It’s fair to say I’m excited about the forthcoming Alan Partridge film. I’d even put my levels of excitement on a par with the small-minded simpletons who got excited about the recent royal birth (surely there is something wrong with anything that makes it less likely that Harry will become King – if we’re going to have a royal family then I’d much rather my taxes be pissed up against a wall in Las Vegas than spent doing whatever it is Prince Andrew does).
Publicity puts me off stuff, mind. I am a contrary chap aren’t I? Why Sir, publicity should attract one to a thing – not repulse one! I’d wager you’d eat sand to quench a thirst! I just want to see the film now. It also seems a bit like this is the centre of the Partridge hype but it’s nearly two weeks away from release. With all this hype they are going for the mass audience – but people are stupid. People who listened to Partridge on Radio 1 over the last couple of days will have forgotten about the whole thing by the 7th of August.
If you’re the kind of person who needs Steve Coogan to be on Saturday Morning Soup Kitchen to be made aware of Alpha Papa then you’re going to be distracted very easily in the next 14 days or so. Someone watching Tim Lovejoy interrupt someone far more interesting than he could ever be might be excited about AP after seeing a clip of the film this Sunday. But if between this Sunday and the film being released that person is asked for a flannel or sees a rainbow or is given a new belt then the film will be gone and the publicity campaign will have failed.
I’m not sure what my point is because no amount of publicising the film could push me to a stage where I would refuse to go and see Alpha Papa. So they get to be ubiquitous and whore the film out – but they keep plain old boring me at home putting up with it all. It is me who has to put up with the gossip, people whispering in the Post Office how Steve Coogan would just as much like me to go to see the film as he would a woman from Gillingham who didn’t know who he was – as he’d already banked on my money (of course he has I bought the Partrimilgrimage for fuck’ sake – not to mention Knowing Me, Knowing You radio show on tape when it first came out and again in a CD box set when that came out so I got an extra CD of stuff).
Not quite sure what that was all to prove. It’s not like I had nothing to write about today: I saw Jesca Hoop (quirky, American but I liked her none the less) in a very hot room this evening. Other than that I was just livin it, livin it, livin it (livin’ it like that).
Please accept this piece of art I did a few years ago as an apology. It’s called The Execution of Jake Dean. It won’t mean anything to people who didn’t watch Hollyoaks about ten years ago – and only slightly more than nothing to people who did.