‘No Funny Business: Rose Byrne’

We really don’t like making things easy for ourselves. It’s minus five in a derelict chapel in Peckham; the warmest place on site is a sort of scout hut a good five minutes walk away; it’s started snowing again and it might be the coldest day of the year.

It seems the star of our shoot, Rose Byrne, is similarly wearied. She’s just caught the Eurostar from Paris where she was visiting a girl friend. She flew there from New York – via her hometown, Sydney. Possibly the least direct route anyone could ever take. She has a stinking cold and is jet lagged. Every so often her head flops back and she slightly squints at me and I can almost hear the mechanics of her brain working out what I’m saying to her. Basically, she’s wrecked.

Luckily our photographer is Mary McCartney, who is cheerful enough for everybody and is warming up the atmosphere, literally, with blow heaters.

It may have been her very recent trip home, or perhaps her cold making her slightly more nasal than normal, but Rose is super Aussie. It makes her seem incredibly laid back and extremely excitable at the same time, dropping superlatives every two minutes or saying, “You’re a legend,” when all I’ve done is pass her a tissue.

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