Lily Allen, One Year On.
A candid conversation with Lily Allen, caught backstage in the middle of the UK leg of her epic, 62-date West End Girl tour
Lily Allen for Perfect Issue 11.
Photographer: Willy Vanderperre
Fashion Editor: Katie Grand
Writer: Alex Bilmes
Leeds on the longest day of the year. ‘Yeah, and it feels like it,’ says Lily Allen, sucking on a green matcha vape and giving me a testy look. We’re in her dressing room at the First Direct Bank Arena. She’s lying on a sofa, also green, eating trail mix. I have my own sofa, perpendicular to hers. I’m drinking a Coke Zero.
Outside it’s a hot summer Sunday, late afternoon. In here it could be any time of day or night, any season, anywhere in the world. We’ve been talking for 30 minutes. She has only another three and a half hours to put up with me and my questions before she’s due on stage. And then another three hours in the car to London. How she could possibly be anything other than elated by these circumstances is inconceivable to me. But it takes all sorts.
(As it turns out, when it comes to the ride home, having changed into her pyjamas immediately after the show she quite sensibly covers herself in blankets, reclines her seat, props her feet up on a suitcase and goes to sleep.)
Allen arrived here at lunchtime, on her tour bus from Manchester, where she played last night and the night before. This is the UK leg of the West End Girl arena tour, which will continue in the days to come through Nottingham and Cardiff and then three sold-out shows at the O2 in London, before rolling through European festival season, criss-crossing North America in September, ending in Australia in November. The long days aren’t going to be shortening any time soon.
The show, like the album, is a hit. A triumph, even. Also like the album, released last October, it is sad, funny, clever, eccentric, thrillingly direct and, to judge by audience reactions, cathartic. Plus, you can dance to it. West End Girl the album is a song-cycle about a husband’s betrayal of his wife. Allen has been careful, in interviews, to separate the specific facts of her life from the details and events and conversations recorded in the songs. But West End Girl is at least semi-autobiographical, as all her work has been, this time inspired by Allen’s own recent divorce from her second husband, the American actor David Harbour. The show brings the record to life, with Allen performing the album in its entirety, acting out the songs as in musical theatre, on an elaborate set, in a series of glamorous costumes. Before she comes on stage, a string sextet plays her greatest hits for the audience to sing along to. It’s silly and moving and it works like a charm.
I saw the show for the first time in March at the London Palladium, where it was received in a spirit of near hysterical appreciation. This is a significantly scaled-up version, with new sets, new outfits, big screens. But the spirit of the thing is unaltered. Allen, alone, telling her story to a — how to put this? — partisan crowd. (This is unlikely, I know, but were David Harbour for some insane reason to show his face in the crowd at the First Direct Bank Arena tonight, a platoon of heavily armed US marines could not guarantee his safety from the vengeance-seeking women of West Yorkshire.)
This is not the first time I’ve interviewed Lily Allen, it’s not even the first time I’ve interviewed her for Perfect. We’ve been friends for 20 years, through high times and low, since she first broke through as a fully formed pop sensation. Plenty has changed since then, in her life and all of ours, but in some fundamental way Lily Allen remains, it seems to me, the same girl I first met in 2006. Sweet (yes), funny (obviously), the smartest person in any room, and at times quite impossible.
“I think this album gives a voice to people who’ve been betrayed. Lots of women contact me and say, ‘Something like this happened to me 20 years ago and I never felt I was able to deal with it properly. But having this album has really helped me to process it.’”
How are you, Lily?
I’m good, thank you. How are you?
I’m fine, thanks. It’s very nice to be here, in Leeds on a Sunday afternoon.
In this very cosy dressing room.
Well, it’s quite a large dressing room, I’d say. And very green.
Really nice shade of green, isn’t it?
I don’t mind it. It’s got two trees in it, also green.
We bring those trees with us.
Really?
No.
Oh, I thought that might be on your rider: two trees. What is on your rider these days?
Everything you can see. Fiji water. Hummus. Crisps. And some tea: lemon and ginger, manuka honey. Which actually I should take off the rider because I bring my own. Otherwise, you get shit manuka honey. Think that’s about it.
I noticed some ginger biscuits.
That’s right, ginger biscuits. Trail mix, pistachios.
OK. Nice to have that established. Now, I realise this is arbitrary because it’s more about my experience than yours, but less than a year ago I came to see you acting in a play in Bath, in a very small studio theatre, where you were playing Hedda Gabler. And we went for drinks afterwards and then we wandered around the streets and we had a kebab and it was a lovely evening.
Mmm-hmm.
At that point you were preparing to release a new album, after a long break from recording or performing as a pop star. Now you’re on an arena tour.
Correct.
My point is: a lot has changed in the 10 months since that night in Bath. Does it feel like that to you?
In some ways. I mean, I’m playing shows every night of my own music. Instead of retelling a classic Ibsen play.
That’s the facts of it. I’m trying to get at how it feels. You were still famous and successful then and doing really good work. But in a more modest way than playing massive concerts to thousands of adoring fans.
I actually think the feeling is not that different. They’re both terrifying. And I think my way of dealing with performing is to sort of disassociate. So, it’s similar: I go on stage, I disassociate. (Laughs)
Is that because in these gigs you are acting, you’re playing a part? I mean, it’s not just Lily Allen going on stage, it’s the character ‘Lily Allen’.
Yes, it’s like playing a version of myself from two and a half years ago.
Every night you go out there in front of people to tell a story, and in doing that you’re reliving quite traumatic experiences that you only recently went through. That must be weird?
As I said, I think I disassociate. I can tap into certain emotions during each song that I feel are necessary for the performance, but I’m more thinking about the technical stuff. Everything’s quite choreographed, and it’s just me on stage, so it’s quite a lot of responsibility. So I’m focused. And concentrated. When I played gigs on previous tours, I’ve been up on stage being a current version of myself. And there are certain things that one does. And it’s very easy to control the outcome. It feels a little like painting by numbers, for me, the crowd-work. ‘Is everybody having fun tonight?’ And, ‘Wow! You guys are really loud!’ And, ‘Let’s see how loud you can be on the right-hand side!’ And, ‘Gosh! It’s sooooo amazing to think that I was here playing in a little bar 20 years ago and everything’s changed and it’s all because of you guys!’ And you know what you’re going to get back from the room. It’s all hollering and whooping and yeah, it feels great. It’s like taking drugs, right? I know what happens if I empty out a bag of cocaine onto this table and make a line and put it up my nose. I know what the outcome is going to be. It feels great! (Laughs) But I don’t do that currently.
That suggests you find crowd-work, stagecraft, or just showbiz in general, to be inauthentic.
I do think it’s inauthentic.
What, every time a performer on stage goes, ‘Hey, everybody! Thanks for coming, it’s so great to see you all tonight. I love you guys!’ Can that never be real?
I’m not saying it’s always inauthentic. I think it’s manipulative, though.
It’s manipulating the audience’s emotions?
Yes.
Isn’t that what showbiz does?
Maybe. It’s just not what I’m trying to do right now.
What type of response are you looking for?
I’m not. (Laughs) I’m literally not looking for a response! And I can’t hear because my in-ears are so fucking loud. I can’t really see anything. I want people to enjoy themselves, for sure. But it’s interesting. Because I’m not being me, or me at the moment, I can’t manipulate them.
You mean you can’t use the tricks of the trade, the call and response…
I couldn’t possibly. Because then I’d have to come out of character and it would ruin the performance. I’m not saying what other people do, or what I’ve done in the past, is bad. It’s just not what’s happening here.
I’ve been genuinely moved at concerts.
Listen, I have as well. But usually by the music. People have commented [about this tour]: ‘She doesn’t interact with the audience. Blah, blah, blah.’ I’d say to them: give me your top five audience interactions you’ve ever seen at a gig. (Laughs)
This show is sort of a hybrid between a stage musical and a pop concert. How did you arrive at that idea?
It evolved very naturally. It just felt like the right thing to do, following on from the album.
Who came up with the idea of the cellists playing at the beginning?
Me. I was always worried about the idea of not playing the hits. I said it to [her manager, Seb Chew] on the phone. ‘Why don’t we just get a mini orchestra to play the songs before the show, and we’ll put the lyrics up on a screen like karaoke and the crowd can sing it themselves?’
Had you seen someone do that before?
No! It came from my brain, like all the best ideas.
Well, that’s impressive. It’s rare to be surprised by something at a gig. They tend to be so formulaic.
Well, I’m a rare diamond… in the rough.
Where is this rough you speak of? I haven’t seen much evidence of rough.
You fucking have!
I came to see you at the Palladium in London in March. I’d say it was predominantly a female audience. I’m not a woman, so I don’t pretend to share in everything that was happening in that room, but there was a tremendous feeling of communal release. Not just happy feelings. Anger, too. Some kind of catharsis. A lot of it was connected to the fact that you are telling a story about how men mistreat women, or how a specific man mistreats a specific woman. And when I left the venue that night, after we’d said goodbye, I stood outside on Argyll Street, and there were loads of people there, all singing your songs. They knew every lyric. They didn’t want to go home. So you may not be looking for a response, but you got one. How does that feel?
It feels good. I wanted to do justice to this album which I’m very proud of and which I think is some of my best work and if people are responding to that, then… great.
You’ve touched people.
(Lily mimes being sick)
I know you find that gross, but it’s true! I don’t see what’s so bad about it. Jesus, what’s wrong with that?
I don’t think it’s bad. I think I’m probably scared, right? I don’t want to acknowledge what’s gone on with this album because I’m scared I won’t be able to repeat it. I don’t want to get used to the feeling of what’s happening because I know it’s fleeting. So I’m responsibly trying to keep a distance from it.
Well, that is very responsible, but I’m sad for you that you can’t enjoy it. It’s something that so few people will ever experience. You’ve hit a nerve. That’s why it’s a success. You should feel proud of that.
I do!
You should allow yourself to enjoy it.
OK, I’ll try. I’ll do it for you, tonight.
Before the album came out no one, including you, could be sure what the response to it would be. Because of the nature of it: a concept album, almost, not a set of random tracks, each song like a chapter in the story. People don’t generally make albums like that any more. Also, because it’s autobiographical…
Autofictional.
Right, because it’s autofictional, the interest in the gossipy, tabloid aspects could overshadow the music. Success wasn’t guaranteed. It could have gone either way. And we now know the outcome.
Do we? What is the outcome?
Really? I don’t mean how you feel about it. I mean from a public point of view, or a commercial or critical point of view, it’s a success.
How do we measure success now, in the music industry?
Do you not think it’s a success?
I do. But it’s not how I would have measured success 15 years ago. I don’t really pay attention to the numbers but I know the people who work in record companies really do, and if you don’t succeed in their eyes then you feel it. I haven’t had to deal with any of that on this. But I don’t actually know how well it’s done in terms of streaming. I know that the album got to number two in the charts in the UK. But I don’t really know what it means.
My understanding is those old ways of measuring commercial success are largely irrelevant.
That’s what I mean. How do we measure success? It’s not being played on the radio anywhere. It hasn’t been since [the release]. That also used to be a marker of success. But it does seem to have had a sort of cultural impact which I would say feels successful. But it’s quite hard to measure.
One measure of success is, if this album had been a total flop we wouldn’t be sitting in your dressing room at an arena.
We definitely wouldn’t.
So you do know it’s a success!
On that metric.
I don’t know why I’m trying to convince you of your own success here, but yes – on that metric, on ticket sales, which is one of the only metrics now by which pop success can be judged. And merch sales, I guess. Is the merch selling? You and I had dinner together the other day and a girl wearing a T-shirt with your face on it walked past our table…
Yup.
There you go, actual IRL visual confirmation of success! That and the thousands of screaming fans.
I think what I’m trying to say is it’s all quite strange these days and it’s difficult to ascertain what’s going on. And I feel like my actual measure of success is that everything that’s been achieved with this album has been done with little to no promo. I haven’t had to go into a million radio stations and give them a million soundbites and then there’ll be a million Daily Mail articles trying to humiliate me. And I haven’t done 100 interviews with different magazines. And contrary to popular belief I’m actually quite shy and nervous and I don’t really love going on TV to be interviewed. So the fact that I’ve managed to sell as many tickets as I have without having to go out there and sell it, that’s the measure of success to me.
I understand that you find this annoying, but what people want, when you have a success like this, I think — and I am one of these people, I’m not excusing myself — is for you to enjoy it. We want, and almost demand, that you enjoy it. That’s your part of the bargain. You’re supposed to now have fun, because we’ve told you that you’re great, we the public, and to repay us for our…
Validation?
Yes, our fawning interest in you, and the fact that we’ve bought into you, in return you’re supposed to enjoy it.
I am enjoying it! It’s fun, but it’s also hard. Look, I think I’m doing a weird thing. This is not a normal show. It feels more challenging to me. Because right now I feel great. Tonight will be my third gig in a row. Audiences have been really happy. I’ve got a day off tomorrow. I’m going to have a lie-in. I’m planning a holiday in a couple of weeks. Everything is really good. But in three and a half hours I have to have a breakdown on stage, and cry. I have to go to another place. And that’s quite a strange thing to do during a pop concert. And what I was trying to say before is that there’s a certain formula to creating an energy in the room when you’re performing [a traditional gig] and I can’t use that. What I’m doing every night is telling a story. It’s kind of exhausting, but I want to do it and I think people are connecting with it.
What is it that they’re connecting with?
I think this album gives a voice to people who have been betrayed. And I think that especially women are given a very short timeframe in which to grieve, when they’ve been betrayed, when they’re heartbroken, and I think this album acknowledges that, and allows them that time. And lots of women contact me and say, ‘Something like this happened to me 20 years ago and I never felt like I was able to deal with it properly. But having this album has really helped me to process it.’
Right now, as you say, it seems like your life is pretty good.
Mm-hm.
Wanna talk about that?
Sure. My life is pretty good. My kids are good. I’m healthy. I’m getting enough sleep.
Last time we spoke on the record, for Perfect, there was a lot of stuff about how hard it is dating as a mum, men don’t see women in their forties in a certain light, the online thing is a nightmare. Which I am sure is true. But you seem to have solved that problem, for now.
Yep! (Laughs)
That’s nice!
It is nice, yeah.
You’re in a relationship.
I’m not talking about it.
“I wanted to do justice to this album which I'm very proud of and which I think is some of my best work. And if people are responding to that, then great.”
OK, listen. Let’s do some random Q&A.
Are you feeling you’re coming up against a brick wall?
Not at all.
I’m just not very interesting. There just aren’t any dramas or funny anecdotes because I’m not going out and getting wasted any more. All I’ve done [recently] is been in venues and done this show. And yes, I’ve got a boyfriend.
OK, Q&A. Don’t look at your phone when you’re doing interviews.
I’m not. I’m looking for a photo of a Cuck T shirt. I’m getting you one.
Is it cropped? I’m not wearing it if it’s cropped.
It is cropped. You need one. You have to wear it to watch the show.
Talk me through what you’re wearing right now.
I’m wearing a sports bra because I just worked out. I’m wearing jeans from The Row. Ugg slippers. A little white vest.
Where’s that from?
(Checks label) Forty Winks. Some shop in America. And this [folded over a chair], a blue Chanel shirt from the Métiers d’Art collection. And a big tomato-red Birkin.
Quote me a song lyric that truly means something to you.
‘How can I be homophobic? / My bitch is gay.’
I know that one! Central Cee.
Just a legendary lyric. (Laughs)
No autofiction there.
No, he’s telling the truth.
What have you done that didn’t get the respect it deserved?
Very leading questions, these.
That’s kind of the point.
No Shame [her fourth album, released in 2018] didn’t get the respect it deserved. Warners at the time didn’t know how to market me. Recently divorced, quite overweight, singing about addiction. Even though it was probably my best album, critically. I don’t dwell on it. I wasn’t entitled to anything. It was a really good album but it didn’t have much impact.
What’s your favourite body part, of your own?
My boobs… and my bum.
Sorry, but you have to choose.
OK, my bum but in like a month when I’ve done more squats.
What’s your favourite body part that belongs to someone else?
I’m mean, like… I’m not doing this.
Why not?
OK, I really like [her daughter] Marnie’s nose.
Bullshit.
I do, it’s very cute! What do you want me to say?
I want you to say, ‘Robert Pattinson’s cock.’
I’ve never seen Robert Pattinson’s cock!
That not the spirit of it. Can you recommend me a good book?
I just read a book called Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker, which is basically a retelling of the Iliad from a female perspective. I’ve always liked Greek mythology but I’d never really thought about the women in those stories. It’s very good.
When we spoke last autumn you’d been struggling to enjoy a book or a movie or any kind of art, even a TV show. Partly because of what you’d been through, with the divorce and everything. Has that changed now?
Yes! I’ve been inhaling stuff recently. Reading lots, been to the cinema like three times in the last week. Saw Backrooms, saw Disclosure Day, saw Obsession.
And?
I really liked Backrooms and Obsession.
If you could come back as a different nationality, which one would you go for?
Oh, for fuck’s sake!
Come on, that’s a good one.
Italian. I’d like to speak Italian. I go to Italy all the time. Amazing architecture, amazing weather, amazing food. Not so sure about the music…
What’s the biggest misconception about you?
I’m always reading on the internet that I’m just an awful person.
Possibly you should stop reading about yourself on the internet?
Well, where else do you think I’m going to get these misconceptions from?
Good point. I thought you might say that people think you’re a lot tougher than you are.
People do think I’m a lot tougher than I am.
What colour is Tuesday?
Green.
What’s your greatest extravagance?
Clothes and handbags. Fashion.
You buy something new every day?
No, I’ll probably have a splurge once a week.
What’s the most extravagant thing you’ve bought since the album came out?
I’ve got a Chanel chainmail jacket on order that I’ll get in August or something.
How much is it?
I’m not saying.
Do you not want to tell me because you’re embarrassed?
Yes.
Why are you embarrassed? It’s OK to spend loads of money on clothes, isn’t it?
It’s disgusting. (Laughs)
If you really believed it was disgusting you wouldn’t do it.
No, I actually wish I hadn’t done it but I’ve ordered it now, so… it’s made to order. There’s no turning back now.
Is it couture?
No, it’s not couture. But it’s like, I have a relationship with a woman at Chanel. She’s ordered this jacket for me and if I turn around now and say I don’t want it she’ll be furious and she’ll never hold anything for me ever again.
This is at the shop on Bond Street?
Yeah, her name’s Sandrine.
And Sandrine sorts you out with special things like this, does she?
No, she doesn’t ‘sort me out with special things’. It’s just like, when a fashion show happens, you can speak to the person in the shop, when they’re putting in the order [for the clothes they will stock that season] and say, ‘I want that jacket.’ So I’ve said that about this jacket and now I don’t really want it, but it’s coming and I can’t say no.
Stressful.
It is stressful!
Is “wellness” bullshit?
Some of it is. I’m quite dubious about the machines with lasers, and all that. That’s not really wellness, though, it’s aesthetics.
You mean lasers for your skin?
Yeah. Collagen-boosting stuff. I don’t know if I believe it.
I guess at least when you get your tits done, you get bang for your buck. You can see the results.
Yeah, they’re there.
The world can see they’re there.
They are definitely there.
You’re very healthy these days. Very fit.
I have a trainer on the tour. I work out every day.
Where did you work out today?
In the room next door that has a sign on it saying ‘Physio’?
OK, sorry for not checking every sign on every door.
Well, you should do. You’re reporting.
Now I know. I asked, and I found out. Journalism, see?
Down the corridor it says “Seb”, he’s not here. Don’t know why he needs his own room.
Well, I think he should have his own room, as your manager. I think he deserves it.
What, even if he’s not here?
No, you’re right, he should be here. Why isn’t he here? I might be a rubbish reporter but he’s a rubbish manager. You’re surrounded by rubbish.
He was here. He left last night. But he doesn’t need a whole room dedicated to him when he’s not here.
Maybe I should have it?
You should. You can have it.
Thank you. I’m to go down there with my pen, cross out ‘Seb’ and write ‘Alex’ on the door. What was your nickname at school?
Bitchface. Because my middle name is Beatrice! So it was Lily Bitchface Allen.
That’s not very nice. Did you take it in a spirit of good humour or in a spirit of ‘Why don’t you leave me alone, you horrible poisonous…’?
I didn’t really care.
When were you last drunk?
At the Port Eliot Festival in, I guess, 2016? No! 2019? 2018? I’ve been sober eight years this year.
And what are your memories of that?
I don’t have much memory of it but I know it wasn’t good. That’s why I gave up alcohol.
How do you feel about that now?
It was a fun time but it’s in the past. There are other things I’d rather do for fun.
Like what?
Lie at home and watch TV. Or go to the cinema, or go to a nice restaurant, or go shopping. And that’s why I slightly feel that whipping-the-crowd-up-into-a-frenzy thing feels disingenuous to me, because I don’t receive music like that any more. It was such a big part of my life. It was about letting go, letting loose, being intoxicated. And I can’t do that any more. And I haven’t figured out a way to enjoy it without that stuff. And that’s fine. Even just singing along and dancing, I really associate all of that with alcohol. I do take the kids to quite a lot of concerts. But probably the last concert I went to, I saw Olivia Rodrigo play the Governors Ball [in New York] last summer and that was quite a visceral experience for me.
In a good way?
No. Bad. I was bawling my eyes out.
Because the songs are about heartbreak?
Yes. It felt particularly close to home. But that was the first concert I’d been to in a long time where I’d felt emotionally invested and it didn’t include drugs and alcohol.
What film have you watched more than any other?
Maybe like Legally Blonde? No! Enchanted.
Amy Adams as a Disney princess, right? Did you watch it so many times because you were watching it with your kids?
No, this was before I had kids. It was like a comedown movie, a comfort blanket. When [the fashion designer] Kim Jones lived with me, he’d say that every night he’d come in and see this trail of detritus and mess and paraphernalia and bottles of alcohol and there I’d be asleep in bed, with Enchanted on.
What’s your cheap thrill?
Vapes. I love a vape.
On a scale of one to 10, how high maintenance are you?
In my relationships?
You can interpret it however you want to.
Hmm. I’d say like seven, eight.
(Silence. Raised eyebrow)
What? You think I’m higher? What about me is high maintenance?
(Silence)
Please! I’m actually very low maintenance. Apart from… no. Actually, fuck you! I’m very low maintenance. I pay for all my own shit. I do like to go to expensive restaurants but I never would ever expect anyone else to pay for it. All of the finer things in life, I provide for myself. So that’s not high maintenance. Unless we’re talking about my own maintenance of myself. Then yes, 10. But to others, no. I don’t demand a particular amount of attention. I don’t get upset if people don’t call me.
(Silence)
I have almost no fucking requests of you! When have I ever demanded anything of you? Or said that you’re falling short in any way?
I’m incredibly attentive to you, so you don’t have to.
You never answer the phone! Ever!
That’s true.
Exactly. And I never hold it against you. So: low maintenance.
OK, in that way, you are low maintenance. You are very generous and you demand very little in return, from me anyway. But of the world you do demand attention. You want to be looked at and listened to and paid attention to.
I deserve to be! Because I make really good stuff. That’s not high maintenance. And also I don’t demand to be. I would like my work to be recognised because it’s good. I maintain my low maintenance. That’s people’s biggest misconception about me, that I’m high maintenance, when I’m not.
(Silence)
OK, I’m high maintenance in a relationship. I’m like (irritating whiny voice), ‘Do you love me?’ ‘Are you gonna leave me?’ ‘I’m ugly, aren’t I?’ I need a lot of validation. (Laughs)
You’re allowed one apology. To whom would you say sorry, and what for?
I called Edith Bowman a trollop in one of my very early MySpace posts, for absolutely no fucking reason, and I apologise.
What’s your position on pornography?
I don’t think I really have one. I think everything’s OK in moderation. Some of it’s definitely problematic, but it depends what kind of porn you’re watching. And for how long, and how often. And how that porn affects your real-life relationships and intimacy.
How about for yourself?
There have been times when I’ve been a porn enthusiast. I’m not currently in one of those periods. However, I did try to get on to Pornhub the other day because my phone was connected to the Bluetooth speaker [backstage at a show] and I thought it would be really funny while everyone was getting ready to go to the toilet and put porn on and everyone would think I was secretly watching it in the toilet. But the wifi wouldn’t allow me to go on any restricted sites, so I couldn’t do it. And then I was in bed with my boyfriend later and when he asked me to Google something, Pornhub came up on my search history and I tried to explain but it just didn’t sound very believable.
Were you embarrassed?
Not embarrassed. More annoyed, because I was telling the truth!
Little bit of a prankster, aren’t you?
I’m a prankster.
People don’t know that about you. Another misconception.
There’s not much to do on tour for shits and giggles, you know? Can we hurry up so we can go and have some food?
Would you miss the attention if you were no longer famous?
Yes.
Have you noticed since the album that you have become more famous than you were?
Maybe a little bit, not much.
How about in America? Are you more famous there?
Yeah, probably. I don’t know.
You’ve always had a love-hate relationship with fame, no?
I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with tabloids. It’s not really fame. It’s journalists I have a problem with. So-called journalists. Bad actors.
Yeah, I hate bad actors too. Do you have it within yourself to kill someone?
I’m too squeamish. I don’t know how I would do it.
Poison?
I could kill someone maybe in an act of heroism. Like if I was saving someone, or like an oppressed people? If there was an evil regime? (Voice from the corridor: ‘Have you eaten?’) No, we’re about to. I’m trying to wrap this up.
Half an hour later, after a delicious Sunday roast with all the trimmings, including Yorkshire-made Yorkshire puddings, Lily and I return to her dressing room. She vapes, I drink Coke Zero.
Ready?
So, Katie Grand’s written these questions?
No, the Q&A ones I’ve had for years. I used to use them as backup when interviews were going really badly. I thought they might work for this!
(Laughs)
What’s the last thing you stole?
It’s been a long, long time. Maybe like an ashtray from somewhere.
You know according to the newspapers there’s an epidemic of middle-class shoplifting? And they love to catalogue what items people take. Geraniums from a garden centre or hummus from M&S or whatever. Were you to indulge in some middle-class shoplifting, which shop would you target and what would you slide into your Birkin?
Probably one of those Korean skincare shops. Face masks, snail serum, SPF.
What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever put in your mouth?
I put the whole microphone in my mouth the other day. I was trying to pretend I was giving it a blow job but I became acutely aware that I couldn’t get it wet so it wasn’t very comfortable. (Mimes trying not to get any saliva on a microphone while shoving it into mouth)
You were doing this for comic effect? More pranksterism? It’s good that you give so much thought and energy to entertaining your crew.
That’s what they call me, Mrs Give.
How would you like to be remembered?
As someone that’s just… really cool?
I see.
Like, David Bowie?
So: widely beloved. Impeccably stylish. And an artistic genius.
Yeah. That’s the kind of legacy I’d like.
Like a God who walked among us, favoured us with her presence for a brief period, and will live on forever in our hearts?
Yeah. I’ve got a short time to turn it around, haven’t I?
I do think you have a small amount of work to do, yes, I’ll just say that. I wouldn’t go any further.
Thanks.
If you had to interview Lily Allen, what would you ask her?
I just don’t care, Alex! You think these questions are going to reveal something.
Sometimes they do!
It’s not happening with me today. Next question.
You’ve always been like this.
Have I?
I remember a dressing room in Salt Lake City in 2009 where you basically refused to answer any of my questions. And I had come quite a long way to ask them, Salt Lake City being a fair distance from Shepherd’s Bush. I’d flown to LA, then another flight to Utah, taxi from the airport to the venue you were playing and then… nothing.
I remember us drinking!
Yeah, well, you warmed up after I opened a bottle of wine.
Oh, funny that!
Right, that’s it. I think we’ve done enough.
Really? I think you should probably ask me some more questions.
Oh, now you like it.
No, I just like watching you squirm.
In what ways are you like your mother?
I really do enjoy watching you suffer.
I am suffering. But this is unfair. You’re making me carry on even though I want to stop.
While still refusing to answer the questions! (Evil cackle)
This is the wrong way around: you’re torturing me. And you made me come here!
I did not make you come here. You texted me out of the blue having not called me for a month. You’re like, ‘Hi, how are you?’ I know why you’re texting me. Because you want to put this fucking interview in, and you only have a week to do it, and I’m on tour, so now there are only three options and you chose this one.
You haven’t answered my question about your mother.
Actually, I was talking to someone about this the other day. I think both me and my mother are only able to show our soft sides to one person at any given time.
When did you realise this?
I think I’ve always known it about her, but I only realised it about myself recently.
Your soft side?
There is a softer, more gentle, more vulnerable, intimate side to me… and once I’m attached to one person it all goes to that person.
How are you not like your mother?
I’m not as hard-working as she is. I’m able to switch off better than she is.
From my observation, you are similar in that you are both incredibly successful, funny, intelligent women, almost intimidatingly so. Do you see that?
I don’t want to talk any more. The interview’s over.
See? Now I start doing it properly and you don’t like it.
Just make me sound interesting, will you?