mid-way through the event, second favourite Chris Curtis accidentally discharged his bow and it issued a rod of arrow into the arm of a female steward. (And for the billionth time, I didn’t accuse Curtis of being drunk, I merely speculated that he might be drunk.)
Suddenly, I was hurled into the middle of a breaking news story. This was live radio and all ears were literally on me.
‘The poor woman’s wailing like a banshee over there and, as concerned officials gather round her to stem the flow of blood and presumably discuss what, if any, rule has been broken, I’ll do my best to describe the scene.
‘Basically, archers are standing round chatting – none of them have approached the stricken victim, but that’s what archers do. If this was in the wild, the archers would stand there high-fiving each other while the carcass was retrieved by a young bushwacker or loyal gun dog.
‘Not that she’s dead. She’s hit in her upper arm, which must come as some relief. If it’d been her neck, it would have been curtains for both her and the rest of the afternoon’s archery action, coming to you live from Taverham.
‘And while the lady steward squeals like an impaled but quiet pig, I can tell you she’s gone into shock – you can see that from here. The colour’s drained from her and she’s all a-quiver. And actually … like “a quiver”, she has an arrow in her.
‘Erm … it’s an unusual sight, certainly. A person lying there with a big rod coming out of them, like a human kebab or – if you prefer – some kind of lady lolly. And a not unattractive lady lolly, I must say. One that I’m sure every man here would dearly like to lick.
‘But that’s not to in any way trivialise what is clearly a distressing situation.
‘Er … St John’s ambulance are nearby. Not doing anything, of course, but I’m not sure they’re trained to administer medical care. They’re to a real paramedic what the Salvation Army is to a special forces soldier. Still, they look smart enough.
‘And the arrow’s out! The arrow is out! It’s been plucked from the woman like a pointy Excalibur. Well done that man …
‘Right. Next to shoot is Mark Allen …’
When I played the tape back to Carol the next morning, she agreed (in an uncharacteristically effusive show of support) that it had been ‘a powerful and moving broadcasting tour de force’.57
And she wasn’t the only one impressed. With my commentary played out on BBC radio news bulletins up and down the land, I was thrust into the national limelight. Suddenly, I was hot property.
And so it was that, six months later, I was included on a round-robin circular memo to BBC reporters, asking for applications to join the team of a new Radio 4 current affairs show. I was a wanted man!
45 Press play on Track 10.
46 Listen to.
47 Biographical shorthand for: alcoholic.
48 I just did a click with my fingers.
49 He explained that this was ‘radio tradition’, and I diligently kept the practice up until years later at Radio 4, when I was challenged about the existence of Wetwipple Dog Track. A subsequent BBC disciplinary was only made bearable by the presence of the kindest BBC HR adviser to ever discipline me. NB – false greyhound racing results are not a radio tradition.
50 I once retorted with ‘Alright! Keep your hair on!’ (He has chronic alopecia.) He wasn’t that impressed.
51 Press play on Track 11.
52 ‘Bi-monthly’ is a funny word. Twice a month or once every two months? In this case, it depended on audience demand. Mainly the latter.
53 Dickie Davies.
54 Elton Welsby.