Rosie Jones on joining Taskmaster, battling online abuse and navigating comedy

Here, Rosie chats to Radio Times about her journey into the world of comedy, speaking out against online abuse and working as a writer on Netflix's Sex Education.

What's the view from your sofa?

I live in a tiny flat, and when I bought it, it felt like such an achievement. I always wanted books everywhere when I owned a place, so the view from my sofa is a whole wall of bookcases full of books and, of course, a TV on one of the shelves.

What have you enjoyed watching recently?

I spent most of yesterday watching Deadloch on Amazon Prime Video. It's an Australian comedy about a set of murders in a sleepy town in Tasmania, and it's so funny, so gay and so brilliant.

Who controls the remote in your household?

Me! I've lived on my own for a year now and I love it because it gives me my down time. Part of that joy is being at home in front of the telly, watching whatever I want. But I am a control freak, so even when I did live with other people, I would control the remote.

When did you first realise that you wanted to go into comedy?

I've always used comedy because I was aware that having a disability meant that people stared at me. I learnt that if I took that stare and then said something funny it was almost like I was taking back the power – they were looking at me for a reason that I controlled.

Alongside Jack Dee, Babatunde Aléshé, Andy Zaltzman and Emma Sidi, you're competing in the latest series of Taskmaster. How does it feel to join the ranks of so many comedy greats?

Amazing. Being disabled, I never wanted it to be patronising. Alex [Horne] made sure that I was included and involved. To do a show that I've been such a fan of for years – and feel like my disability was not a factor in the slightest – was incredible.

Your 2023 Channel 4 documentary Rosie Jones: Am I a R*tard? looked at online trolling and ableism – prejudice against disabled people. Why did you want to make it?

When I started appearing on TV, I was shocked at the amount of hate I got online. It was about what I looked like, what I sounded like, my weight, my face, my comedy, my disability, my sexuality. I felt like I couldn't complain about the abuse, and like I was attracting the hate and I should just take it and be grateful that I have a platform. But as I got more confident, I felt that I could speak out about abuse and my career wouldn’t disappear as a result.

Ableist abuse is more normalised than racist or sexist abuse. What do you think needs to shift for this to change?

A lot of people don't even know the term ableism. I'm ashamed to say that even as a disabled person I only discovered it five years ago. I had it directed to me every day and I didn’t have the language for it. Everyone needs to know what ableism is and have the confidence to call it out when they see it.

You worked as a writer on Netflix’s Sex Education — what did you want to achieve in terms of representation?

In series one they didn't really have any disability representation. I was in the writers' room for the creation of Isaac, and I really wanted to create a disabled character who was a bit of a d***head really, as we all are. Disability is not a type of personality, and I wanted to show that someone can have a disability, but be three-dimensional and flawed.

Do you see comedy as a medium of education and a way to bring taboo topics to the masses?

One hundred per cent. A lot of people say to me, "You should be a politician," and I say "No" because I think that I can make more of an impact being a comedian. Under the guise of a joke, I really believe that the audience connects with you, engages with you and understands a lot more than if they were lectured by, say, a politician.

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