It reminded me just how absolutely perfect the first series of I'm Alan Partridge was. The Linto Travel Tavern. The big plate. The coop á beans. The two girls on reception. 'I'm not driving a mini Metro!'
He may be a quite appalling **** as a human being, but Coogan really triumphed there.
Don't worry..it can wait.
Oh and I noted yesterday that you admitted that the dark, life threatening malignancy that had invaded your enormous great trumpet was nothing more than some old cocaine bogey you no longer had the lungs left to expel. Imagine if it had been malignant! You'd have been draped across your poor doctor's desk sobbing and begging him to save you.
A real man simply nods grimly at his physician, shakes his hand while thanking him for his time then leaves to begin getting his affairs in order.
We've all had to endure your pitiful blubbing for weeks man!
I once arranged a phone interview with him. Despite the fact I was working nights on the paper and generally getting to sleep at 4am, I agreed to an 8am (or maybe 9) interview. Having got up even earlier than that to prepare (at least 10 minutes, h), I dialled the number I was given only to to be told by one of his lackeys that he wouldn't be doing the interview at all and could I just email some questions through. ****
Yes, I almost gave it the thumbs up on that alone, but there’s too much shíte.
To me, the point about Partrifge is that, however awful he is, you’re still on his side. You want him to triumph over his awful co-host and the horrible, smug roving reporter. For him just to be the butt of their jokes misses the point.