Life after The Beautiful South

As part of The Beautiful South, Paul Heaton and Jacqui Abbott sold millions of records around the world with their wry take on British pop. After 10 years away, they talk to the BBC about how their partnership was rekindled on Facebook, and how their comeback took them by surprise.

Paul Heaton and Jacqui Abbott aren't the types to get starstruck, but they have just had their pants charmed off by Adele.

The musicians met on Chris Evans' Radio 2 breakfast show, where Adele blurted out that her first ever concert was The Beautiful South at the Brixton Academy.

"I snuck in in my mum's trenchcoat," the star said. "I couldn't see anything, and there was a bodybuilder who put me on his shoulders. You had a load of balloons that fell, and he walked through the crowd and knocked someone out who wouldn't give me a balloon.

"It was amazing. It's my clearest memory of when I was little."

"It's incredible," Heaton says after the show ends. "I was quite flattered because she's such a brilliant singer. Did she say she was three at the time?"

"Yes, she was three," confirms Abbott. "Apparently one of her parents snuck her in."

"Well then," Heaton deadpans, "she owes me the price of the ticket... But unfortunately that was only £2 back then."

Adele would have seen the duo during The Beautiful South's most successful period, when songs like Perfect 10 and Don't Marry Her helped the band sell more than 15 million records.

Abbott left in 2000 to look after her son, who had been diagnosed with autism. Over the next 10 years, she went back to college in Merseyside and retrained as a teaching assistant - eventually working in her son's school "much to his mortification".

Then, five years ago, a message arrived out of the blue.

"I got a tip-off that Jacqui was under a false name on Facebook," says Heaton, now 53, "and I just thought, well, it would be nice to hear from her.

"So I said, 'hello, how are you?' She came back with a positive response and I just said, 'tell me if you ever fancy singing again'.

"And she said yes."

The duo, who hadn't spoken for 10 years, made a tentative return in Heaton's The 8th, a stage show based around the seven deadly sins, which premiered at the Manchester International Festival in 2011.

Abbott only performed one song in the anthology - Envy - but her performance gave Heaton food for thought.

"I realised from side-stage that Jacqui's voice and her personality were very popular with people. They loved hearing her sing. So when I went to make the next album it seemed the obvious thing to ask if she'd like to make it with me."

That album was last year's What We Have Become. Picking up where 2000's Painting It Red left off, it found the duo older and wiser (but still bickering), while Heaton's effortless way with melody was undiminished.

To their astonishment, it entered the charts at number three, only held off the top spot by Michael Jackson and Coldplay.

"It was mind-blowing," says 41-year-old Abbott. "Especially for me, because I went away for over 10 years. It was just gobsmacking."

Key to their success is an easy-going chemistry, characterised by a dry wit that translates effortlessly onto record.

And it is clear from talking to the duo that, in Abbott, Heaton has rediscovered a muse.

"Writing for Jacqui is like having a second part of your brain opened up," he enthuses. "It's so easy thinking of a line, then thinking, 'well, actually, there's a second angle to that.' So it's quicker. You just write the lyrics quicker."

Accordingly, a second album followed "remarkably easily". Wisdom, Laughter and Lines is a timeless, catchy pop album shot through with Heaton's razor-sharp Northern wit.

The opening track is particularly withering - (Man Is) The Biggest Bitch Of All was inspired by Heaton's hatred of the titular curse word.

"It's a violent word and I hate the sort of people - particularly men - who use it against women.

"Most of the people who've ever caused any trouble in my life through gossiping and through bitching have been men. And I wanted to write a song that redressed the balance. I wanted to tell people to shut the something up. I simply don't like the word."

Another track was prompted by one of the writer's acquaintances.

"It's somebody I know who's quite rich. He's a lovely bloke, but he's the sort who'll give to the poor but he don't want to meet 'em.

"Because of that, I wrote a song called Lonesome and Sad Millionaire, which is actually quite sad. This person, this character, has no friends and he 'gets his Big Issue delivered in snow storm and blizzard.'"

Does Heaton ever worry about offending friends when he turns their lives into lyrics?

"It's only about that person for the split-second the first line happens," he protests.

"I can see somebody at the bus stop and I'll be looking at what they're carrying or guessing where they're going - and then I write a whole song and it immediately becomes about a fantastical person.

"You exaggerate, you add the fact that they've got no kids, you add the fact that they've got a drink problem. So you add all these things and it removes that initial person away from the equation altogether."

As the collaboration with Abbott illustrates, his best lyrics are comedic dialogues and kitchen sink vignettes - but the musician has resisted the temptation to write for stage or screen.

"I started writing a book at one point," he says, "and I found, looking back, that the only really strong bits in it were the dialogue. Describing things I can't do."

But the Alan Bennett of pop doesn't rule out the prospect of writing comedic monologues, or even a one-man show, in the future.

"Weirdly enough, before I wrote lyrics, I'd find it really easy to write long-form rants to an audience. I'd do it to kids in class at school. I'd slip into personalities and start spieling it off.

"But it's something I'd probably do when I become too old to sing. I like singing."

Wisdom, Laughter and Lines is out now on Virgin / EMI.