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"HOW WOULD I begin an article about myself? Oh Jesus!" exclaims Ulrika Jonsson from her side of the decidedly rickety table at the back of an otherwise unsullied New Bond Street eatery. "I don’t know. I don’t really read the tabloid stuff about myself, but I tend to find interviews like this very interesting. I’m giving you an interview today which I will then read because I’ll want to see what your impression is of me. Through that, I hope I can learn about myself and how I behave. The ones I tend to find interesting are those that describe how I ‘enter the room’."

She giggles and breaks into an impression of the archetypal Essex girl: "She walked in 10 minutes late, wearing a pair of baggy trousers and demanded her cranberry juice, demanded that the table was levelled, demanded nuts, sent away the bloke with the bread and Bob’s your uncle!"

For the record, she did walk in late, with the minimum of fuss, looking as radiant as ever in a sloppy ensemble of baggy trousers, T-shirt and pullover. Having tut-tutted the fact that I was drinking beer at noon, she proceeded to boast that she hadn’t had a drink for five whole days. She then demanded to know what I was reading (a supplement from The Guardian, in case you’re wondering); demanded the comfy seat against the wall that I was sitting on; politely asked the waiter for a glass of cranberry juice and a bowl of nuts; enquired if he’d mind sticking something under the table to stop it wobbling and politely declined his offer of bread.

The truth is that Ulrika Jonsson is excellent company and easy to talk to. Not just a pretty face (and even without much make-up, it is a very pretty face), she’s bright, thoughtful, articulate and very, very funny. She seems completely oblivious to her awesome talent for mimicry, and within minutes can pull off my flat Offaly accent to perfection. Then there’s the Denise Van Outen-esque barrow-girl bluster, not to mention Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimers’ unique brand of Northern uproar. Indeed, it was with the latter double act that Ulrika cut her comedy teeth on the crazed panel quiz show, Shooting Stars, in the process surprising many with her ability to "do" funny.

"Well I think Jim (Vic’s real name is Jim Moir – B.G.) and Bob did the funny bits and I was kind of the, em, subject of their funnyness," she muses. "But I did do my own one-off show two years ago called It’s Ulrika. That was written by Jim and Bob and I thought it was hilarious. I’d like to do some more comedy, but not on my own. I’m no stand-up, but I’d love to do some comedy acting. I just like messing around, to be honest."

I didn’t see It’s Ulrika: was it well received?

"It was actually," she laughs. "It did extremely well with the viewing figures and the reviews were mostly positive. I think I had one or two that were very weak, with people saying ‘Oh, well it hasn’t been produced properly . . . it’s very Vic and Bob, and it’s not Ulrika’.

"But everyone is always so keen to criticise, you know. It wasn’t the best show in the world, but for me, I worked my arse off on it and just completely loved doing it. I would love to share the responsibility on something next time, though, and I also know that it’s difficult to act on something that’s been written by two such very strong characters.

"Jim and Bob’s stuff is very particular to them. So this was a learning experience and it was taxing and testing of myself. That’s what I look for in every project I turn my hand to. I don’t necessarily find it in every project, mind – a lot of the jobs I do I find satisfying, but not particularly challenging. It’s Ulrika was very challenging for me. Jim and Bob seem to think I’m funny . . . usually when I’m drunk. But they have great faith in me and that’s very flattering."

One of those celebrities who’s instantly recognisable by her first name, Ulrika has come a long way for someone who began her career as a teenage secretary to a TV AM bigwig. Her remarkable progress notwithstanding, is there a danger of someday finding herself stranded in that murky Lionel Blair territory, where everyone knows who she is without being quite sure why?

"Oh no," she expounds. "That will never happen because everything I’ve done has tended to be very high profile, whether it was supposedly dating Prince Edward when I was 18 . . . which I didn’t . . . so to speak. But anyway, that’s another story (laughs). That was before I was even famous. So when I came to do the weather at TV AM I was known as ‘Ulrika Jonsson, ex-girlfriend of Prince Edward and weather girl at TV AM’. Then I was ‘Gladiators presenter and former weather girl’, then it became ‘former Gladiators presenter and Shooting Stars team captain, Ulrika Jonsson’. I don’t believe that I appeal to just one audience.

"I’ve done things on BBC2: like interviewing the Chancellor of the Exchequer and John Major, who I spoke to just before he lost the election. I’ve also done little things on Channel 4, I’ve done the Eurovision on BBC1 and I’ve done prime time ITV with Gladiators. In a way, I’m inescapable."

As is Lionel Blair, last spotted break-dancing in a hip-hop video, if I’m not very much mistaken.

"Maybe, but I’m also in the press all the time for various reasons as a result of that exposure: personal reasons which are not always good, and sometimes professional reasons, which is acceptable. So I don’t think that Lionel Blair thing you’re talking about will ever happen to me, although for some, it already has. I mean, there’s people who’ve come in on the scene and do absolutely every single thing. You’ve young girls who are stripping down to their bra and knickers for the front covers, hanging around at all the right bars and clubs, socialising at all the parties, and at the end of the day you’re looking at them thinking: ‘Well, what are your credentials? What is it exactly that you do?’.

"I’ve been in this business for 11 years now, so I’ve kind of lasted. I don’t think that I have anything left to prove. If people don’t know me it’s quite a relief to be honest. But everywhere I go, everybody knows me. It depends on what you watch, really."

So, you didn’t date Prince Edward then . . .

"I’m not even going to go into that," she smiles. "Supposedly dated him, that’s what I said. That’s as far as I’m prepared to go."

Was there any wailing or gnashing of teeth in the Jonsson household when Edward made an honest woman of Sophie Rhys Jones?

"Absolutely not. He’s the nicest guy, and although I’ve not met Sophie at all, she seems lovely. He just deserves happiness, because he’s got a difficult lifestyle to contend with."

What about Sophie’s choice, the ultimatum handed down by the Queen stipulating that she should choose between her career and her obligations as a royal?

"It really has nothing to do with me, so I can’t comment on it at all," replies Ulrika.

Surely you have an opinion.

"I don’t, to be honest," she counters. "What has been proven over the years, though, is that it is very difficult for the royals to find themselves a profession or a job that enables them to get away with just being normal people. So, whatever Sophie does will be contentious and whatever Edward does will be contentious."

I ask if there’s anybody Ulrika envies. The question is greeted by a pause so pregnant that I consider asking our put-upon waiter for some hot water and towels. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a celebrity, I add. Again, a pause.

"I think on a very, very personal level, I do envy a lot of . . . em . . . you know . . . often when I see the mothers who pick up their children at my son’s school, and they’re very happily married and they’ve got more than one or two kids . . . or if I see a pregnant woman, I envy her. That’s the bottom line, I mean, it’s very simple, but you probably think it’s sad . . . do you?"

Not at all, I assure her. But surely it’s occurred to her that most of the women she’s talking about probably covet her lifestyle too.

"Yeah, probably," she avers. "But up until now I haven’t been in a steady relationship. I’ve been divorced, I’ve been a single mother and those things are very, very lonely. I work my butt off, I have a lovely house, which is what I worked for, and I have my son, Cameron . . . I have all those things which are great, but ultimately you want to have somebody to share them with. I would also like to have more children, so I often feel quite frustrated."

Does Ulrika think she’s a good mum?

"Yeah, although I have major doubts and guilt all the time, as every working mother does. But everyone around me says that I’m stupid for worrying. The thing is that I really want my son to feel very, very secure. I mean, it’s nothing to do with presents or gifts or anything like that. In fact, I’ve just been to buy his birthday presents and I got him three things. I’m not going to buy him 20 presents and spend a fortune, because I know he’s going to get presents from his father and his friends as well. So, security is the most important thing as far as I’m concerned. If I can give my son love and security and encouragement, then I’ve done a good job. So far, he’s terribly secure. He knows I love him and he loves me back. And I think he’s quite optimistic and a go-er. He’s five going on 60. He’s so old-fashioned and set in his ways already, he’s a riot. He’s my great pal, y’know, my little mate. God, listen to me, I’ve talked far too much about him, haven’t I? I’m sorry."

Don’t be, you’re positively glowing with pride.

"I am, aren’t I? I just love him so much and I really miss him when he’s at school or I’m working.

"I love to drop him off at school and pick him up whenever I can, and I have a really good nanny who helps me out whenever I’m working. She doesn’t live in or anything, but I try and do those maternal things whenever I can. It’s important to me. I think they’re the things that ground you . . . I think if everything career-wise disappears tomorrow, I’ve got the most important thing.

"The worst thing would be to get carried away with all this showbizzy bollocks and then discover down the line that I’d missed out on my son’s upbringing."

Talk turns to the tabloids, for whom Ulrika is staple fodder. Does she find herself watching her back?

"I don’t watch my back, but I am very aware of the tabloids. It’s a bit sad, because I’ve become very suspicious, which is not really me. I’m naturally very carefree. It doesn’t change my behaviour though. I wouldn’t change my behaviour if I thought there was a bloke with a camera nearby. As I said, I’ve been at this game for 11 years and I’ve learned to deal with the tabloids in different ways at different times. Sometimes I get fucked off and frustrated and other times I’m in better humour to deal with it. It depends what the subject is and whether it’s relevant to the rest of the world or not."

Some celebrities seem unable to distinguish between the tabloids and the broadsheets.

"Yeah," she agrees. "I think you have to acknowledge that even the tabloid press occasionally do good work, so you can’t just block it out and treat everybody like shit. Sadly, and maybe it’s good for me, I have always tended to give people the benefit of the doubt.

"Nobody’s stitched me up particularly, but because you’re always aware of the tabloids, it does make you very nervous. Listen, I’ve had to do interviews with certain tabloids when I’ve been trying to reach the general public with a new show or something, so I can’t just tell them to fuck off whenever I don’t like what they’re doing. I’ve never, ever done that.

"But they did turn up at my father’s funeral, and that’s where I have to draw the line. I had to say ‘I’m sorry, but getting a picture of me looking devastated at the loss of my father is not your job. This is where we respectfully bid farewell and you just take your place at the back and wait. You don’t follow me and you don’t interfere’. But there are no limits as far as they’re concerned, because everything is sellable. That’s where it becomes difficult."

But a rock star like Thom Yorke for example, never appears in the tabloids, while you . . .

She cuts me off abruptly: "Who gives a shit about him? Only a certain few people who care about Radiohead know who he is. I mean, you ask your dad who Thom Yorke is and unless he’s really into Radiohead he won’t have a clue. Unless we’re talking about really high profile musicians like Phil Collins, Mick Jagger . . . maybe Van Morrison – although I don’t see much of him in the tabloids either – then the tabloids don’t care. As for people like Thom Yorke, nobody gives a shit.

"In fact, who gives a shit about what happens to Ulrika Jonsson? For the tabloids, somebody like Thom Yorke is a nobody. He caters for a specific area of the market and I am the very tabloid area of the market. I make myself available to everybody on the television screens. It’s a totally different thing, you know . . ."

Seemingly surprised by this impromptu rant, she stops, slumps back in her seat, notices my shell-shocked expression and the pair of us crack up laughing: "Jesus, listen to me! I’m sorry, was there a question there? I just jumped in like a totally vicious bitch!"

A totally vicious bitch? I think not. In fact, numerous of my acquaintances, and not a few women, reckon Ulrika Jonsson is just perfect. Discuss!

"I’m not perfect at all," she protests. "I’m not a skinny model-size rake – I’m busty and thighy and arsey. I’m arsey to live with, that’s for sure (laughs). The worst thing about me is that I can be the strongest and jokiest person one minute and I’ll be the most sensitive and insecure person in the world the next. Only my friends and family see that side of me. I mean, people see me on telly and say I look fantastic. Of course I look fantastic: I’m wearing a posh dress and I’ve been in make-up for two hours! I’m a Gap and M&S girl . . . a very, very ordinary girl who’s tried to make the most of the opportunities which have been given to her."

And hard work for the prospective suitor, I’d imagine.

She grins: "Yeah! I don’t think I’m high maintenance, though."

That’s different. I meant hard work to live with.

"I don’t know, really, because I haven’t lived with anyone for four years, so I’ve become very set in my ways. And the thing is, the longer it goes on the worse I get. But I am in a relationship now – and it’s not with anyone famous so it won’t make a difference to you who he is – and regardless of how I feel, I’m not going to start shouting that this is The One and it’s going to be great and wonderful. I’m just getting on with it and he’s a wonderful, wonderful person. So yeah, I’m sure I’m difficult to live with, but I’m sure I can be rather lovely sometimes too."

Ulrika likes to write, preferring poetry ("I don’t plan it, it just comes out!") to prose. She reads a lot too. She’s just finishing Angela’s Ashes and thinks it’s good, but sad. She asks what I’m reading. I tell her: Catch 22, which I’ve been reading for months.

"Oh, I’m like that too," she clucks sympathetically. "And sometimes I give up on a book if it’s not doing it for me. Then I feel very guilty. Does that happen to you?"

Again, the curious need for reassurance that what she’s doing is acceptable. Sometimes, I tell her, but I don’t feel guilty. Life’s too short to spend reading tripe. I’ve always found it better to blame the author for not holding your attention.

"I suppose you’re right," she muses. "It’s kind of a case of ‘Come on you bastard, entertain me!’ isn’t it? Maybe I won’t feel guilty any more."

Like I said, she’s easy to talk to, is Ulrika, but I still find it difficult to broach the thorny issue of Stan Collymore’s impromptu photo exhibition in the Fulham dressing room where, much to the delight of the tabloids, he is alleged to have passed around explicit Polaroids of Ulrika in a rather pathetic attempt to ingratiate himself with his new Fulham team-mates. When I say as much, she assures me it’s okay to ask.

What was it like to be the victim of such a public betrayal? The ensuing pause is a real humdinger. Then, the considered reply: "I have absolutely nothing to say about Stan Collymore. I have no feelings for him whatsoever: love, hate or anything. He doesn’t exist as far as I’m concerned."

Numerous first division defenders would probably agree with her. Again she laughs, before slipping into Essex girl mode, leaning towards the tape and shouting: "Arsehole!"

Then she looks at me, dazzles with a smile and asks if that will be all.

"That’s grand," I declare. "Thanks for your time."

"Grand so, that’ll be that then!" she replies in a perfect Offaly drawl, before reaching across the table and turning off my tape machine.