Photograph: Dean Chalkley/The Observerīut we are getting ahead of ourselves, because this version of Ryan, the one who hosts panel shows and receives evisceration requests, was shaped by careful accident over 38 years, beginning in Sarnia, a small petrochemical town in Canada. ‘There are men who think I’m a dominatrix’: Katherine Ryan wears coat by and shoes by. The atmosphere is one of Californian tranquillity in the London suburbs, only punctured slightly by her description of a man lowering his anus on to a bed post. A breast pump sits on the counter beside a bag of golden hair extensions and outside, by the dainty heated swimming pool, her 12-week-old baby Fred sleeps gently in his pram. Instead of TV’s Katherine Ryan, be-lashed and dazzling, a happy cross between Christine Baranski and Taylor Swift, I’m welcomed by real-life Ryan, makeup-less in leggings, immediately offering me a plate of halloumi salad and a selection of milks for my tea. It is these small dogs that greet me at her front door, and an entirely other lady. Her cover photo, shot when she was nine months pregnant, sees Ryan lucent and blonde in an ice-blue gown trimmed with marabou feathers, holding aloft in her left hand her favourite of her three tiny dogs. The absolute perfect title for a memoir by a comedian equal parts louche and lurid, famous for her uncompromising attitude, convincing invulnerability and refusal to self-deprecate. “Like, ‘HOW DARE she carry herself with that wicked abundance of self-belief? How AUDACIOUS!’” It is the perfect title. K atherine Ryan has named her autobiography The Audacity, a word (she explains) most commonly used to indicate disapproval.
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