Award-winning comedian Mo Gilligan is used to hosting high-profile TV shows, but when it comes to The Brits, he tells Emma Higginbotham, anything can happen...

When Michael Aspel hosted the first incarnation of the Brit Awards from the Wembley Conference Centre in 1977, he couldn’t have known that it would blossom into one of the glitziest, but most unpredictable, live events of the year. Because while the music industry bash has given us iconic performances from the likes of Adele, Prince, Madonna and Stormzy, occasionally the blend of booze and big egos has led to some accidental entertainment too.

Finding an unflappable host, then, is crucial – and this year’s organisers have nothing to fear with Mo Gilligan at the helm. Self-assured, smart and infectiously smiley, there’s no doubt that the triple Bafta-winning presenter and comedian will, once again, do a cracking job.

“It’s a big occasion and a lot of fun,” says Mo, who turns 35 this month. “It’s my second time, so I’ll probably be a bit more relaxed. But it’s The Brits! Anything can happen, so you have to be prepared for that. It’s almost like controlled chaos, but I think that’s what people tune in for when it comes to these live award shows. And there have been some memorable moments.”

There certainly have, from Jarvis Cocker stage-crashing Michael Jackson’s big number to Ronnie Wood having water chucked in his face. These days it tends to be a tamer affair, yet with 20,000 people in the O2 Arena and millions watching at home, it is, admits Mo, a lot of pressure. “Luckily I’ve done quite a bit of live TV now, so it doesn’t feel as daunting as it used to,” he says. “The coolest thing is it’s on a Saturday night for the first time ever, so I’m really looking forward to that.”

If anyone’s comfortable on Saturday night telly, it’s Mo. Until last weekend, he featured in not one but two primetime slots on rival channels. On BBC One, he’s been hosting the star-studded musical gameshow That’s My Jam, while over on ITV he’s a judge on The Masked Singer, the ridiculous (and ridiculously popular) costumed karaoke contest where, earlier this series, singing legend Lulu was sent packing before snooker player Stephen Hendry disguised as a wheelie bin.

“What’s amazing with The Masked Singer is how much kids love it,” says Mo. “It really captivates their imagination, so to be part of a show like that is so cool.” And being visible to the children who can’t stay up to watch the Channel 4 programmes that made his name – co-hosting The Big Narstie Show alongside the eponymous grime legend, and his very own The Lateish Show with Mo Gilligan – means everything to him.

“I grew up watching a lot of Saturday night TV, and I know there’s a young Mo probably watching me right now who might be inspired, and feel like oh, he looks like my uncle, or my dad, or my cousin. That’s what’s really important: being able to represent my community on TV.”

With so much in his diary, it really is Mo’s moment. What’s his secret for bagging all these plum programmes? “I don’t know!” he laughs. “I don’t want to sound vain and be like ‘well, because of THIS!’ I just really enjoy what I do, and I hope that translates, and that people feel they know me in some way. And I’m never taking it for granted, so I like to feel that I’m in people’s living room with them, sharing that experience. It is quite surreal, though,” he adds. “My mum’s like ‘I see you more on TV than I do in general’.”

Mo, short for Mosiah, grew up with his two older sisters on a council estate in Camberwell, south London. His parents, both of Caribbean heritage, split up when he was little, but he often spent weekends with his dad and half-sister in nearby Brixton. His childhood was a happy one, and making people laugh came naturally.

“I was quite a funny kid, and always quite cheeky,” he recalls. “I didn’t know I’d be a comedian, though. I wanted to be a footballer – and I was good! I do Soccer Aid every year, where I get to play with some of the best footballers in the world, so that makes up for it.”

At school, Mo struggled with dyslexia and wasn’t interested in learning, preferring to play the class clown instead. Taking drama lessons aged 14, where he discovered how good it felt to (legitimately) be the centre of attention, changed everything. Not least because his teacher, Miss Simpson, made sure he was aware of just how talented he was.

“Having a teacher telling me I was good at something – that was all I needed to know. She really installed that confidence in me, and that was the catalyst of getting me to where I am today,” he says. “TV, stand-up, whatever it is, it’s all confidence-based. No one wakes up and you’re good at doing TV, it comes with confidence.” He still invites her to his gigs and, despite her protests, still calls her ‘Miss Simpson’.

The very first of those gigs came via a college friend, who told Mo he was really funny, and would he do some stand-up at his aunt’s wedding? Mo nervously accepted, and admits that he was surprised how well it went. “I remember making people laugh, and it wasn’t my friends or my family, so they didn’t owe me anything. I was like oh my gosh, these people like this material! Wow, this is really fun’. So after that I went away and worked on my set.” A set he instantly forgot when he stepped on stage at his first proper comedy gig.

“My head went blank, and I was like ‘OK, what do I do?’ I started making up some stuff, and it just went really well. I was only meant to be on for five minutes, and I ended up staying for 20.” The buzz was addictive. “I was like ‘this is the coolest job ever.’ And that was it.”

Mo had found his calling, but being a jobbing comic for nearly a decade was tough. By day he worked in shops, ranging from Jo Malone to Levi’s, quietly observing both staff and customers for funny, relatable material. By night he’d perform, often in tiny rooms to tiny audiences for tiny sums. Usually broke, he’d sell his own stuff to pay for train fares to gigs around the country, and run for the last train home because he couldn’t afford a taxi. He recalls falling into bed in the wee hours, knowing he had a full day’s work in a shop ahead, followed by another gig that evening. “When I look back at it, it was stressful, it was hard, but it was worth it.”

The hard graft and a natural gift for observational humour served him well, and before long Mo was running his own comedy night. But it was thanks to social media that he eventually shot to fame. Just before Christmas 2016, he posted a video of himself impersonating different types of MCs on Instagram. It went viral. A second similar video went viral too, and his follower numbers began to rocket.

Buoyed by his success, Mo uploaded more videos. One, titled ‘When cockney guy see a bit of sun’, had so many hits, he couldn’t believe it (“I still can’t”). On a particularly sunny day, he’d duck-taped his phone to a rickety tripod on the balcony of his mum’s house, where he still lived, and talked to the camera as a ‘geezer’ asking his missus, Julie, to fetch him a “coupla cans” as it was so hot. The video turned him into an internet sensation – thanks in part to rap megastar Drake quoting the catchphrase on his own account.

In October 2017, Mo embarked on a sell-out Coupla Cans Tour, realising with relief that his days of folding jeans were over. Then just before Christmas, “time stood still” when Channel 4 offered him two Friday night programmes – firstly co-hosting the anarchic Big Narstie Show, followed by his very own chat show, The Lateish Show with Mo Gilligan. It was, he says, the best moment of his life.

But his meteoric rise was a mixed blessing. At clubs, gigs and concerts, Mo was increasingly mobbed by people waving their phones in his face for selfies. It led to deep social anxiety, and he’d leave places early to avoid it. “At that time a lot of things were new to me – especially getting recognised, so it was a whirlwind of emotions,” he recalls. “I knew that my life was going to change forever, but mentally, I was not in the best place.” Therapy helped and, keen to reach out to others, he addressed his struggle in his (third) Bafta acceptance speech last year.

“I just think as a young man in the position I am, it’s really important to speak about mental health in ways that encourage other young men to talk about it as well, and realise that it doesn’t matter where you’re from: it affects anyone, in any form, at any stage in your life,” he says. “That’s why I had to bring it up in my Bafta speech; I felt it was really important to speak my truth – of the success I’ve had, but also the trials and tribulations I’ve had to get there.”

Today, life just gets busier and better for Mo. Aside from regular stints on Celebrity Gogglebox with his pal and fellow comic Babatunde Aléshé, and two Netflix specials giving him a worldwide audience, he’s also picked up those three Baftas: one for Narstie and two for Lateish. He keeps them out of view in a little room where he does his Zoom calls (“so my friends don’t pick them up every five minutes”), but is immensely proud of them, even naming his cockerpoo in their honour. “On dog walks, people will say: ‘What’s your dog’s name?’ And I say ‘Baffy’, and they go ‘oh, that’s quite unusual’, and I’m like if only you knew! Hahaha.”

How does he stop himself getting a massive head? “My friends and family really keep me in check,” he says. “They don’t see me as Mo, this TV personality, they see me as Mo the person they went to school with, or their younger brother, or their son – just the person I always was before any success. That’s how I’m able to keep myself grounded and humble.

“And I'm still able to do what I do and have fun, and not normalise any of these situations,” he adds. “So things like The Brits, or doing Saturday night TV, I still take it in and I still say ‘wow, I’m doing this!’”

He won’t be drawn on his private life, though, and neither confirms nor denies the rumour that he’s split from his long-term girlfriend, actress Sophie Wise: “I think I’ll pass on that question,” he says apologetically.

Later this year, Mo is back on the mic again with The Black British Takeover Tour, a showcase of the best black comedians in the UK. After two sold-out shows at the O2 in successive years, this time they’ll be visiting Birmingham, Glasgow, Manchester and Cardiff as well as London. “I honed my skills on the black comedy circuit, so it’s really paying homage to that,” he explains. “It’s also nice to have times where I share my platform, and that’s what the Black British Takeover is about. As much as there’s me, who’s quite talented and you might know of, there’s also these other people that are just as funny as me. Some of them are funnier than me! And I still love doing stand-up, so I still want to keep touring and making people laugh.”

Is that what drives him? “Oh yeah, of course, man. Laughing is people’s escapism. We live in hard times, with the cost of living crisis, and they get to escape their reality for a bit and have joy. You start realising the power of what you’re able to do for people when you do comedy,” he concludes. “There’s no better feeling than making people laugh.”

The Brit Awards, ITV, Saturday (11 February) at 8pm. Book tickets for The Black British Takeover Tour (3 November to 7 December) at livenation.co.uk

An edited version of this interview appeared in Waitrose Weekend in February 2023 (c) Waitrose