David mitchell and victoria coren dating
He only had to look at the internet to know that he was attractive to women –“usually, they add, to their ‘surprise’ and ask their friends if it is ‘wrong’ that they fancy me” – but his public image was that of a kind of tweedy loner “who eats his ready-made meals in the dark”. As his profile soared he became an enigma to journalists sent to profile him. He didn’t even have a flat-screen television next to his BAFTAs when an astounded interviewer from visited his flat in 2009 – “most people’s grandparents would have discarded it [his television] as obsolete at least a decade ago.
It even has one of those portable aerials on it …” Mitchell tried to be helpful. Instead, he worked harder and harder, playing his crusty bachelor status for laughs to compensate for his secret. Because he couldn’t talk about it, he couldn’t adequately explain his life.
The first years after leaving Cambridge were spent in “miserable poverty”.
Mitchell’s only paid work was as an usher at the Lyric Theatre in Hammersmith, dodging train fares to get there and spending his meagre earnings on beer and snacks.
He is shy and can be modest, he says, but he is still up there standing on that stage or in front of those cameras.
Something in your brain goes, ‘Oh, hang on, there is a thing here. ’ And for me the funny side is often what might be the counterintuitive or the annoying side. And that sitting in front of computers all day now will herald heart disease in later life.
He and Webb took their two-man shows to the Edinburgh Fringe every year, which led to writing work.
They discovered the television industry was basically made up of aimless meetings that gave them false hope.
Coming from the theatre, Mitchell writes, “I didn’t mind the idea of working in the evenings, maybe of rehearsing in the afternoons, but mornings, I felt, should be the preserve of sleep, tea and paracetamol.” Mitchell’s memoir has an interesting structure.
It is framed within his walks around London, something he took up to alleviate chronic back pain.
He admitted on : “They couldn’t know me personally and I didn’t want to be trapped into creating the illusion that they could – an illusion that might subsequently be shattered if I was caught on film strangling a cat.” Even though he still doesn’t drive, didn’t have a credit card until he was well in his 30s and his haircut hasn’t changed since school, it wasn’t just a bad case of arrested development. Trying to distract and console himself from the fact he didn’t have a private life at all. He still lived in the dump in Kilburn because to move to a more luxurious house would be a sign of moving on without her.