Read Online I, Partridge by Alan Partridge - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alan Partridge
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the strategy and ergonomics of my desk, and devise a new layout that was fresher, simpler and more logical.
The telephone was switched to the far left, on the grounds that I tended to wedge the receiver under my left jowl and use my right hand to scribble notes or gesticulate. To that end, my pen jar and notepad were migrated from the leftermost reaches of the space to a new position, just by the right hand. The computer monitor – previously slap bang in the middle – was perched in the right-hand corner, angled jauntily in my face’s favour. Snacks and chocs were housed in a new Tupperware box in the top drawer, a radical departure which freed up a good quartile of the desk’s surface. Staplers, hole punches, sticky-backed plastic, Post-it notes: gone, in a hard-headed cull of underused items. The angle-poise was placed – nice touch, this – on an adjoining cabinet, not impinging on the desktop at all and casting its beam from an unusual angle which gave a quality of light that was genuinely different from that of the desks of Elaine Clark (news), or Sophie DeVault (weather).
It was a pared-down and original layout that was user-friendly and looked good too. I’ve tried several other designs since but have honestly never bettered this one. If I have the time, I’ll sketch it out and put it in the appendix, entirely free of charge. 59
It all felt like a fresh start for me. A new city, a new job, a new desk system, even a new brother-in-law who could speak clearly and wasn’t over-affectionate with my kids. I was cockerel-a-hoop.
Radio 4’s On the Hour was a weekly news programme with seriously big balls. It made Newsnight look like Newsround and The Nine O’Clock News look like Newsround . If other shows were a normal-sized packet of crisps, On the Hour was very much a grab bag. And for those of you unfamiliar with the denominations of crisp bags, that means it was large.
It was a serious break for me and I knew it. 60 I’ll never forget my first week in the job. On the morning of the show I’d arrived at London’s [CHECK NAME OF STATION] with nothing other than a Slazenger back-pack, a selection of snacks and sandwiches, a spare shirt and tie, a notebook, pens, pencils, pencil sharpener, first aid kit, an emergency 50p for the phone box and (I hoped) a glint in my eye.
I hopped on the tube and made my way over to the BBC. (By the way, for anyone reading this overseas or in Wales, the ‘tube’ is a means of public transport.) 61 The show was to be recorded in the august surroundings of Broadcasting House. And what a building! As soon as you walked through the doors, you could tell these people knew what they were doing. Quite simply, the place stank of news.
But this reek of pure BBC quality only added to my sense of apprehension. With only an hour to go until the opening editorial meeting, nerves fluttered around my stomach. It’s a hard feeling to describe but it was almost as if someone had put moths in my tummy.
It was of some comfort to me that I knew one of the team already. On the Hour was edited by the redoubtable (love that word) Steven Eastwood. I’d met him when I came up to London for my job interview. Things had begun, as they so often do at the BBC, with a handshake.
‘That’s a good handshake you’ve got there, Alan.’
‘Thanks,’ I replied. ‘I practise it in front of the mirror.’
‘And how was your journey?’
‘Real good, thanks, Stephen,’ I said, briefly forgetting that his name was actually spelt ‘Steven’.
‘So tell me, young man, how much do you want this job?’ he probed.
‘What’s it out of? Ten?’
But Eastwood didn’t want a number – if he had, my answer would have been ten, maybe eleven – he just wanted to see a flicker of true passion. Thankfully for me, that’s exactly what he saw. And incredibly that was all it took – along with a 90-minute interview, a written exam, a series of psychometric tests and the submission of a full portfolio
The telephone was switched to the far left, on the grounds that I tended to wedge the receiver under my left jowl and use my right hand to scribble notes or gesticulate. To that end, my pen jar and notepad were migrated from the leftermost reaches of the space to a new position, just by the right hand. The computer monitor – previously slap bang in the middle – was perched in the right-hand corner, angled jauntily in my face’s favour. Snacks and chocs were housed in a new Tupperware box in the top drawer, a radical departure which freed up a good quartile of the desk’s surface. Staplers, hole punches, sticky-backed plastic, Post-it notes: gone, in a hard-headed cull of underused items. The angle-poise was placed – nice touch, this – on an adjoining cabinet, not impinging on the desktop at all and casting its beam from an unusual angle which gave a quality of light that was genuinely different from that of the desks of Elaine Clark (news), or Sophie DeVault (weather).
It was a pared-down and original layout that was user-friendly and looked good too. I’ve tried several other designs since but have honestly never bettered this one. If I have the time, I’ll sketch it out and put it in the appendix, entirely free of charge. 59
It all felt like a fresh start for me. A new city, a new job, a new desk system, even a new brother-in-law who could speak clearly and wasn’t over-affectionate with my kids. I was cockerel-a-hoop.
Radio 4’s On the Hour was a weekly news programme with seriously big balls. It made Newsnight look like Newsround and The Nine O’Clock News look like Newsround . If other shows were a normal-sized packet of crisps, On the Hour was very much a grab bag. And for those of you unfamiliar with the denominations of crisp bags, that means it was large.
It was a serious break for me and I knew it. 60 I’ll never forget my first week in the job. On the morning of the show I’d arrived at London’s [CHECK NAME OF STATION] with nothing other than a Slazenger back-pack, a selection of snacks and sandwiches, a spare shirt and tie, a notebook, pens, pencils, pencil sharpener, first aid kit, an emergency 50p for the phone box and (I hoped) a glint in my eye.
I hopped on the tube and made my way over to the BBC. (By the way, for anyone reading this overseas or in Wales, the ‘tube’ is a means of public transport.) 61 The show was to be recorded in the august surroundings of Broadcasting House. And what a building! As soon as you walked through the doors, you could tell these people knew what they were doing. Quite simply, the place stank of news.
But this reek of pure BBC quality only added to my sense of apprehension. With only an hour to go until the opening editorial meeting, nerves fluttered around my stomach. It’s a hard feeling to describe but it was almost as if someone had put moths in my tummy.
It was of some comfort to me that I knew one of the team already. On the Hour was edited by the redoubtable (love that word) Steven Eastwood. I’d met him when I came up to London for my job interview. Things had begun, as they so often do at the BBC, with a handshake.
‘That’s a good handshake you’ve got there, Alan.’
‘Thanks,’ I replied. ‘I practise it in front of the mirror.’
‘And how was your journey?’
‘Real good, thanks, Stephen,’ I said, briefly forgetting that his name was actually spelt ‘Steven’.
‘So tell me, young man, how much do you want this job?’ he probed.
‘What’s it out of? Ten?’
But Eastwood didn’t want a number – if he had, my answer would have been ten, maybe eleven – he just wanted to see a flicker of true passion. Thankfully for me, that’s exactly what he saw. And incredibly that was all it took – along with a 90-minute interview, a written exam, a series of psychometric tests and the submission of a full portfolio
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