‘I said Trevor McDonald had nits…’
Surprisingly, I have never fashioned out an opportunity to write about Steve Coogan and Alan Partridge before. Despite the fact that I’m Alan Partridge was arguably the biggest comedy influence of entire childhood. Me and most of my friends could quote Partridge like our dads could quote Python. Whether this contributed to our respective barren years in terms of the opposite sex is up for debate. Who needs a girlfriend when you can have a mug with Alan Partridge’s face on one side, and a cat on the other? From the Oasthouse is Coogan’s latest outing for the beleaguered broadcaster, and it’s up there with anything in the Partridge canon.
From the Oasthouse finds Alan as content as we have ever seen him. He’s doing a fair bit of walking, a very small amount of running, and lots of fretting about his internet troll, the wonderfully named High Noon. Each episode charts an average day in the life of Alan from his attempts to offer a talk at a local school to his whimsical imaginings about the fictional former lovers of his Eastern European cleaner. And it is gloriously Partridge.
I didn’t love Alpha Papa. Physical humour isn’t really for me, I prefer to find Partridge agonising over small details, unable to move on because of petty trivialities. The wonderful Mid Morning Matters was perhaps the finest example of this, but From the Oasthouse is nearly as good. The conversational style of a podcast suits Partridge, and that makes this latest venture more successful than either I, Partridge or Nomad (the two books previously released under the Partridge monniker).
The Audible paywall might put a few off (I devoured all of From the Oasthouse during my 30 day free trial) but I can assure anyone that is on the fence that this podcast is worth the outlay. Partridge at his most Partridge. Bitter. Assured. And utterly, beautifully absurd.