I, Partridge - Alan Partridge [76]
It crossed my mind that the animal had simply fallen from the bridge while stopping to look at the view (and what a view – formed when rising sea-levels began to flood medieval peat excavations, the Norfolk Broads, with their reed beds, grazing marshes and wet woodland, offer even the most casual of boaters over 100 miles of stunning navigable waterways). But no. To borrow from the parlance used by the farmers, Partridge had been ‘beefed’.
I mention that story because my publishers felt it would make ‘a good anecdote for your book’, but actually most corporate engagements are far less dangerous. In the year 2000, I was hired to front Crash, Bang, Wallop. It neatly brought together three of my biggest passions: cars, car crashes and high-quality sell-through videos.
Had Police, Camera, Action! not already been a hit international TV show, it would have been the video that inspired Police, Camera, Action! The idea was simple. We would play to one of the most innate of all human traits – rubber-necking.
And I had an idea for a USP: why not show fatalities? Please don’t misunderstand, road deaths break my heart. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been reduced to tears when slowing down at the site of a pile-up to grab a few snaps on the camera phone. But isn’t that the point? By showing unedited footage of RTA fatalities, weren’t we shocking drivers into being more careful? The deader they are, the stronger the message. And believe me, the drivers I had in mind could not have been deader.
In the end I was over-ruled, though we did reach a compromise. We would show horrific accidents, but we’d use crash test dummies. I personally oversaw some of these shoots and I cannot tell you how much fun it was. We had families of four – just dummies remember – flying through windscreens left, right and centre. I hadn’t laughed so much in years. I wanted to do one with a crash test dog but apparently they don’t make them.
We got most of our footage from the Highways Agency and the police, plus the odd one from me following people home from company Christmas parties. I’d do the tailgating and my assistant would hang out of the window with the camcorder. It was simple, safe and almost always ineffective.
Ironically this was the time in my life when I was least at risk of being injured in a car crash myself. Due to an unfortunate Toblerone addiction, I had ballooned180 (see picture section). I even disabled the driver-side air bag on my Rover. It was simply not needed.
At this time I was also considering switching to an automatic. Like any real man, I much preferred a manual but my new-found bigness meant there were logistical issues to address. The recent expansion of my left thigh had effectively taken my gear stick out of the equation. When I got into the car, the contents of my leg would take four or five seconds just to settle. I’d sit there watching as it advanced like lava. I’d often have the engine running and a CD playing before it had finally come to rest, with the gear stick nowhere to be seen.
It was a great job to do, though, especially if you loved cars. And I, of course, am every inch the car-o-phile. I can’t recall the first word I ever spoke but I do remember that it didn’t take me long to go polysyllabic. And when I did, into my world came words like combustion, camshaft, Halfords. I didn’t need to use them all that much in those early days of playschool and Tufty Club, but they were just there, tucked away in the back pocket, ready. And to a young child still getting to grips with the world, I cannot tell you how reassuring that was.
Growing up, I adored words and loved reading. I could always be found with my head in a good paper. The rag of choice in the Partridge household was the Daily Express. And I actually enjoyed it as a nipper. Which does make sense, given my mental age at the time. But one day, things suddenly changed. I was becoming a man, with my own thoughts, my own opinions, my own pubes. I knew I needed