Alan Partridge: You work in a petrol station Michael. It's not the Gulf War. Which ironically is like a large petrol station.
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Alan Partridge: Calm down Lynn! You're suffering from minor women's whiplash! 
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Sonja: "The Spy Who Loved Me" is a brilliant film. It begin in forest in Germany...
Alan Partridge: It's Austria! Austria!
John: What's the one where the laser beam goes up his jack...
Alan Partridge: "Goldfinger"!
Michael: What's the one with the, with the volcano, and it splits up and a big rocket comes out with all Chinkies jumping up and down?
Tex: Isn't that, er, "Thunderball"?
Alan Partridge: No. No! No! No! Stop getting Bond wrong! I'll tell you about "The Spy Who Loved Me". All do that with your fingers round your eye. I am Roger Moore. Bang! Blood dribbles down. We're on a submarine. Two sailors sit down and have a game of chess. Then the cups start wobbling and then a man who used to be in "The Onedin Line" comes in and goes, "Why are the cups wobbling? What's going on?" And then... yeah, you can stop doing that now. And then he peers down the periscope thing and looks through it and goes, "Oh my God. The submarine's being eaten by a a giant tanker." And then we cut to Moscow. And there's a man there and he's Russian - he's got eyebrows, you know - and he's on the phone going, "What, a whole submarine? You're joking! I'm gonna have to tell some other Russians. See ya!" Right, and then, and then, it cuts to James - Roger Moore - and er, yes, he's with a lady. Yeah. Yeah. He's, he's necking with her. And he goes, "I've got to go, love. Something's come up."
Michael: Aye. He means his cock.
Alan Partridge: Anyway, then he, he, he puts on his underpants and his ski suit and he gets on his skis and he starts skiing. And he's being chased by these Russian shits in black jumpsuits with lemon piping. And, er, he's just skiing along like that, and they start shooting at him, and he goes, "Right! I've had enough of that! Just stop it!" And he turns round with his gun and then he does a backward somersault off this ramp, and he, he lands on his feet - I'm not sure why, but he's not showing off. And then, then he goes over a cliff and he's falling and you think, oh God, James Bond's going to die! He's going to die! But then at the last minute...
Michael: He pulls a ripcord, right? And a, a, a parachute comes out and it's got a Union Jack...
Alan Partridge: Michael! Michael!
Michael: But that'show it ends.
Alan Partridge: That's not the end of the beginning. The end of the beginning goes like this: glang! Glanalangalangalangalangalang! Glanalang, langalangalanga, nobody does it better - and I'm a naked woman in silhouette with a gun, spinning round - Makes me feel sad for the rest. Nobody does it - ooh, bit of nipple - quite as good as you. Baby, you're the best. Da, da, da - and now a really big bounce right over and I land on my feet. Da, da, da, da, da, der. I wasn't looking, so now you found me... ooh, bit of bush, er - I tried to hide from your love life - and a woman swinging on a Luger, a giant Luger; ooh, look at that... Like heaven above me - and now another naked woman walking along the top of a gun, completely Billy Bollocks... The spy who loved me is keeping all my secrets safe tonight - and then one more big swing from the woman; legs go right up - ooh, what was that? Too late... Nobody does it half as good as you, baby you're the best!
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Alan Partridge: Ah-haaaaa! What a year it's been for Dante. Fires. Maybe you're here tonight with a wife or an old flame. But what is the burning issue? Hit your targets or you'll be... fired. But today's also about fun. Have you all got your fun packs? I've got one here. Dropped it. It's all right. I've got a list. Here. It should contain a torch, a CurlyWurly, a book of stamps, a free digital watch with denim strap, a vodka miniature, a Bic-style razor and a copy of the Daily Express. Ooooooh, it's a good paper. Now, first award tonight is for best Christ. Not Christ. Er, sorry. Keep saying 'Christ'. Er, I know some of you may be religious and to those people I apologi- Sorry. I was supposed to hit that later. I'll just wait for it to finish. A, a glittering year ahead. You might want to read your Daily Express. Don't shine that torch in my face, mate. I've just lost a pint of blood. On now as we look at a fantastic year for - I'm going to be sick again. You know that feeling when there's nothing coming up. Urrgh. Jesus. Urrgh. August knocked the trend for downturn in fireplace sales. Oh God. Oh, I sound like the devil. Bits come out my shoe. That's not going back in again. You want some more glitter? Two grand, that cost. I was gonna give out some... some awards. But, er, that's not going to happen. Look at me. Go and eat some coffee. Erm, drink it. It's soup you can eat - that's not so liquid.
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Alan Partridge: Back of the net!
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Alan Partridge: Hello, commuters with your computers. This book would fit ideally into, er, an attache case or the thigh pocket of a pair of fashionable combat trousers. Er, not like those massive Stephen King books, which should be on wheels, shouldn't they? Yeah. It's embarrassing. Idiot. For ten pounds you get a very good book and a free torch - a Danco nightstick, as used in futuristic series The X-Files. There's a demonstration model tied to the chair with a skipping rope by that woman. Wh-what is it you want? Right. Train for Lowestoft is on platform four, er, it leaves in... five minutes, so, er, better learn to jog again quickly. No, seriously, run. You will miss it. This book is a top business aid. As I'm sure, er, as I'm sure you are, sir. Look at that: not even listening. Off to London, no doubt. Go to London! I guarantee you'll either be mugged or not appreciated. Catch the train to London, stopping at Rejection, Disappointment, Backstabbing Central and Shattered Dreams Parkway.
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Michael: Me, I'd, I-I-I'd have an, an Apache attack helicopter.
Alan Partridge: Oh, great.
Michael: Aye. I'd gan back to school. But first I'd take out the labs and then I'd type into the attack computer 'Mr Cragg, chemistry teacher'. Blow 'im to bits.
Alan Partridge: Yeah, I know the feeling.
Michael: And then I'd go looking for Tom Donaldson. I'd be hovering just down the road from his house, there. And he'd see us, but I'd duck down behind the trees, and he thinks he's safe, right? And he's just about to put the key in his front door, and I come up from behind the hedge, 'Hello, you b******.' He panics, right? And he goes in the house, so I get the 30-millimetre canon and I take out the fish pond, coy carp in there couple of rounds each, right? And then I just tilt the helicopter over to one side and the machine-gun bullets is chewing up the drive, right? He comes out. 'Oh no! Not me Triumph Stag! I've just had it resprayed!' I cut it right in half, right? And then he goes, 'Ahhh!' He runs up on to the garage roof. I say, 'Right. This is for you, Tom.' He goes, 'No, no!' He's begging us, he's begging us man, 'No, please don't!' And then I fly off to Cornwall and I just smash in the sea in a big ball of flames.
Alan Partridge: Sleep well, Michael. Erm, who's Tom Donaldson?
Michael: Oh, he's just a mate.
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Alan Partridge: Britain has some of the safest roads in Europe. But this isn't Britain... THIS IS DER AUTOBAHN!
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Alan Partridge: It's just a wet t-shirt competition, Lynn. It's not hardcore super-sex.
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Alan Partridge: Right, I'll tell you an anecdote. In 1974 I was catching the London train from Crewe station. It was very crowded; I found myself in a last-minute rush for the one remaining seat beside a tall, good-looking man with collar-length hair, it was the seventies; buckaroo! I looked up and saw it was none other than Peter Purves, it was the height of his Blue Peter career. He said, "You jammy b******" and quick as a flash, I replied, "Don't be blue, Peter!" Needless to say, I had the last laugh, now f*** off!
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Alan Partridge: Michael, release the headmaster!
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Alan Partridge: Kiss my face!
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Alan Partridge: That was Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell, a song in which Joni complains they 'Paved paradise to put up a parking lot', a measure which actually would have alleviated traffic congestion on the outskirts of paradise, something which Joni singularly fails to point out, perhaps because it doesn't quite fit in with her blinkered view of the world. Nevertheless, nice song.
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Alan Partridge: 'Sunday Bloody Sunday'. What a great song. It really encapsulates the frustration of a Sunday, doesn't it? You wake up in the morning, you've got to read all the Sunday papers, the kids are running round, you've got to mow the lawn, wash the car, and you think "Sunday, bloody Sunday!".
Aidan Walsh: I really hate to do this to you, Alan, but it's actually a song about...
Paul Tool: Yeah, bloody Sunday is actually about a massacre in Derry in 1972.
Alan Partridge: A massacre? Ugh. I'm not playing that again.
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Alan Partridge: You farmers, you don't like outsiders, do you? You like to stick to your own.
Peter Baxendale Thomas: What do you mean by that?
Alan Partridge: I've seen the big-eared boys on farms.
Peter Baxendale Thomas: Oh, for goodness' sake.
Alan Partridge: If you see a lovely field with a family having a picnic, and there's a nice pond in it, you fill in the pond with concrete, you plough the family into the field, you blow up the tree, and use the leaves to make a dress for your wife who's also your brother.
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[Inspecting the bathroom in a house he wishes to purchase]
Alan Partridge: Do you know what this room says to me? Aqua - which is French for water. It's like being stuck inside a giant Fox's Glacier Mint, which again is a bonus.
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[expanding a dining table]
Alan Partridge: Yes, it's an extender!
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[Alan is having sex]
Alan Partridge: Do you mind if I talk? It helps me keep the wolf from the door, so to speak.
[pause]
Alan Partridge: Jill, what do you think of the pedestrianization of Norwich city centre? I'll be honest, I'm dead against it. I mean, people forget that traders need access to
[aroused]
Alan Partridge: DI-XONS! They do say it'll help people in
[aroused]
Alan Partridge: WHEEEEELCHAIRS!
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Alan Partridge: Smell my cheese, you mother!
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Alan Partridge: Fire, fire, the fayre's on fire!
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Alan Partridge: Thank you for being this morning's farmer, Robert Moon. Have you had your breakfast this morning, Robert?
Robert Moon: Well, the way things is going, I dunno...
Alan Partridge: Can you just answer "yes", for the purposes of a joke?
Robert Moon: ...Yes.
Alan Partridge: Well, then, you must be a *full* moon!
[pause]
Alan Partridge: Hello?
Robert Moon: I'm still here.
Alan Partridge: I was... I was just making a pun on your name.
Robert Moon: Oh. Oh, right.
Alan Partridge: Thank you for being this morning's farmer.
[hangs up]
Alan Partridge: Old Robert a bit slow on the uptake there, dunno what he had for breakfast this morning... Presumably an infected spinal column in a bap.
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Alan Partridge: You are a big posh sod with plums in your mouth, and the plums have mutated and they have got beaks. You make pigs smoke. You feed beef burgers to swans. You have big sheds, but nobody's allowed in. And in these sheds you have 20ft high chickens, and these chickens are scared because the don't know why they're so big, and they're going, "Oh why am I so massive?" and they're looking down at all the little chickens and they think they're in an aeroplane because all the other chickens are so small. Do you deny that? No, I think his silence speaks volumes
