“I hope they don’t want me to look wacky,” frets Josie Lawrence on the way to the photoshoot for this interview, because she’s here to talk about a serious film. On the other hand, she’d love a plug for her regular Sunday night slot at London’s Comedy Store, where she has been improvising on and off for 38 years. The contradiction is a fact of life for a performer whose gift of the gab on Friday night TV bagged her a permanent place in the heart of the nation, eclipsing the parallel career in which she was excelling as a classical actor of Shakespeare and Stoppard.
The interview is over lunch, at Lawrence’s request, though she looks momentarily horrified when a plate of long, chewy pasta arrives, dripping with the sort of sauce you really don’t want down your front for a photoshoot. She has arrived early, as she always does, and killed some time in a vintage shop close by, where she has bought herself an elegant coat dress. She jumps enthusiastically from her seat to show it off, exclaiming, at head-turning volume, “I’m terrible at buying clothes – my wardrobe is full of old things that I like to wear. But it’s funny how things turn up when you’re not looking.” Far from deliberately drawing attention to herself, she seems oblivious that other diners might recognise her.
