I never do any television without chocolate. That's my motto and

Host: The television studio was half-asleep — its cables coiled like snakes, spotlights dimmed, and the air thick with the faint smell of coffee, makeup, and adrenaline. The show had wrapped an hour ago, but the laughter still clung to the walls, refusing to leave. A few exhausted crew members moved like ghosts between equipment, cleaning up the debris of performance.

At the back of the set, under a soft halo of yellow light, Jack sat in one of the audience chairs, jacket draped over his shoulders, still in the afterglow of the show’s chaos. Beside him, Jeeny appeared with two mugs of hot chocolate — steaming, thick, rich as velvet. She handed him one, her smile mischievous.

Jeeny: “Dawn French once said, ‘I never do any television without chocolate. That's my motto and I live by it. Quite often I write the scripts and I make sure there are chocolate scenes. Actually I'm a bit of a chocolate tart and will eat anything. It's amazing I'm so slim.’”

Jack: (grinning) “Finally, a philosophy I can get behind — faith, humor, and cocoa solids.”

Jeeny: “She wasn’t joking though. That’s her magic, isn’t it? She takes something as indulgent as chocolate and turns it into ritual. A kind of joyful defiance.”

Host: The camera swept slowly across the quiet studio — the set still glowing faintly, props abandoned, a forgotten lipstick-stained mug sitting on the host’s desk. The night had the smell of endings, and yet, something about it still felt alive — laughter echoing in memory, sweetness still in the air.

Jack: “Defiance, huh? You mean against what?”

Jeeny: “Against the culture that tells women — or anyone — that pleasure is a sin. That joy has to be earned. French says, I’ll write my own rulebook, and in it, there will be chocolate stains.”

Jack: “So chocolate becomes rebellion.”

Jeeny: “Yes! The sweetest revolution ever. Think about it — she’s not apologizing for it, not minimizing it. She celebrates it. It’s indulgence as identity.”

Host: Jeeny took a sip, closing her eyes for a moment as if she were tasting more than sugar — something deeper, something human.

Jeeny: “She’s reminding us that the body isn’t the enemy. That pleasure isn’t dangerous. That humor and appetite can live side by side — and both can be beautiful.”

Jack: “You know, I like that. We live in a world where self-denial is a brand. She turned dessert into philosophy.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And notice how she says it: ‘It’s amazing I’m so slim.’ It’s tongue-in-cheek, but underneath it, she’s challenging the obsession with image — this mad idea that worth is measured by waistlines.”

Jack: “So she uses humor to disarm the hypocrisy.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Humor — that’s her sword. She slays with laughter. That’s why she’s survived so long in an industry that devours women’s joy.”

Host: The light above them flickered, catching the soft glint of chocolate on the rim of Jeeny’s cup. She laughed quietly, stirring it with her finger.

Jeeny: “You ever notice how people who laugh at themselves usually have the deepest kind of wisdom? It’s not insecurity — it’s liberation. They’ve stopped pretending to be perfect.”

Jack: “And that’s the real luxury — not chocolate, but honesty.”

Jeeny: (grinning) “Maybe they’re the same thing. Both melt pretense.”

Host: The camera tilted, framing the two of them against the backdrop of the empty set — rows of silent seats, shadows stretching long, and in the middle, two small figures, their laughter softly filling the space where applause had once lived.

Jack: “You know, she reminds me of something I’ve always admired — the way British comedy uses humor as resistance. Like, the jokes aren’t just funny. They’re armor.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. She and others — French, Saunders, Lumley — they didn’t just make us laugh. They redefined femininity through it. They said, You can be loud, flawed, deliciously human — and still glorious.”

Jack: “And the chocolate — it’s a symbol for that. Sweetness without shame.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Pleasure without permission.”

Host: The camera lingered on Jeeny’s face — her expression warm, reflective, her voice soft but resolute.

Jeeny: “You know what’s really amazing? She connects art and appetite. She writes joy into her scripts — literally writes herself the right to enjoy. That’s a creative act as radical as any protest.”

Jack: “So, writing chocolate scenes is political.”

Jeeny: “Absolutely. Every bite is rebellion against the idea that laughter and desire belong to men.”

Jack: “And she wraps it all in comedy — because humor lets people digest the truth they’d otherwise choke on.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s not about chocolate. It’s about freedom disguised as dessert.”

Host: The rain began to fall outside the studio, soft at first, then steady, the kind that made the city hum with its own rhythm. The windows fogged faintly, turning the world beyond them into a watercolor.

Jack: (smiling to himself) “You know, for someone like her, laughter must be a kind of prayer. Every joke a thank-you for being alive.”

Jeeny: “That’s the heart of it. She’s grateful — not in a meek, polite way, but in a fierce, celebratory way. Gratitude with glitter on it.”

Jack: “And chocolate.”

Jeeny: “Always chocolate.”

Host: They both laughed, a low, easy sound that filled the quiet room. Jeeny reached into her bag, pulling out a small bar of dark chocolate wrapped in gold foil, snapping it cleanly in half. She handed one piece to Jack.

Jeeny: “Consider this communion.”

Jack: (taking it) “In the church of joy?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Dawn French is the high priestess.”

Host: The camera pulled back, framing them against the glowing set — laughter and light and the slow dissolve of seriousness into something sweeter. The sound of rain deepened, blending with the faint hum of forgotten applause, as if the studio itself remembered joy.

And in that moment, Dawn French’s words floated like a punchline and a prayer all at once:

That pleasure is not a sin, but a celebration.
That laughter, like chocolate, melts fear faster than anything else.
That to write sweetness into your own story
is not indulgence, but healing.

And that the most amazing truth of all —
is that a woman who can laugh, eat, and create
without apology
has already rewritten the script.

As the lights dimmed and the chocolate melted on their tongues,
Jack and Jeeny sat there smiling —
proof that sometimes, rebellion tastes like dessert.