Ralf Little and Will Mellor look back: ‘In our 20s, we acted like everything was a joke. Now there are fewer knob gags’

Born in Stockport in 1976, Will Mellor is an actor known for his role as Jambo in Hollyoaks and a decade-long run in Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps. His co-star in the latter show was Ralf Little, born in 1980 in Oldham, who starred in The Royle Family before joining the sitcom in 2001. Mellor has since appeared in Mr Bates vs the Post Office, Line of Duty and Broadchurch, while Little has been in Inside No 9, Doctor Who and Death in Paradise. The pair host the Two Pints podcast, and the second series of Will & Ralf Should Know Better airs from 29 September on U&Dave.

Ralf

This was taken in a pub called the Archer in the fictional Two Pints universe. We were portraying twentysomethings who didn’t have prospects or social mobility, but were quite happy with their lot. As a result, there’s a slight world-weariness and ennui to our facial expressions. We were probably channelling the aloof rock stars from the 90s we loved and those photoshoots where nobody ever smiled.

The first time I met Will was in 1997. I was friends with the guy who played Max Cunningham in Hollyoaks and he took me along to a Halloween party in Liverpool where the rest of the cast would be. No one knew me from Adam – I’d filmed The Royle Family, but it hadn’t come out yet. I turned up dressed as Batman. The Men in Black song came on, and suddenly I was standing next to Will, who had come as Bram Stoker’s Dracula and was the only other person at the party who knew the choreography. Afterwards, I thought: “That was fun – but I’ll probably never see you again.”

A few years later we met at the read-through for Two Pints. He remembered dancing with Batman, and told me he loved The Royle Family. Then he said: “I’m off to get a cup of tea.” I thought: “What a charming bloke.” Two minutes later he returned, unbeknown to me having put his finger up his bum. He said: “Hey, smell that”, and shoved it under my nose. An inauspicious yet oddly effective start to a 20-year relationship.

Despite how disgusting Will could be, we were thick as thieves. We were never the sort of mates who popped round each other’s houses, but our work schedule meant we were inseparable. The 2000s were heady, exciting days: we would rehearse from Monday to Thursday, shoot on Friday in front of a live audience, then all go out on a Friday night.

We had a great time, but often Will would be surprisingly sensible. He had been raised to be a tough, rough man and he knew if he kept drinking there might be some kind of trouble, and he didn’t want a fight so he’d take himself home. He might pretend to be daft, but he is a very smart, self-aware man. In the last five years, I’ve noticed him become even more thoughtful and considered. He’s been through a lot and he’s about to turn 50. All of that has made him reflect on his life and who he is in a really beautiful way.

When Two Pints ended, we didn’t make a conscious effort to stay in touch, but we didn’t not stay in touch. I think that’s my relationship with most people: I can go for months without speaking to my mates. I give the impression of being incredibly forthcoming while actually not revealing anything. It could be a defence mechanism, I’m not sure. You’d have to ask my therapist. Will, meanwhile, is the opposite. He is completely open.

We’ve both spent our lives pretending to be other people – on and off screen. In our 20s we were driven by the mindset that nothing mattered, and acted like everything was a joke, a bit of fun. Which it was, to an extent. Now, there are fewer knob gags and there’s less messing around. Don’t get me wrong, we don’t avoid that entirely. But there is a lot more depth to us than before.

Will

I realised quickly that Ralf was an annoying twat. It was like having a little brother. A fly you couldn’t kill. One that really made me laugh.

Because of our shared sense of humour, it was hard doing scenes together – especially when filming in front of the live audience. It was like being at school, when you know you’ll get told off if you crack up but that just makes everything even funnier. The crew would say: “If we don’t get this scene, we’re going to run over time, and we can’t do that, so boys, PLEASE!” I’d look at Ralf and he’d be laughing so hard there was snot coming out of his nose and tears falling from his eyes. Once, we had to make him physically leave the set so we could get a shot done. Even though he was in the scene.

Those days were some of the best of my life. I’d left Hollyoaks and had a bit of a music career. There was no pressure or responsibilities. There were pints, too – sometimes even during rehearsals. Then, after the recording on Fridays, we’d go clubbing. The hangovers weren’t even that bad.

When we shot the last scene of Two Pints, I cried. I couldn’t help it. I suddenly realised: this is it.

When I was young, I had a brashness to me – this feeling I could shake off any negative emotion and get on with it. I hadn’t started losing people yet. In the last few years, my sister and my dad have died. Grief changed everything. I realised there’s a vulnerability to life. Having kids has made me very protective and emotional, too. It’s a good thing. I’m a bloke from a council estate, and it took me a while to learn that it’s OK to not be OK.

Compared with Ralf, I am a lot more in touch with my emotions. But we work well together: Ralf is a lot calmer under stress and I’m all over the place. I’m up and down and vocalise every single thing I see and think. I get angry quickly. Ralf can chill me out, and I can help him talk.

Of course, over the years we’ve fallen out. You can’t be friends with somebody unless you’ve had a few rows. For a while I think we were rivals for the limelight, fighting for attention, but not any more.

A few years ago, Susan Nickson, who created Two Pints, wrote a first draft of an episode called Two Pints: Last Orders. It was brilliant. We pitched it to the BBC and they said no. Which is strange, because it’s still popular and nostalgia is big business.

That’s the thing about that show: although it was huge, there was so much snobbery about it. At its peak, the British Comedy awards didn’t include it in the best sitcom longlist.

The press didn’t like us, either. While it was frustrating, it helped the show. We had a cult following – this massive working-class audience. The more the papers put us down, the more fans jumped on board.

When this photo was taken, the whole of our lives were in front of us. It was exciting and unknown. That’s a feeling I am determined to recreate, because I’m scared of getting older. I hate the fact I’m ageing and that time flies so fast.

From now on, my goal is to try new things, make memories and continue to laugh too much with Ralf.