Confronting those rumours, once and for all

A statement on behalf of James Dreyfus and myself

The only wedding photograph to survive the cull

It has been a difficult time for myself and James Dreyfus, who many of you will know as the actor and satirist, but I simply know as “my Jimmy” and the father of our three children: Aldi, Netto and Lidl.

The difficulties are born out of the rumours on social media that James and I were never married, and it’s something we made up “for a laugh”. I can’t tell you how offensive this is. So, in order to put those rumours to bed, I will tell you a little about our relationship, then and now, and why we had to keep it a secret during those formative years.

Jimmy and I met when he was a truss maker for ruptured whippets, and I was working the cruise ships, cleaning below deck, and performing my infamous cabaret act above. We were both very young, but the fact that he was just 18 and I, 24, meant that the age difference was somewhat frowned upon. Nevertheless, we fell head over heels in love with each other, and had our three children in quick succession.

Obviously, due to Jimmy’s sexual problems, we had to use a turkey baster, but, as we told people then, and we remind them of now, asexuality is a proud identity.

The wedding was a glorious affair. Jolyon Maugham, now the world’s most eminent KC, was at that time a humanist preacher, and he married us. Dame Katy Denise gave me away, and Jimmy’s best man was India Willoughby. This of course was before India’s transition (she had always been a woman, she just didn’t know it then).

Jolyon, waving off the newlyweds on our way to honeymoon in Sutton Coldfield

Amongst 200 high profile guests (extras from Coronation Street, Emmerdale Farm, and of course, Cash in the Attic) we dined on steamed Fray Bentos steak and kidney pudding, followed by Jimmy’s favourite, butterscotch Angel Delight.

Times were hard as newly weds, and eventually we went to our separate ways. James had been picked up by an off duty sailor in the bus station at Weatherby, where he had claimed he was visiting a distant relative. It ended up in the local paper, and I was appalled to discover, having had not a clue prior to this moment, that my Jimmy was in fact one of those shirt lifters.

James’ best man, in happier times

In a fit of peak one day, I burned everything - the wedding presents (four George Foreman lean mean fat reducing grilling machines, a hostess trolley, and an electric carving knife), and all but one of our wedding photographs.

To cut a long story short, we divorced, and the children stayed with me half of the week in my caravan on the edge of Skegness, whilst he rented a flat from Dame Katy Denise who by then had become a close friend. I hadn’t realised just how close, but that story must never be told.

When the divorce came through, we pledged that we would always stay friends for the sake of the children. And my child maintenance obviously. Every week, I would get a delivery from Booze ‘n’ Fags of 200 Woodbine, 12 litres of Strongbow cider, and a bottle of Glen’s vodka. That kept me going, whilst the kids went to the food bank.

But now we have these rumours to contend with - that this is all a sham, we made it up for a laugh, that we were never married, and don’t have children together. The pain is indescribable: we both refuse to have our identities, and the identities of our children, erased.

This is all either Jimmy or I will ever say on the matter (except we are on Talk TV and GB News later, explaining the finer details).

Dame Katy Denise, who has a ‘special relationship’ with my ex husband