fun

The back-to-back news this week of the deaths of Dolly Parton and Tim Curry — both at age 80 — felt like an unfair and twisted threat to our peace.

Both were extraordinary cultural forces whose screen and stage work lit up and shaped our lives, so its no wonder the emotional whirlpool led to one large group chat on social media, with fans posting favorite performance clips and interview soundbites. I took comfort in many, including Parton singing “Jolene” at the Grand Ole Opry in 1988 and eight minutes of Curry in the frantic “how it was done” climax in “Clue” (1985), which he reportedly performed so intensely he had to be taken to the hospital for high blood pressure.

Our writers captured the depth of the legacy each leaves behind.

Greg Braxton reflected on Curry’s significant contribution to the twisted image of clowns with his terrifying portrayal of Pennywise in “It.” Robert Lloyd took on highlighting the actor’s most memorable roles on TV. And in his appreciation of Curry, Steve Appleford praised how Curry’s roles “turned out wilder and more varied than he might have expected but his seriousness and sense of fun never faded, pushing boundaries and himself. No one was ever bored watching Tim Curry onscreen.” (Appleford spoke with Curry in 2025 for his final interview published in The Times; I encourage you to read it.)

Meanwhile, Mikael Wood waxed on Parton’s storytelling prowess in her music. Lloyd looked at her legacy on the small screen, where she appeared in variety shows (two of her own), specials, TV movies, guest shots, interviews and music videos — contending it’s where “much of America met Dolly.” Mary McNamara explored Parton’s unexpected persona as a feminist icon. And Emily St. Martin reminded us of Parton’s contributions to literacy.

The country music superstar’s performance in 1982’s “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas,” which earned her a Golden Globe nomination, is one of our streaming recommendations this week. (For those seeking community while celebrating the life of Parton, AMC Theatres announced screenings for the film, as well as “Steel Magnolias,” in select locations through Sept. 2.) Our other streaming suggestion, if you need a life vest to keep afloat through the tears, is a series featuring veteran fashion police partners reuniting again — this time, to dole out critiques of fictional characters.

Also in this week’s Screen Gab, we spoke with actor Kristen Johnston about the Season 2 return of “Leanne.” Best known for her role as Sally Solomon in the hit ’90s sitcom “3rd Rock From the Sun,” Johnston has built a career bringing laughs to comedies like TV Land’s “The Exes” and CBS’ “Mom.” Lately, she’s been bringing her seasoned comedy skills to Netflix’s multi-cam sitcom, which captures the messy (and funny) experiences of women navigating midlife — like dealing with menopause or the horrors of the modern dating scene. Stand-up comedian Leanne Morgan stars as the titular character, while Johnston plays her brutally honest sister, Carol.

“Not every show has to be, you know, medieval dragons,” Johnston says. “There’s room for a couple of silly women in their 50s trying to figure it out.” Read more from Johnston in Guest Spot. In the meantime, I’m off to mix and bake a cuppa flour, a cuppa sugar and a cuppa fruit cocktail with the juice at 350 till it’s gold and bubbly. See you next week. — Yvonne Villarreal

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Recommendations from the film and TV experts at The Times

Dolly Parton as Miss Mona in the 1982 movie “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.”

(Universal Pictures)

“The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas” (VOD)

Dolly Parton cemented her movie star status with her feature debut “9 to 5” alongside Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin. But outside of the irresistible title song, Parton did not sing in the film. She makes up for it with her second film, 1982’s “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.” Adapted from the Broadway musical, the country superstar dazzles as Miss Mona Stangley, the proprietress of the popular “Chicken Ranch” brothel. With her characteristic down-home charm, she makes her place of business seem as wholesome as apple (“There’s lots of goodwill and maybe one small thrill, but there’s nothing dirty going on,” she sings in the opening number). Parton also contributed two extra songs to the soundtrack alongside the original Broadway score, including her hit “I Will Always Love You.” — Greg Braxton

Clinton Kelly, left, and Stacy London in “Why’d They Wear That?”

(Jordan Petsy / Simple Alien)

“Why’d They Wear That?” (YouTube)

Stacy London and Clinton Kelly are back with a third “Wear” show, after “What Not To Wear” and last year’s “Wear Whatever the F You Want.” This one’s for the Stacy and Clinton fans, as it removes the clients and makeover elements and sits the hosts on a bed together in front of a TV as they critique what characters wear in the movies, viewing film through the lens of clothing, hair and makeup. (It’s very smart.) The films and actors they highlight are meaningful to one or the other — they don’t always agree — which is to say they broadly represent the tastes of people born in 1969. The range of subjects encompasses “Meatballs,” “Poltergeist,” “Best in Show,” “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” and “The Empire Strikes Back,” in which episode you will learn that London views Darth Vader as “the Karl Lagerfeld of outer space” (“monochromatic dressing … quiet luxury and he doesn’t change — he invests in his pieces”). One episode is a tribute to Catherine O’Hara. With no one’s feelings to dance around, they can be as critical as they like, but snark isn’t the point so much as celebration and the delight of old friends sharing their own, often self-deprecating stories. Come for the analysis, stay for the laughter, or vice versa. — Robert Lloyd

Guest spot

A weekly chat with actors, writers, directors and more about what they’re working on — and what they’re watching

Leanne Morgan, left, and Kristen Johnston in Season 2 of “Leanne.”

(Patrick Mcelhenney / Netflix)

In “Leanne,” Kristen Johnston plays the ultimate ride-or-die sister you want in your corner — she turns chaotic moments into fun, tells the hard truths and provides unwavering emotional support. The Netflix sitcom stars comedienne Leanne Morgan as a woman trying to rebuild her life after her husband of 33 years left her for someone else. Helping her navigate the emotional rubble is her family, including her fiercely loyal, unfiltered, twice-divorced sister, Carol (Johnston). As Leanne confronts more change in Season 2, like turning 60 and coming to terms with aging parents that require more care, Carol remains a blunt support system. Over the phone, Johnston discussed her connection to the themes explored in the comedy and the genre of TV that has her hooked these days. — Y.V.

Change continues to be a theme in Season 2. It opens with Leanne resisting the idea of turning 60 and still not ready to be alone with herself. Carol is there to remind her that she’s capable. Tell me about your 50s, Kristen. How are you feeling about this stage of your life and the prospect of turning 60?

Oh my God! Honestly, I never even thought I’d make it to my 50s. So, the fact that I’m still here is a pretty big miracle. My 50s has just continued to be about trying to figure out my place in the world and deepening my friendships with my friends, my family. That’s about it.

Are there things you used to worry about that now you’re like, “I can handle that”?

I used to worry about everything, and now I really couldn’t give a s—. I don’t live for other people’s opinions anymore, and that was probably something I lived for for a long time. When you get fame really early, you just condition yourself to not make anyone upset and not get found out by the tabloids or be stalked. I don’t know. I do enjoy really just trying to live. Other people’s opinions matter to me, but they’re not the reason I do or don’t do anything.

You and Leanne both get a chance to play with the idea of getting older early in the season with a daydream sequence about being in the retirement home. What was that like? It hits at such a big topic that many people come to grips with at some point, which is the idea of caring for aging parents.

That’s a huge topic this season, and it one it matters to me because my mom is still here — thank God. But it’s stuff that really comes up a lot. When it’s time to get them into a home, it’s so hard, and of course, they never want to go. Who would? But literally doing that scene was so great because I’m so into prosthetics and makeup. We had a lot of fun coming up with what each of us would be.

Kristen Johnston, left, and Leanne Morgan in “Leanne.”

(Patrick Mcelhenney / Netflix)

The bond between Leanne and Carol is such an important element of the show. What do you think this show really gets right about sisterhood?

It feels very real. You have one who’s a black sheep and always blamed for everything, then you’ve got one who’s the Goody Two-shoes and got married at the right time and had kids. Carol did none of that. But throughout that, and much more important than the rivalry and being mad at each other or whatever, is just this absolute unending love. And I feel very sisterly towards Leanne. I get really emotional about her because I feel like she’s my sister. They’re pretty easy scenes to act.

You’ve worked in multi-cam sitcoms across broadcast, cable and streaming. Do you feel a difference?

I don’t know if it’s as much that they’re different, but the times sure have been different. I’m from the era where we would have the head of the studio come to every taping and send us cards and thank you or call you to come over to his house for his 60th birthday or whatever. That doesn’t really happen anymore. I’m from this other era, which really felt more personal and felt more one-on-one. Now it really just feels like, “Don’t look at me. I just want thanks for the paycheck.”

And it seems hard to even gauge how well the shows are doing.

Exactly. Leanne was so nervous about all that at first, and I just said, “Look, all we can do is our our best. Let’s just be funny and have fun, and everything else is above our pay grade.” So she went with that. That’s how we kind of roll.

OK, tell me — how often are you asked about the “Splat!” episode of “Sex and the City”? How often do people come up to you about Lexi?

It’s crazy. It’s all anybody wants to talk about, any podcasters or anything. Really, I would say 80% of the conversations I’ve had in the last few weeks are focused mainly on that.

What does that tell you that a role that was a one-off could have that kind of lasting impact?

It’s the shock of what happens in that scene more than almost anything. There was kind of this angry “I’m gonna live no matter what” vibe to her. So to watch her fall to her death out of her own hubris, it’s just a perfect little encapsulation of a moment in New York City, and I think that’s why people love it. It’s also probably one of the bigger, bigger acting choices I’ve ever made. That was Michael Patrick King. I can’t believe it still matters to people, but obviously, I’m thrilled it does. I did like three takes [of the fall]. And it could have been the stunt woman [who made the cut]. I honestly don’t know who they cut to for what.

Because when people say, “Are you a Carrie? Are you a Charlotte?” A lot of people say, “I’m Lexi.”

They tell me that all the time. I just go, “Oh, babes.” I wouldn’t really want to cling to her as like an inspiration for your character, but I think what they mean is they’re probably bawdy. There are worse things to be in life.

What’s the most recent thing you watched that you’re obsessed with?

I’ve gone down the K-drama rabbit hole. And something I loved is this C-drama called “Pursuit of Jade” on Netflix. It’s so well-done, really good and very thrilling. A period show. Love it. I’ve been sucked into that. Oh, for K-drama — “Bon Appétit, Your Majesty.” That’s pretty much where I’ve been living.

What’s your go-to comfort watch?

I like spooky, weird stuff like “True Detective,” “Broadchurch.” I just did a rewatch. I can’t believe “Broadchurch” is my comfort show. Anything with really good character development, fantastic acting. I love it.

ICYMI

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Three men in a boat on the Thames

One of my best UK holidays was the week I spent in June 2013 rowing from Oxford to London with two friends, James and Tom.

We hired the boat from a company called Thames Skiff Hire that mainly caters to people recreating the fictional adventure of the characters in Jerome K Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat. Our boat – Ewen – was a 26ft, 130-year-old mahogany skiff. It came with two pairs of oars, a rudder, a cooking stove, a boat hook, and iron hoops that supported a green canvas roof over the hull.

After an hour’s briefing at a slipway by Donnington Bridge, we were off, piloting the boat 80 or so miles downstream to London. That June was blustery and wet. The first day was deceptively fine, but on the second, we got soaked on the stretch of water between Abingdon and Day’s Lock, and came close to packing it in.

Even with the current helping us, the miles ahead seemed like folly. It’s not generally remembered that Jerome K Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat ends in disappointment and recrimination as the companions abandon their sodden skiff at The Swan in Pangbourne.

But we kept going. And, over the subsequent days, the weather improved, we got better at rowing and it turned into an extraordinary and memorable adventure.

Looking back, the trip appears to have been packed with incident. We visited lovely riverside pubs, brewed tea on uninhabited midstream islands, and popped into a meditation centre run by an ascetic Hindu sect. We passed Medmenham Abbey, the headquarters of Francis Dashwood’s Hellfire Club; Monkey Island, where the doomed romance in Rebecca West’s The Return of the Soldier unfolds; and we moored for lunch one day at the luxurious faux-gothic hotel Oakley Court, immortalised as Frank-N-Furter’s castle in The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Logistically, the trip was never entirely straightforward. Although the Thames skiff was designed to be slept in, it was not big enough for three and the rules around wild camping made things more complicated. I also remember feeling a certain anxiety when mooring the boat to go to the pub. We had been instructed to hammer iron spikes into the riverbank and fasten the skiff to them. But it always seemed weird to walk away from this precious antique and assume it would be there when we got back.

Negotiating the locks that regulate the water level of the river was also tricky. Someone had to remain in the skiff with a boat hook and keep it from bumping against the sides as the water poured out of the sluices. And, of course, rowing that distance, even with the current, requires a certain stick-to-it-ness.

Paradoxically, the minor hardships of the trip probably made it more relaxing than a holiday whose explicit goal is relaxation. The overall pace was slow and reflective. And even within commuting distance of our own beds, it always felt as if we were very far from the daily grind. There were stretches of extraordinary tranquillity, deep silences, wonderful birdlife; I still remember the flash of a kingfisher in the willows outside Abingdon.

Other river-users took kindly to us and our venerable skiff. One evening, we were invited for drinks onboard a beautiful narrowboat whose owner we met as we were queueing at a lock.

Our final destination was Walton-on-Thames, but by the time we reached it, we were enjoying ourselves so much we pushed on to Hampton Court before turning the boat round and heading back upriver to return the skiff.

It’s a trip I’ve always meant to repeat. I’ve travelled much further, at much greater expense and had nothing like as much fun.
Marcel Theroux

A birthday break in the Trossachs

“Gravelfoyle,” my cycle-mad partner, Gary, replied instantly when asked where he’d like to go for his birthday. Gravelfoyle is the nickname of the village of Aberfoyle – gateway to the Trossachs, about 50 miles north-west of Edinburgh, and even closer to Glasgow – which claims to have “the UK’s finest gravel riding” and the waymarked trails to prove it.

Growing up in Edinburgh, I spent many happy summers camping in the Cairngorms and roving around Perthshire. This instilled a habit of going north rather than west, so I didn’t know Scotland’s first national park, Loch Lomond and the Trossachs, as well.

Off we set, bikes strapped to the car, passing Falkirk’s Kelpies, whose steel heads reared up alongside the M9, imposing Stirling Castle and the Mordor-esque Wallace Monument in the distance. The drive was only 75 minutes, but we stopped en route at The Smiddy farm shop in Blair Drummond (close to the safari park my brother and I went to as kids) to pick up cheese and chorizo scotch eggs, “the best thing we sell”, according to the butcher.

I’d booked a snug-looking glamping pod on the Cardross Estate near Port of Menteith, not far from Aberfoyle. Tucked away down a single-track road flanked by farmland, where kites soar overhead, it’s a slick operation, from the easy self-check-in to the trolleys for wheeling stuff from the car park. Inside the curved, wooden pod was a sofa, pull-down double bed, shower and fridge, with picture windows framing fields speckled with cattle and crops rolling towards Ben Lomond. We could have chosen one of the estate’s self-catering cottages or a B&B stay in Cardross House, but the pod felt like the most decadent way to enjoy the outdoors, especially once the fire pit was roaring and fizz was in hand.

Later that day, we embarked on our first ride, the 18.2-mile (29.2km) Lomond View, one of three Gravelfoyle routes plotted for gravel biking, and a wet and muddy affair after recent rain. Afterwards, at Aberfoyle Bike Co (where you can hire bikes if you don’t bring your own), the owner, Liam, was ready with a hose and hot drinks.

The next day, we hiked out of the nearby town of Callander on the 3.5-mile (5.3km) circular Bracklinn Falls hiking route. Crossing the bridge over the thundering waterfall, we pressed on through thick forest before returning to baguettes oozing generous fillings at Mhor Bread. The afternoon’s downpour gave us a great excuse to nest in our cosy pod, read and, in my case, nap – the indulgence!

That evening, the sun sprang loose, and we chinked glasses in the flower-strewn garden of Scottish chef Nick Nairn’s namesake restaurant, Nick’s at Port of Menteith. Swallows and housemartins swooped as we ate fish and chips and seafood linguine.

Over three days, we biked and hiked various routes alongside lochs and through yawning, forest-clad valleys, ate fabulous, locally produced food, and soaked up the nurturing goodness of being immersed in the wilderness of the national park.
Kirsten Henton

At the edge of north Wales

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve passed through Ynys Môn (Anglesey) over the years, but until recently I’d never actually been there. Ghosting through the darkness to catch the night ferry from Holyhead to Dublin, I had no idea what the island looked like until our daughter suggested an outing while we were visiting her at her student digs in Bangor, across the Menai Strait.

That first time, she took us to Newborough Forest, a nature reserve on the south-west coast of the island made up of Corsican pines, sand dunes and a sweep of beach that offers panoramic views of the peaks of Eryri (Snowdonia) across the bay. We spent the afternoon walking over to the small tidal island of Ynys Llanddwyn, with its lighthouse and the ruined remains of Saint Dwynwen’s church. Saint Dwynwen is the Welsh patron saint of lovers, the equivalent of Saint Valentine. It was love at first sight for us, and we hatched a plan to come back for a longer visit.

On that next visit, we rented a cottage with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the mountains on the road out of Llanfair – or Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch to give it its proper majestic name – well, how could we not? What we discovered on that stay pretty much chimed with what I had read in HV Morton’s book In Search of Wales, published in 1932: “The long roads run through flat, green country, linking quiet, stone-built little market towns together.”

But it’s at the edges that Ynys Môn comes into its own. On the first day, we walked the Wales Coast Path along the cliffs at Rhoscolyn on Ynys Gybi (Holy Island) in the north – an island off an island with dramatic sea arches – and enjoyed a feeling of apartness, of almost floating out to sea.

On another day, we parked up at the beach at Rhosneigr and again followed the signs for the coast path, walking through the marram grass and gorse on the dunes until we found a sheltered cove to go swimming. Then we drove across the island that at one time was called Môn, Mam Cymru (Anglesey, the Mother of Wales) because it was said to grow all the corn needed to feed the country, to Red Wharf Bay and another sweeping beach at the bottom of a single-track lane. There was no corn on the menu at the Boathouse cafe, but we made do with crab meat crumpets and mussels.

Leafing through HV Morton’s book back at the cottage that night, I came across a line that made me rue the fact that I had rattled through this glorious little island on the boat train on so many occasions, simply seeing it as an embarkation point without ever having had the imagination to jump off and spend a bit of time here: “Holyhead is an excellent place for a holiday … you have bathing, fine cliff scenery, and all round you is excellent flat walking country with a supreme view of the whole Snowdon range.”
Andy Pietrasik

North Yorkshire with 42 pals

Twelve years ago, I was sitting in my son Ned’s primary school playground when I said to my friend Vicky, “I’m thinking of taking a few friends up to Yorkshire.”

“I’m in,” she said.

Word got out, and before I knew it 42 of us were heading to lovely Cote Ghyll Mill, on the edge of the pretty village of Osmotherley. It was a youth hostel in those days, before its recent transformation into a B&B. Ned and I made a giant Welcome to Yorkshire banner and Blu-Tacked handwritten names on to the bedroom doors.

None of us realised that week would become our June tradition, until Covid brought it to a halt.

Brilliantly, my mum and dad took charge one day, leading us on a six-mile circular walk from Grosmont through the fairytale hamlet of Beck Hole, a centre for the traditional game of quoits, and back across the North York Moors.

I remember Mum, ever the feeder in our family, opening the boot of their car to reveal her homemade fruit cake alongside a stack of enormous sandwiches they had collected from Danby Bakery. Dad brought a few short thumbsticks (traditional walking sticks) he’d made for the kids from hazel branches. Florence, now 19, still has hers, and Julie, her mum, now uses it to reach an awkward light switch.

Halfway round was Dad’s favourite pub, the Birch Hall Inn, where his drink of choice was always the same: a bitter shandy. The pub doubles as a sweet shop and we came away clutching paper bags of lemon sherbets, cola cubes and pear drops, all bought by the ounce, while Ned carefully chose Barratt’s liquorice sticks for his grandad, as is tradition.

Part of our walk crossed the North Yorkshire Moors Railway line to Whitby, and, after watching a train steaming past us, we all wanted to take a ride. It is a magical way to see the moors. Every carriage told its own story. Couples were more romantic, kids chatted around the tables, and happy heads hung out of the windows to catch the smell of coal and steam. Eleven-year-old Eleanor caught far too much coal dust in her eye and ended up in A&E in Northallerton. Thankfully, she was fine.

In Whitby, Ned’s pals buried him in the sand on Tate Hill beach. Although we brushed him down and emptied his shoes, he still left a little trail of Whitby all the way back to the station and on to the train.

Our trip wouldn’t have been complete without a visit to my own boozer of choice, the Sun Inn, or Spout House, in Bilsdale. Its infamous cricket field, with a dramatic slope where fielders on the boundary can disappear from view, is where my dad and brother played. Spike W, AKA Prince Harry, is also recorded in the score book.

My old primary school friend Audrey is the landlady now. I used to ride her ponies, her dad was the village milkman, and she somehow makes everyone who walks through the door feel as if they’ve come home.

Audrey laid on a domino tournament and the most amazing Yorkshire platter, with cakes worthy of victory at any country show. Competition was fierce, with some local diehard domino players, mainly farmers, joining in. Harriet, aged just six, beat the lot of them. She burst into tears, while her mum, Steph, cried with laughter.

This year, I casually asked Ned, now 21, “Do you think anyone might fancy going back to Yorkshire?”

“Absolutely, Mum,” he replied.

So we’re going back to Cote Ghyll Mill this month.

I’ve dug out the original Welcome to Yorkshire banner and Harriet, now 18, is fiercely ready to defend her domino title.
Jill Mead

A quick dip into Bristol

Travelling by train from Kent to Bristol on one of the hottest days of the year might have been pretty close to madness. In sweltering heat and amid cancellations and delays, I arrived in the city hot, broken and miserable. Less than an hour later, I was gliding through the water at the city’s lido, smugly thanking myself for booking what may be one of the best summer city hotels in the country.

I was in Bristol for the opening of an exhibition – Polly Braden: Against the Tide – at the brilliant Arnolfini arts centre, which seemed the perfect excuse to visit a city that had somehow eluded me. The Arnolfini is a leading hub for the contemporary arts, housed in a 19th-century warehouse on Narrow Quay beside the harbour, a vibrant area packed with restaurants, cafes and bars, as well as some of the city’s leading tourist attractions, including the aquarium and Brunel’s SS Great Britain.

My base was the Lido Townhouse, a six-bedroom hotel in a Georgian building that opened in 2024 in the city’s sought-after Clifton neighbourhood. Each of the rooms has been done out simply but with fabulous taste, featuring colourful throws, sparkling white bedlinen and jauntily tiled bathrooms.

The real attraction is the lido itself, which dates back to Victorian times and has been restored after falling into disrepair. Open year-round, with the water heated to 20-24C, the pool is flanked by old-fashioned changing cabins on one side and a bar and restaurant on the other, with windows and a terrace that look out over the action. Booking directly with the hotel grants you full access to the lido, which is just a few steps across a (very quiet) road in the hotel’s robes and slippers. In 24 hours, I managed to squeeze in three swims, including one at 9.30pm (it closes at 10pm), emerging to sit in my robe at the bar nursing a glass of amaro. Breakfast the next day out on the deck was equally enjoyable, with coffee and a generous plate of Turkish eggs and coffee.

A colleague and I paid £210 for two double rooms and a shared bathroom on the top floor of the hotel, which, with unlimited swims thrown in and 10% off our food bill, seemed like an excellent deal. The harbour is a 25-minute stroll from the hotel along shop-lined Georgian streets, past picturesque College Green and the cathedral. So, though it was a lightning visit, the city showed its best side. A return trip is on the cards.
Max Benato

VOGUE Williams has joked that husband Spencer Matthews is no longer interested in sex as she enters the final weeks of her pregnancy.

Speaking to Joanne McNally on their My Therapist Ghosted Me podcast, the 40-year-old admitted she had not taken kindly to the apparent turn of events.

“I’m trying to look good today because I don’t think Spenny fancies me anymore,” Vogue confessed.

Her podcast co-host Joanne McNally jokingly replied: “Of course he doesn’t! You’ve been married for ages now, come on!”

Laughing off the comment, Vogue continued: “No, because I think our fun times are over, if you get me. I’m too pregnant now.

“I don’t want to. I was just being a nice wife and a good participant.

letting slip

Vogue Williams reveals gender of hers and Spencer Matthew’s fourth baby

OH BABY

Pregnant Vogue Williams reveals two unusual names for fourth baby ahead of birth

“But then when he was like, ‘Yeah, well, you’re really pregnant,’ I was like, ‘Excuse me? Sorry, are you not into it anymore?’

“And he’s like, ‘Vogue, you’re giving birth any minute now.’”

Later in the podcast, Vogue described having to get up for yet another trip to the loo during the night.

“What part of me do you not find attractive?” she joked.

Pregnancy can cause women to need the toilet more frequently as the growing baby puts pressure on the bladder.

Their producer Joe then offered his take, saying: “I can’t speak for the whole male population, but I suspect on his part there comes a point where you’re sort of thinking more about the presence of a baby than the woman herself.”

Vogue hit back: “Well, do you know what, Joe? People are mad for pregnancy porn. Loads of people fancy pregnant people.”

Spencer and Vogue are expecting their fourth child, a baby boy, this autumn.

They are already parents to sons Theodore, seven, and Otto, three, as well as daughter Gigi, five.