I spent my childhood in army camps, which are pretty weird places. My father taught forces children. I was sent to boarding school in England when I was 11. We had gone out to Uganda, and my parents decided that the local school wasn’t good enough, and I was sent to school in Yorkshire on some sort of scholarship. It was a watershed moment in our relationship. It’s quite hard, being that far away – you don’t feel fully part of the family.
My younger brothers were four and five, so they stayed in Uganda, and my older sister had about a year of school left, so she stayed as well. My mum told me she was sad that it happened, that she blamed my dad. It means I’ve always been slightly different from everyone else in my family, and don’t feel as connected as I can see they are. I even speak with a different accent.
The public school I went to was a nasty place. It made me into a little rebel. When I was 17 or 18, I got suspended for “throwing up in a prefect’s wastepaper basket” – which meant being pissed. My family were back in England by then, so my dad came to pick me up. Driving home, he was outrageously annoyed, yelling, “Well, what are you going to do with your life?” I was in such trouble already, I thought I’d go for broke. I said, “I want to be an actor.” Dad stopped the car, turned the engine off and put his head in his hands. Five minutes later, he lifted up his head and, in his broad Yorkshire accent, said: “Adrian, you’ll never get a mortgage.”
I met my wife, Jennifer Saunders, in a strip club when I was 23. It was a comic strip club, so you could perform alternative comedy on one stage while there were strippers on the other. Needless to say, she was one of the comedians, not one of the strippers. I was with someone else at the time, so we knew each other for five years before we got together … although I always hankered after her. I tried to propose on horseback. Jennifer likes horses so I thought that would be a good idea. The only fault with the plan was that I can’t ride. I didn’t quite fall off, but I didn’t get round to proposing either, until we sat down to dinner. Then I went down on one knee and said, can we get married and can we have children? And she said, yes – and yes.
I was a very hands-on dad. Everyone assumes that because you’re famous, you must be very busy. But Jennifer and I are both innately lazy, and we were around all the time, constantly. We saw much more of our kids than the bankers and solicitors we used to live next door to. Most of our lives were spent writing, and writing is a very easy job to do with kids at school. You take them to school, write for a few hours, then pick them up again. I don’t understand people who think bringing up kids is some sort of onerous duty. I always enjoyed it, and their company. I’ve always thought: what’s not to like about this? Generally, having kids has been the best thing about life, really.
It must have been difficult for our three daughters, being born to famous parents. Luckily, they all handled it extraordinarily well. All of them live nearby and we are a very close family unit. I think what a lot of people don’t get about family is that you have to work at it. When your kids are born, there’s this automatic, reciprocal love – but as they get older you have to make sure you’re making yourself attractive to them, as people, to be around. You have to renegotiate the terms a bit, and work at it.
We adore being grandparents. We see our grandchildren all the time. My eldest grandson has just turned five, and he loves a good fart gag at the moment. Especially if you say in a posh, serious voice, out of nowhere: “I want to fart!” There’s nothing better.
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