Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa Page #4

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would, you know, put you at ease,

- give you a giggle.

- Well... mission accomplished.

Oh, God.

- It's great to see you.

- Good to see you, too.

I bought you some cake,

not that you deserve it after that.

I should just crush it in my hand.

Oh, I already have.

- How the devil are you?

- Yeah, not bad, not bad.

How are you feeling?

- Great!

- Good.

Oh, er... the police told

me to bring you this.

It's just a standard field phone,

should you feel the inclination

to communicate with ze authorities.

Good thing about these things, they're

immune to the problems and glitches

you get with satellite phones.

But, like I say, it's

just an option, really.

I just realised, when you asked me

now how I was feeling, you meant...

Yes, I did.

- Does this answer your question?

- Yes, it does.

Oh, hello.

Didn't see you there.

Someone's been in the wars.

- That's just Simon.

- Can he breathe through that?

Of course. It's just

like wearing a mask.

At least when someone puts you in

a mask, you've got a safe word,

like "airbag", or "crayfish".

What's the er...

That thing?

Oh, we made that. It's a head holster.

- Never heard of one of those.

- Yeah, I'll show you. Simon?

You insert the shotgun.

Place on stand.

And... voil.

Hands free. I can move around

the studio, do anything I want.

And if something happens...

I don't even have to look.

Boom. Hit the target.

Yeah... well,

you don't need an accomplice.

Well, I've got you now.

Yeah.

Thank you.

So you're with the police now?

Oh, this... no, this is just...

I think it's Velcro.

There you go.

Feck the police.

I think they thought that

if they did take a pot shot at you -

it's a siege, you've got a gun -

that the bullet might pass through you

and hit me.

Unless they use dum-dums,

which explode inside the body.

I said, do not use dum-dums on

Pat Ferrell, Farrell, Ferrell.

Just use a high-velocity round

that passes through his body

because he's a friend of mine.

And I suppose if I want to shoot you,

I can always aim for the head.

Exactly. Exactly.

Um... I don't even

know why I'm wearing it.

- So take it off.

- I'll happily take it off.

Go on, then.

- If you want me to, I'll take it off.

- F***ing take it off!

Oh, Pat, now you're making

me want to wear it.

This is not my bag.

I'm-I'm-I'm... a disc jockey.

I'm sorry you got the sack.

I'm 55 years old, I should be at home in

bed watching funny videos on YouTube.

"Sneezing panda" or

"Charlie bit my finger".

Have you seen

"Fat woman falls down the hole"?

- That's hilarious. Isn't it?

- Yeah.

I've seen it before, but, yeah.

That... That should be fenced off really,

but erm... I'm glad it wasn't.

Great.

Oh, yeah, I'm supposed to ask,

where are the hostages?

In there.

Oh, my God!

That's like some son of zoo

from Planet Of The Apes.

Danny looks a bit... bruised.

I lost my temper a couple of times.

- Three times.

- Yeah. Yeah, yeah, it was three.

Go and say hello.

- Give him a slap yourself, if you want.

- Oh, no...

No, I'll just...

I'll just say hello.

- Alan...

- Look, do the police know we're here?

Alan! What the hell's going on?

Hey! Hey, hey, hey!

Cool it with the cross-talk,

you're professional broadcasters.

- I'm not, I'm a writer.

- We'll get through this with each other.

I want everyone to shake hands with everyone

else. Now! Whether you want to or not.

This is ridiculous.

Ow.

Hello, er... Connor.

- Paper.

- Hi.

OK. Pat will not communicate

directly with the police.

Only through me.

So as of now, I am bullhorn.

- But I think we're gonna be OK.

- OK? He hit me!

Let's not get into who hit who or,

you know, who may have deserved it.

You need to keep him away from me.

Understand?

What I need to do, Danny,

in conjunction with Jason,

is crisis management.

I'm sure he'll agree

there has been plenty of crisis...

- But no management.

- Cowabunga. Walk with me.

Alan, you do realise

you're in the box seat here?

You've got the guy's confidence.

Yeah. I don't know why.

I go for a curry with him once a year,

and even then I don't have a starter.

Trouble is, he does.

All I need to know is can

you handle it?

Well, er...

Would you ask that of a man

who'd gone paint-balling,

realised he'd left his goggles at

reception but carried on anyway?

- Why?

- You're looking at him.

OK, guys,

quick wa-wa.

Just had a pow-wow with Jase,

upshot is...

I'm gonna be his right-hand

man on this one.

He'll be um... my left-hand man.

- Er...

- Sorry.

The point is,

Pat has not gone mad.

He has a grievance.

He needs some son of outlet.

This is Pat Farrell, welcoming you to Roll

Out The Farrell on North Norfolk Digital.

OK. Pat may have...

may have gone mad.

He may have gone mad.

And now we have a text from

Cynthia in Holt, who writes,

Dear Pat, we are sending you a bottle...

- Ma'am, you'd better listen to this.

- ...of our homemade plum brandy.

We use it to make brandy butter...

- Why am I listening to sh*t radio?

- That's Pat Farrell, ma'am.

He's broadcasting from the siege.

Mm, yum, Cynthia.

Can't wait.

Can you gently remind Pat

that we had an agreement?

You are there to communicate with us.

Listen, I don't know what it says

in your police operation manual...

- ..or in Psycho-babble Weekly.

- Penguin Book of Sieges.

...or The Penguin Book of Sieges,

...but out here in the field,

it's plenty different.

I've got a guy with a gun and a gripe

to grind, and he say, "No speaky."

I would really like to establish

a dialogue here, Alan.

A simple tri-lateral exchange,

from Pat, to you, to me, to you, to Pat.

- Do you understand?

- No more interruptions or else!

You think I don't have balls?

I've got plenty of balls!

I've got balls coming

out of my arse!

- Er... did you hear that?

- Yes.

Well, that's... that's the

end of the call. Bye.

You are listening to

North Norfolk Digital.

Shape.

The Way You Want It To Be.

Shape:
The way you want it to be

- Where are all my jingles?

- Jason wanted them deleted.

- He won't have deleted them all.

- He did delete them all.

- He did delete them all, Pat.

- What?

- It was jingle genocide.

- That's not helping, Simon.

The bastard. Alan, take over for me.

- No.

- I'm gonna straighten him out.

Oh, and... keep it light.

Right, um... OK.

You're listening to the

Pat and Alan Show.

- Mainly Pat.

- You, Jason. Yeah, you.

We'll be asking... w-what time...

...does mike paper slider

switch to... to...

to mouse his chocolate cups?

- It doesn't make sense.

- It doesn't make sense

but if you can rearrange to make sense

then you could win... bins...

and win...

...and windows.

- Alan, help me!

- So that's our win a bin and window,

re-arrange the sentence,

keep it light, competition.

Oh, sh*t.

This is the theme from Ski Sunday.

Sorry for swearing.

Theme tune

I've put up with shits like

you for most of my life...

One hour.

And if that jingle isn't word for word

what I just said,

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