Jenny Eclair: ‘I don’t put books on display to show how civilised I am’

I’m very proud of my home. We built it ourselves. Well, I didn’t — my husband, Geof, did. I did nothing. I stayed in our old house and tried to write another book. Geof was made redundant from his job as art director at the TV Times and used his payoff to buy an unremarkable post-war red-brick house with a garage, built on bomb-damaged land. He knocked it down and we had a quarter-of-a-million-pound hole in the ground. I retreated to the Georgian elegance of Brunswick Villas [in Camberwell, south London] and Geof basically got on with it. The next time I saw it, when the hoardings were removed in 2004, it had become an incredibly minimalistic house.

Hasn’t it won architectural prizes?

It has, but the trouble is next door: it was a little 1960s number, but it was knocked down last year and rebuilt into a slightly more impressive modern house than ours. It’s just a tiny bit bigger, but ours is 20 years old now and showing a bit of wear and tear.

Which home in your life have you had the strongest emotional connection to?

In masturbatory terms, the only one I have been able to satisfy myself sexually in is Brunswick Villas, because it had a sturdy banister rail. Emotionally, it’s this home. It’s like a pedigree dog: it’s got a normal address then a pedigree address, which is Stealth House.

What is it like now?

It’s minimalist with a lot of stuff in. You can see the minimalist bones — the floors are rubber, the edges are sharp, there are no carpets, there are only a couple of curtains, and we’ve got one of those cast-iron hanging fireplaces that looks like a testicle. It’s quite a sharp house.

Do you have any art?

A lot of our money is on our walls and everything else that’s crap is in the study, which is knee-deep with my past — photo albums, ephemera, just everything — because I’m writing the show that goes with the book. I actually hate it like this. It makes me feel a little bit hysterical. The rest of the house is quite neat.

Has any art survived multiple house moves?

Yes. I have a seascape which has followed me from the home in Berlin that I lived in as a child all the way to southeast London. My parents collected Meissen porcelain because of our time in Germany, so I still have a white Meissen horse, which may or may not be worth something.

Presumably your Perrier Comedy Award takes pride of place on the mantelpiece?

No. It’s on the floor in the study. It’s filthy. I don’t really have stuff like that on display. There’s no showbiz ephemera on display. I couldn’t think of anything worse.

Is music important in your home?

I’m quite embarrassed to admit this, but as I get older I don’t really give a shit. Music is just not important to me. I’m tone deaf. Words are important to me.

Do you have a library?

I do like the idea. If I had a big house, I’d have a library, but it’s all quite precious. I think a lot of very middle-class people like to demonstrate how civilised and intellectual they are by having lots and lots of books on display, but I have dry-eye disease so over the years I have become much more enamoured with listening to books.

Your husband’s obviously handy with the DIY. Do you ever lend a helping hand?

No, but I’m very good with colour. I’m excellent at choosing cushions, but generally Geof is better at everything.

I believe you also make cushions.

I do tapestry kits for a charity called Fine Cell Work, which is a prison charity. They give them to murderers to make into cushions.

Are your cushions decent quality?

They’re really f***ing good. They’re pretty professional. I do them when I’m being driven from gig to gig on tour. I used to drink chardonnay travelling between shows, but now white wine gives me cystitis, so I do tapestry instead. My life is kind of shit now.

Do you put the bins out?

We have an InSinkErator, which churns up all our food debris. Everything else we split between us.

Is your house your forever home?

My sister lives down the road. My daughter lives a 20-minute drive away, and there is a bus I can take there to see my two-year-old grandson, which is really, really important. So I would be happy to stay here. Even if I had to crawl up the stairs.

For tickets to see Jenny Eclair’s new memoir show Jokes, Jokes, Jokes, Live! visit jennyeclair.com. Jokes, Jokes, Jokes: My Very Funny Memoir, published by Sphere at £25, is out now

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