Rob Brydon has taken a trip. This one is a family holiday to southwest France with his wife, Claire, and their sons, Tom, 15, and George, 12. Yesterday they visited Carcassonne castle and toured local markets. Now Brydon is on a sofa in shirt and shorts, his usually closely structured quiff swaying loose. “This is me in holiday mode,” he says, sweeping his hair aside with a diva-like flourish.
So who, I wonder, does he verbally spar or trade impressions with, as he does with Steve Coogan in their acclaimed foodie travelogue, The Trip? “I am the butt of my 15-year-old boy’s jokes in this house,” he says. “However, over lunch yesterday I did say to everyone: ‘Do you realize you are eating with the star of the world’s biggest-grossing movie?’ ”
