I, Partridge - Alan Partridge [79]
The BBC is like an uncaring sow, lying there fat and impassive as a host of piglets jostle to suck calcium-rich milk from her many jaded teats. (The metaphor probably doesn’t need explaining but, on the off chance that this book finds itself in one of those municipal libraries populated by adult learners, let me explain: the piglets are TV presenters, the milk is cash and the teats are job opportunities.)
TV talent chases BBC presenting work as if it’s the be-all and the end-all. NOT me though. Unlike your average piglet, Alan Partridge had the gumption to look beyond the udders of this particular swine and monetise his talent via other channels.
My Radio Norwich contract forbade me from moonlighting on rival stations, but I was free to engage in other commercial TV work.
I’d had a damn good go at the Hamilton’s Water Breaks vid and maintain that my attempt was as good as if not better than the Cliff Thorburn version eventually used. Cliff is a decent guy and a heck of a billiards-player, but his thick Australian accent (he pronounces Norfolk as Norfoke) cheapened the depiction of what were actually really good water breaks.
But appearing in front of the camera again had literally lit a fire in my belly, and I suddenly had a renewed appetite for on-screen work.
I was approached by Matt and Mario from a production company called AAA Productions, a name that was such a brazen attempt to appear first in telephone directories I couldn’t help but be impressed. They met me in the meeting room of a Regus office facility which you can hire by the hour, telegraphing the fact that they weren’t even based in the building but were a back-bedroom operation masquerading as a properly established company.183
They talked me through the idea of Skirmish,184 about their vision for the show, and ITV’s keen interest. They even showed me some marketing material they’d mocked up to promote my agreement to present in the show. It was a photoshopped image of me as John Rambo, armed to the nines with high-grade weaponry and question cards. They’d super-imposed that over an actual screenshot of the moment I shot Forbes McAllister, and included a speech bubble of him saying ‘Be careful with that.’185
Well, I absolutely hooted with laughter. This was an inspired piece of show marketing that was incredibly crass/inventive,186 and boded well for the quality of the show. I agreed to take the job there and then, shaking hands and then leaving their hired meeting room, still laughing my head off.187
ITV got cold feet188 in the end and decided not to take the show, even though Matt and Mario assured me the channel had definitely been interested and they’d definitely had a meeting there, even if they couldn’t remember who with.
No matter, because new satellite channel UK Conquest were sniffing around like a randy dog who’s picked up the musky excellence of another dog’s vagina. The channel’s ethos – ‘guns, girls, guys, grrrr!’ – seemed ideally suited to Skirmish.
At first, we were to be its flagship show, broadcast on Monday, Wednesday and Friday (the Wednesday and Friday shows were repeats of the Monday one). Alongside me was glamorous assistant Susie Dent, better known as the resident lexicographer from Countdown. Susie resigned after the first show, pointing out politely that the actual format hadn’t been explained to her.
Although the loss of such a talented bookworm was a major blow, it proved to be the making of us. It probably suited the tone of the hard-nosed show to have someone a bit rougher, and urban DJ Lisa l’Anson brought a Westwood-style glamour to proceedings.
Before long, we’d massively upped our output and – on my insistence – we were making three shows a day, six days a week. This was to be my undoing.189
182 You’d kick yourself if you knew!
183 I’ve done the same many, many times.
184 To be honest, they had me at the name ‘Skirmish’ but I listened politely all the same.
185 His final words.
186 Depending on your point of view.
187 A fit of giggles that only stopped on my drive home when I realised