The few pages in the scripts book were fucking hilarious. Looking forward to this.
The few pages in the scripts book were fucking hilarious. Looking forward to this.
look at somebody like Eamon Holmes and I think, you poor man, you just don't get it, do you? Just another of these sad celebrities sitting in their metal kitchens for money. It's a cry for help, surely. What is it with these people and their need to show off their possessions in magazines? Noel Edmunds – the thick man's Richard Branson – buys a helicopter, thinks he's Christ.
Of course there are famous people out there who are more down to earth. Paul McCartney does a nine to five. Writes his songs at his desk, dashes off a few letters to the terminally ill, has a tuna bap, sees his accountant and goes for a walk. Arnold Schwarzenegger spends five minutes a night going over his desk diary. Warren Beatty has an English Pub in his house. He had it built about nine years ago. Hasn't actually used it since 1996. Ex-Deep Purple guitarist Ritchie Blackmore likes nothing better than to sit down with his collection of episodes of Hettie Wainthrop Investigates. Says it takes his head to another place, away from rock.
It's amazing how careers can just take a downturn. A friend of mine who works a BP garage says he served Gary Davies the ex-Radio 1 DJ. And get this – the man looked awful. Had a sleeping bag in his car. What's going on there? Matthew Pinsent is doing poster adverts for insurance companies, dressed in his old rowing gear. But there's no boat. He's not rowing. Not rowing but drowning. And making a few quid. Good luck to you, Matt. Better than selling your medals I suppose.
And it was with dark thoughts like this that I found myself considering suicide. Was my career sunk as Pinsent's? I say there in the car, with the garden hose attached to the exhaust pipe with two 3X2 bulldog grips, Vangelis on the CD. It had been a dark day. My Toblerone addiction was out of control. I'd got up in the middle of the night and stuffed a whole Toblerone, not a small one, into my mouth. Spewed up in a thermos. No prizes for guessing what I did with that. I threw it away.
Dark, dark days. My divorce had just come through. Awful business. I'd been forced to cite her drink problem as part of the grounds. You meet a lady in a lovely red dress and you marry her. And out come the jogging bottoms and the whisky miniatures. She secreted sherry. I'm not saying she sweated sherry. Well, she did in the end.
I'd tried everything to raise my spirits. I went to Legoland to get my head together. You need a day. It was more than I could do to stop myself from kicking over a large lego robot who in my twisted mind had become the chief commissioning editor of the BBC.
I took a Ryanair flight to Stuttgart, £10 return, just to try and clear my thoughts and make some sense of it all. I was depressed. I stared into the abyss. And then I saw a chaffinch in the summer sun, pecking at a discarded beefburger, and I thought, he's not trying to throw himself off a cliff. And I just drove home, with the garden hose trailing from the exhaust pipe like a giant mouse's tail. Stopped off at a place called Buffalo Bills. They've got old shell pumps and photos of a young Malcolm Brando from It's the Waterfront. Don't look for it. It's not there. It's Carpetland. And I never looked back, even when I found the lump. It turned out to be a knot in my vest. Now I've bounced back I don't wear vests.
During the live tour he did sometime ago, he was doing motivational speeches off of the back of a second book called Bouncing Back 2: The Relapse.
[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5nyE7nvW2E&feature=player_embedded"]I, Partridge: We Need To Talk About Alan - YouTube[/ame]
Amazing line in there
PLEASE PLEASE make it so Steve Coogan goes on various chat shows as Partridge.
I'd love it if he did an audiobook version too.
I think you're in luck, Alf. This was on twitter a couple of nights ago:
Aiannucci: Alan Partridge has now recorded the audio version of his forthcoming autobiography.
YES! Would be absolutely criminal not to get that instead of the book.
I'VE PIERCED MY FOOT ON A SPIIIIIIIIIIKE!