Newcastle’s Chris and Rosie Ramsey are hosts of a podcast about domestic strife, Shagged. Married. Annoyed. Since its launch in 2019, they have turned it into a franchise, publishing a bestselling book and breaking the world record for the biggest live podcast at the O2 Arena. They have two sons and live in South Shields. Their children’s book, There’s a Poonami in My House, is out now. Rosie I’ve got a bib made of paper towels in this photo because I’d just vomited. I’d always thought I’d give birth naturally, so I naively didn’t bother reading up on C-sections. I was in shock when I needed an emergency one, but also on a lot of diamorphine, hence the happy face. Chris looks terrified. Sometimes I think it must be scarier for the partner. After Robin was born, I couldn’t breastfeed. He wouldn’t latch on, and because he was massive, he was starving all the time. A few weeks later, in the middle of the night, Chris went and got me a bottle of formula. Robin finally got a proper meal. Our lifestyle before the baby was party central. There was a lot of going out and a lot of box sets. I was working on the radio, and Chris was gigging. We were only together for two years before we had Robin, so our relationship was still a proper love-fest. Chris and I grew up 10 minutes from each other, but it wasn’t until we were at college that I properly took notice. He loved Arctic Monkeys and had this indie-boy haircut; he was always in white plimsolls, a T-shirt and a leather jacket. I was the sort of girl who wore combat trousers or pedal pushers. I found Chris’s talent very attractive – he was driven, funny, too. It’s important to marry someone you fancy, but you’ve got to laugh to get through life By the time we got together, in 2012, I was a singer in a 1940s girl group called Scarlet Street, and Chris was working hard on the comedy circuit. He was sweet and nice, but I also found his talent very attractive – Chris was driven, funny, too. It’s important to marry someone you fancy, but you’ve got to laugh to get through life. I actually think Chris is quite sane for a comedian. What he’s like on telly is what he’s like in real life. It was my idea to start a podcast. I’d just finished working at Capital Radio and was doing some mum content on Instagram. I was a bit lost, really, and needed a focus. I knew podcasts were going to be big, but I wasn’t expecting “180m downloads” big. I think it took off because it helps people feel less lonely, especially in the social media age. It’s a relief to hear two people arguing about domestic life when everything online looks so perfect. Having kids is so rewarding, but it’s also the most challenging thing I’ve ever done. Despite all that, I’d give anything to be back at the start again. I miss the simplicity: looking after Robin was my sole focus, I had no emails, none of the usual stresses of life. That being said, once in a while Chris and I get to go away together, just the two of us, for work. As soon as we’re alone, we’re like love’s young dream again. It’s almost a shock – oh my God, we still love each other after all these years! While what we’ve achieved is amazing, and I love everything we have built, our family is the most important thing. The minute that our marriage feels like it’s failing because of the strain of the podcast, it stops. Chris Robin was massive: 10lb. The birth was horrible. All I remember was the nurses laughing their heads off. “Eh, Marie, look at the size of him!” Afterwards, I cried my eyes out. I felt so helpless and useless and scared and tired. The whole experience is so traumatic and terrifying, and once it’s over you’re meant to sweep it under the rug. We were in a total daze when we got home. I remember Rosie asking: “Do you think he likes the house?” Robin was born the year my DVD came out, so I had to go on tour 10 days later. It was hard. My first show was a corporate gig in Edinburgh. Afterwards, I got in the car and cried. Our parents worked, so there was no backup, and Rosie’s C-section wasn’t properly healed. It was too soon to leave them.A 14-year-old girl is terrifying to a 14-year-old lad. She was a woman, whereas I was a boy! It took me until the age of 26 to go in for a kiss, in a friend’s garage Growing up, Rosie and me always orbited each other, but I had no idea how to approach her. A 14-year-old girl is terrifying to a 14-year-old lad. She was a woman, whereas I was a boy! It took me until the age of 26 to go in for a kiss. It happened in a friend’s garage. Our first proper date was at the Malmaison in Manchester. There were loads of people standing outside, because the comedian Leigh Francis was at the bar. I’d been on Celebrity Juice and the odd panel show, and as we were walking in, someone asked for my photo, which made me look cool. Leigh came and sat with us at the bar, which also worked wonders for my credentials. I knew straight away I loved Rosie. She felt so familiar. Like a building you always walk past. Not that Rosie is a building – she’s more like a landmark. I also liked that she was bright and bubbly – the opposite of what I’m like – and she always seemed happy to see me. Six months later, I proposed. Back when I was doing my show on Comedy Central, I’d do Facebook Lives to promote it. Rosie would often sit next to me, sipping her wine, chipping in now and again, and I’d get comments saying how funny she was. The female staff backstage on TV sets would always tell me they followed her on Instagram and loved her. I realised: something’s happening here. Rosie suggested we do a podcast, and my exact words were: “We’ll just do six episodes. If no one listens, we’ll just pretend it never happened.” Now we’ve done nearly 300 episodes, and people know me much more intimately than I ever expected. Rosie recently put quite a flattering photo of me on Instagram. One comment said: “Chris is such a flex, but unfortunately I listen to the podcast and know all about his personality.” The most incredible backhanded compliment: “He’s really good looking … but he’s also a pain in the arse.” Rosie and I didn’t argue until we had Robin. The stress turned up and, as you can’t shout at the baby, so you shout at each other. These days, we can regroup when we work. Our date night is often in a hotel, after a day of doing press. We’ll have a glass of wine, and I’ll say: “I know it’s stressful, but I wouldn’t do it with anyone else.” Five minutes after getting back to the kids, it’s chaos again. These days we’re almost one person. We’ve never disagreed about what parts of our relationship are off limits. No matter how raw it is, give it a week and we’ll be talking about it. There’s therapy in laughing about the bad times. Before Shagged. Married. Annoyed, I was always away. Doing constant standup tours was like having a mental breakdown for 10 years; I was so anxious, always working and eating Ginsters pasties for tea. Now I’ve slowed down, stopped stressing. I can spend proper time with the kids. So many comedians don’t get that chance and as a result, their relationships fail. I feel very lucky that Rosie held on.