Ronni Ancona and Alistair McGowan look back: ‘We would have killed each other if we’d stayed as a couple. Instead, our friendship is eternal’

Born in Louth, Lincolnshire in 1969, and raised in Troon, Ayrshire, Ronni Ancona is an actor, writer and impressionist. She studied at Edinburgh College of Art and trained as a teacher before turning to comedy. Born in Evesham, Worcestershire, in 1964, Alistair McGowan studied at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama before becoming an impressionist. The pair met on the London comedy circuit in the 1990s. They co-created the Bafta-winning Big Impression, which aired between 1999 and 2003 and became one of the BBC’s most popular sketch shows. Ancona’s new podcast with Hal Cruttenden – Hal & Ronni in Pieces – is available now.

Alistair

This was taken during the promotion for Big Impression. I can see the desire in my eyes. The expression, the whole stance screams “Watch our show! Look at me!”, as if I’m trying to reach the audience through the lens. Now I have the look of a relatively contented man. That desperate sense of yearning has gone.

The story of Ronni and I is still very moving to me. She’s so gorgeous – she just takes your breath away. But we had a tempestuous relationship, and this was taken during a tough time. She and I broke up in 1999, a few months before shooting the first series. We had been together for seven years. When you’ve had that sort of history, it never goes away. There was hurt there, and a bit of pain, while also great passion and love for the time we spent together.

She and I first met at a comedy club on a boat. I was performing that night and so was Ronni – she was doing this fantastic Marilyn Monroe impression, and I was blown away by how talented she was. There was something special about her – she reminded me of Diane Keaton in Annie Hall, my favourite film. Daffy, independent, fiercely intelligent. We met and, slowly, we both became single and started seeing each other.

Why did we break up? It wasn’t about football addiction [Ancona and McGowan co-wrote A Matter of Life and Death: Or How to Wean A Man Off Football in 2009]. That was rather a construct to sell the book, which failed completely. All I can say is that it was a complicated situation, but everything worked out for the best.

Ronni has strong views and is very good at expressing them. She’s an absolute force. I am … not. One of my sketches was presenters Oz Clarke and Antony Worrall Thompson; they would often say, “It’s very dogs and logs”, referring to a Sunday magazine type of lifestyle. Ronni’s background was dogs and logs; meanwhile, I was cats and rats. Even our comedic sensibilities are opposite – she is more surreal, and I am all about words and puns.

Together we often depicted celebrity couples: Richard and Judy, Posh and Becks. The Sven and Nancy material was really a reflection on our relationship. It was about a strong woman and an acquiescent bloke. When I see it now, I feel moved because these characters are tinged with the reality of our dynamic. The depth of our relationship also gave us a shorthand when on set. Nobody else could tell me that my Prince Charles was “sounding a bit like Hugh Grant” quite like Ronni.

When this was taken I thought it was our moment. I believed it would lead to other opportunities. For a while I didn’t like the fact that it didn’t. I was quite annoyed. Then Ronni decided she didn’t want to be the comic known for being Posh Spice for ever, and after a while I just got very sanguine about the whole situation and realised: “Weren’t we lucky to have had that time at all?” I don’t do a great deal of television now. Music and poetry took over for me completely.

Throughout everything, Ronni and I have remained close friends. I’ll call her and talk about life, and she’ll want to talk about work. I don’t think we’d ever leave it for longer than three months. I never had children, and I’m usually busy, but every August I still find myself wondering – even after 20 years – why I haven’t heard from her. Then September arrives and, like clockwork, she gets back in touch for some advice or guidance, and I realise it’s the end of the kids’ summer holidays.

Our friendship feels elusive but deep and electric. Ronni’s hard to reach, but whenever we do get together something unexpected always happens.

Ronni

I always had that floral blouse on. I did Jonathan Ross in it, a couple of photoshoots. These were innocent times: “Don’t worry about getting a stylist, just bring along the nice shirt!”

When this photo was taken, we were in an unusual situation. We had been engaged and broke up a few months before we started working on the first series. There was a huge amount of awkwardness, but also a frisson; like atoms colliding. There was probably some resentment and anger, but looking back that chemistry manifested as something very creative. I like to think of our post‑breakup work as a little bit like Abba, but less successful. Or like Fleetwood Mac, but less international, more parochial and short-lived. Also there was no cocaine involved.

I’m good friends with Alistair’s wife, but back in those first years after we split up – when we each had different partners – there was definitely some jealousy. I can understand why; it must’ve seemed odd that we still wanted to hang out after being together. But, really, I think our connection was always artistic. A meeting of minds. Not saying we didn’t love each other, but we had a synergy, and Big Impression was the correct outlet for it.

Alistair might mind me saying this, but when Big Impression started it was his show, then I came on board. Generally there was more sexism in comedy in those days and there were a lot of times where I ended up feeling as if I was behind a reception desk asking, “Can I help you, sir?”, rather than being treated as his equal. I spent a lot of time frustrated. Not with Alistair, but other people.

Our show was made just as celebrity culture was about to go stratospheric. People were getting famous fast and making lots of money. It was also pre-social media so we had less information about what these famous people were actually like at home. Our first review said: “This is interesting, quite funny, hit and miss. But why are they bothering to do David and Victoria? Who knows how they speak and who’s actually interested in these people?” We even did a version of Celebrity Wife Swap before it was ever commissioned. I wish we’d sued them for some royalties, actually. We were permanently broke. On top of that, we worked really hard. Even when we were hot, we weren’t ever cool.

Alistair thinks I am still driven, but really I just have all of these tools and I want to use them. These days, people presume you’re not working when you are, as nobody watches TV in the same way any more. They think you’ve slid into obscurity. It’s a bit annoying but I understand – I’ve done something recently and I don’t even know if I can find the channel it’s on.

My friendship with Alistair is poignant and deep. He’s so pedantic and controlling in ways that would normally drive me insane. Somehow I really like those maddening qualities in him. I actually think we would have killed each other if we’d stayed together. Instead, our friendship is eternal. I don’t agree with everything he says and he doesn’t agree with me, but I know it would never be enough to break the bond.