HOW WE MET

CLARISSA DICKSON WRIGHT AND JENNIFER PATERSON

Clarissa Dickson Wright, 49, is one of the Two Fat Ladies from BBC2's cult series. A qualified barrister, she inherited over pounds 1m (now spent) in 1975. She then ran a lunch club and a pheasant farm and became a domestic cook. She now owns Cooks Bookshop in Edinburgh and lives alone in a cottage near Musselburgh.

The other fat lady, Jennifer Paterson, is `50 going on 70'. Expelled from convent school, she learnt to cook at 17. She lived in Libya, Germany and Sicily, then worked on the TV show Candid Camera. A cook since her 30s, she was The Spectator's boardroom cook and now writes on food for The Spectator and The Oldie. She lives in London with her uncle

CLARISSA DICKSON WRIGHT: I first met Jennifer at a lunch party in Tuscany five years ago; there were about 40 guests and what caused her to come over to me was that I was cooking on a wood-fired oven. I already knew of Jennifer from reading her in The Spectator; we had a cooks' chat for about 10 minutes and I thought, what a nice woman.

It was the director of Two Fat Ladies, Patricia Llewellyn who had the idea to bring us together. "Do you know Jennifer? Do you get on?" and she sent me a ticket to fly down from Edinburgh for us all to meet for a very jolly lunch.

I'd worked for Pat on Sophie Grigson's TV show Eat Your Greens but when you've been on the fringes of the media for as long as I have, you know that out of 101 lunches only one will turn into anything. Frankly I couldn't see the BBC powers going for a show with two virulently anti-politically correct, middle-aged women. But I apologise: I was wrong; and, once we'd done the pilot, things moved very quickly.

Working together could have been a recipe for disaster because we're both quite competitive and independent. I vaguely thought, I hope that we won't be battling for the same ground and it won't end in tears. I have two older sisters around Jennifer's age so it was a great relief to find that she wasn't like them at all - she wasn't going to boss me about.

Looking back it's strange to notice that there was an actual moment when everything clicked. It was on the second day of filming the pilot. We'd chatted and exchanged life stories before filming but this was different, it was as if we'd dropped to a more familiar level: we were like old friends working together in the kitchen, bantering, making each other laugh. Yes, I remember exactly what we were cooking: Jennifer was doing rabbit with capers and anchovies and I was doing pheasant terrine with pickled walnuts.

We did the chapter introductions for the book accompanying the series while we were filming. We quickly decided that I would write them. Jennifer prefers to write at home, surrounded by her lares et penates, or household gods, but I'm an old alley cat, so I borrowed a lap-top and afterwards we'd discuss the draft. "I don't like that, dear," Jennifer would say, or "Change that," and I would.

Blessedly none of our views conflict; Jennifer is a degree more anti- vegetarianism than I am - she wants to bludgeon them, but I think you have to lure people back. We respect each other's cooking pasts. Unlike many TV chefs, we've both had to cook for a living. When you're doing a huge dinner party, you don't get a chance to make mistakes.

There's no side to Jennifer - what you see is what you get. She's an Aries, very straightforward. (I'm a Cancer.) Her Spectator columns show only a small part of Jennifer. You don't get her sheer exuberance, her natural comedy. One night while filming, we had to stay up until 2am, and without alcohol or substances, there's nothing to give you that extra lift. "What we need is a song," cried Jennifer. She had me in stitches floating round the kitchen singing "I'm Doris the Goddess of Wind". It's rather nice going to Mass with her because she sings all the way up to the altar when we take communion - one feels quite medieval. We both like the ritual of old-fashioned Catholicism. None of that namby- pamby happy-clappy stuff for us.

You know how there are themes you talk about in a relationship? One is my recovery from alcoholism. She is genuinely interested in how I hit rock-bottom and how AA works and is very protective, which is touching. Jennifer enjoys drinking, but no, I don't feel I need to rush out and "Twelve Step" her.

When we are filming it tends to be us against the rest of the crew - "You're not going to make us do that ..." Jennifer has quite an edge to her tongue and can come across as fierce. But appearances are deceptive. She's a sweet woman. I admire her tenacity, her guts, she's immensely brave. I threw away all the privileges I was born with when I was drinking - my education, my inheritance - while Jennifer has had to grasp life with both hands. And like many life-long cooks, she's often in terrible pain from her feet but she never complains.

She hates the telephone and I can't write letters so when we get together there's lots to catch up on. When we do a book signing we resent it if they send someone with us on the train. It slightly inhibits us as we recount our adventures.

In this day and age when everything is heavy with sexual innuendo, a friendship between women seems rare. One journalist hinted about The Well of Loneli-ness, the lesbian classic, while Victor Lewis-Smith - I hate him - wrote in the London Evening Standard that we hate each other. They've both got it wrong.

JENNIFER PATERSON: When I was staying in Tuscany with my old friend Jonathan Routh from Candid Camera we went to lunch with a friend of his, Heidi Lascelles, who owns Books for Cooks in London. Everyone knows everybody in Tuscany; terribly boring; like being down the King's Road. Lunch was quite chaotic, no furniture and lots of children running around, and there was Clarissa, whom I knew of, baking proper pizza in a proper, wood-fired pizza oven. I was so impressed that I went over to talk to her and warmed to her immediately.

I didn't meet Clarissa again until Patricia Llewellyn invited us both for lunch at Simply Nico to see how we got on - Pat had this dream of a TV series with two fat ladies sailing around on a motorbike. Right from the start there was a natural affinity so I never had any worries or doubts about working with Clarissa. We seem to laugh at the same things, have the same feelings about food and are practising Roman Catholics. I've always said that an alternative title could be "Two Fat Cats".

We were brought up on the same childhood books and quote the same things at each other; early on I remember quoting Lewis Carroll's Duchess on pepper and Clarissa immediately responded with the next line, "... and beat him when he sneezes."

I had never cooked with someone before; it was a happy and fateful coincidence that we got on. I think it's because we've both cooked for our livings and know what we're doing. We are not restaurant chefs serving dainty dishes; it's more like home cooking with quality ingredients and none of this no-fat, vegetarian nonsense. The TV series would not have worked if we'd been antagonistic because neither of us can pretend - we'd say, "Get that woman out of here".

It's hard work filming, you have to do everything four times. But working with Clarissa made it enormous fun. We were always getting the giggles, like being in church, the more you know you have to keep a straight face, the more you can't. Once I had to say, "I'm as hungry as a horse," and instead of saying pork-pie, Clarissa said, "Have a horse-pie," which conjured up pictures of Desperate Dan's cow-pies. We were in hysterics.

We tend to say no, spontaneously, to the same things. They tried in the beginning to get us to wear make-up but it looked stupid. Clarissa is worse than me. I say, "Come on, dear, you must put some lipstick on." "But I'll only eat it off," she says.

I don't know why we are labelled eccentric. Neither of us is. If you have feet like mine driving a bike in London is very useful. As for Clarissa she's extremely sensible, she runs a shop, she's been a barrister, she knows what she's up to. When it comes to contracts I always say, "If Clarissa signs, I'll sign." She's had an extraordinary life and is very courageous. She was a very rich girl, went through all her money. She used to drink two bottles of gin a day but 10 years ago she stopped drinking and now she's in what they call recovery. She gets everybody's favourite drink when she entertains but she drinks lemonade. She says her alcoholism is in her, not in the bottle. She's a wise old bird.

The point about Clarissa is that she's very good company. She's intelligent and witty with a touch of the Margaret Rutherfords. When we travel by train to do a book-signing, we pack a picnic (Clarissa never travels without a bottle of chilli sauce) and fill the time most companionably eating, reading and chatting.

Neither of us is picky-picky about this showbiz thing. I don't mind if her name goes first and vice-versa. It's a question of manners. But actually we don't care. We look on it as a real lark this thing happening late in our lives.

"Everyone thinks I'm 60," growls Clarissa, and I answer, "You're just a baby, dear." No, I don't feel like an older sister. Clarissa is perfectly able to look after herself. She's put two muggers in intensive care, knocked out an Alsatian and stuck a larding needle into a thief. She's got an arm like a boxer's and big, strong hands. I would be very happy to be next to her in a riot.

We're both spinsters, for different reasons. Clarissa had a lover for several years who sadly died but I've never buckled down to marriage. I always thought I'd have 12 children.

At the end of filming the series, Clarissa invited the whole crew to her place for a lobster-feast. We had one each, which she'd prepared, straight from the sea. She likes getting down to victualling - it's the secret mamma in her. She's a good egg. !