TEN-YEARS-AGO Sara Pascoe was a struggling out-of-work actor, now she is one of the most recognisable comedians on television.

Panel show regular and stand-up sensation, the Dagenham-born Pascoe spent her formative years in Brighton at the University of Sussex and is now back with her show Animals for the Brighton Festival.

Coming off the back of her book Animal: The Autobiography of a Female Body, Pascoe tells The Guide about her new show in which she tackles evolution, being a ‘rubbish vegan’, Jason Donovan and Tony Blair.

The Guide: Is Animal the stand-up show very different from Animal the book?
Sara Pascoe: Yes, they’re sort of two halves. The book came first and deals with evolution and human beings as animals – particular female humans as animals – but after writing it I realised there were lots of other areas that I hadn’t been able to touch in the book that I have now mined for the show.

The show covers a big range of topics, how easy is it to mix such a range of subjects?
It’s about trying to find light and shade in things. The unspoken theme of the show is how we empathise with other people. So it’s dealing with that, but with really silly stories in between. I’m trying to talk about things that really matter to me, but in a way that isn’t like a boring TED talk.

Do you feel, as your audience grows, that you have a responsibility to use your platform to educate?
It’s tempting, because you want to feel like you’re a really good person. But you have to be careful how you do it. I have to remind myself that I am a comic, I’m not a politician, I didn’t say, “Oh, hey guys, I’m going to sort everything out for you and it’ll be perfect”. At the end of the day, sometimes it’s just trying to be funny.

Do you mind if punters disagree with what you say on stage?
I’m really happy for people to disagree about certain things, and they should. Sometimes, when you’re talking about a challenging subject, you want to stimulate debate, and your opinion is neither here nor there.

You describe yourself as a ‘rubbish vegan’. What does that mean?
I still have struggles with it. I talk about being a 'rubbish vegan' because I think trying to be better is good, and sometimes that makes you feel like a failure. People shouldn’t feel bad if they slip up. Everyone has had struggles or accidentally ate chocolate or ate a whole lump of cheese when they were drunk; those things happen and I think it’s all right to talk about it. But there are a very small number of vegans who would have us killed. They would have us killed and wear our skin.

Is it a difficult subject to talk about on stage? 
As a comedian, if you sound like you’re about to be superior – and that’s what people think about veganism; that you feel that you’re morally better – you have to undercut yourself, and then it’s fine. Talking about being a rubbish vegan is funny. Talking about being an amazing vegan is not. No one wants to hear, “I have far reduced rates of the likelihood of having lung cancer”.

Before you started stand-up you wanted to be an actor. When did those ambitions start?
I remember being about 11 or 12 and making my sister do really long plays with me, just in the bedroom. Then at 14 my mum made me join a drama group as a punishment for having a party when she was out the house, and I fell so deeply in love with it that I knew I was going to dedicate my life to putting on hats and voices.

Your first paid acting job was at the Millennium Dome, aged 18. How did that come about?
I originally got a job in the ticketing department, but then I managed to get an audition to do street theatre in the zones. It was the best job in the world. I just had to be a different character for an hour and run around and talk to people. It was amazing. I went to the O2 Arena last year to do the Great Ormond Street gala. It was the first time I’d been back and it was so weird, 15 years later, walking into the building that now looks really different. I felt so nostalgic. It was like going back to my school or something.

What made you then decide to try stand-up?
It wasn’t a decision. I thought stand-up was really stupid. I thought all comedy was stupid. I had done open mic nights with my guitar, and I’d done spoken word nights with poetry; I was trying everything in order not to shrivel up. I went to watch a friend do stand-up and I thought absolutely everyone was terrible. I hadn’t realised that you could take words up on a piece of paper, I thought all stand-up was improvised. So when I saw all these skinny boys with pads in their hands being rubbish I thought: Oh, I can do that. So I started it very arrogantly. But I did a stand-up gig and it was like: Oh, now I know what my whole life has been leading to, every job I’d done, it all made sense.

After stand-up, acting and writing, is there anything else you’d like to try?
Professional gymnast. No, but I do think about things. I’ve been thinking about Strictly Come Dancing recently.

Have you been offered it?
No, not Strictly. I was offered Tumble. Not the same. I watched the last series of Strictly and I loved it so much, but I thought: I’m not having my teeth whitened and being fake tanned, and I’m not wearing dresses. One of the great things about comedy is it bleeds out to everything else; people think you’re qualified for things that you’re not. But I think it’s more of the same for me rather than diversifying. Unless it’s Strictly Come Dancing.

You’ve said previously that you’d like to go into politics. Is that still the plan? 
No, I’ve changed my mind. In the last 12 months I’ve spent a lot more time being around politicians, and what I’ve realised from meeting them is that you’re so imprisoned. You spend your entire time mediating and apologising. I realised that I have so much freedom as a stand-up to talk about what I want.

You’ve also said that stand-up has made you happy. How so?
Firstly, it’s given me all of my friends. People say, “It’s so important to have friends outside of your job.” I don’t. I only have comedian friends – I love their work and I love they understand my life. But also stand-up is a form of self-improvement, if you choose to use it that way. You use it to work yourself out and to forgive yourself. It’s a form of self-acceptance. So that’s why it’s made me very, very happy.

7.30pm, tickets £13, call 01273 709709