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.And here that he would meet Robert Webb, who has been his comedy partner for more than 20 years.Webb is the slacker unemployed musician in to Mitchell’s socially inept, pessimistic but always-employed-in-dull-jobs Mark Corrigan.Every week Mitchell trawls the newspapers looking for “something that doesn’t seem logical or right. And using my irritation at them not making sense to drive through into something hopefully funny.” He took aim at Australia when Dr Grant Tomkinson from the University of South Australia found that cardiovascular fitness in children has fallen by 15 per cent in a generation.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.
And that people who make these assumptions are very much mistaken.
By the time he reached his mid-30s David Mitchell had never really had a girlfriend.
He was one of the most successful and ubiquitous comedians on British television, but he was still living like a student in a shared former council flat in Kilburn, north-west London.
“I reckon,” wrote Mitchell, “Australia will be where the active, outdoorsy T.
rexes, who can take a lungful of air without spluttering, will make their final stand – before surrendering to the weeds’ wobbling army of mobility-scootered multiscreeners, on the condition that we show them how to reboot their wi-fi.” Still the art of the perfect column is fraught with anxiety.