Wallace's secret passion ... he's nothing but putty in the hands of

They are fresh from a kidnap attempt in New York and yet another glitzy. prestigious awards ceremony. But Britain's most popular pairing since cheese and pickle aren't letting international fame go to their heads.

Wallace and Gromit are the first to admit that, despite their screen idol status, they have feet of clay.

We meet outside Wendoline Ramsbottom's wool shop - something of a sore point with Wallace, who is still cut up about their failed romance - and go to their place for tea and Wensleydale sandwiches.

On the subject of the woman whom he loved and lost, Wallace is, as you might expect, animated. And it becomes clear that, behind his stolid exterior, the fires of passion rage unabated.

"Miss Ramsbottom is a valued friend and customer," Wallace says, blushing a little as he pours the tea.

"I won't say there wasn't a time when I...well, I might have had feelings of...amore.

"But there were terrible differences, what you might call irreconcilable differences, between us.

"Darn good job we found out. She couldn't abide cheese. Hard to credit it, I know. But a chap like me couldn't think of...er, you know...if that was the case."

He shakes his head sadly. "It brings her out in a rash, apparently."

Wallace is a shy chap, loathe to talk about his deeper feelings. "It's not the sort of subject I go on about, you understand," he says mournfully. "A chap's personal feelings are his own, don't you think?

He points at Gromit with the butter knife. "Gromit here has gone for the occasional walkies with a female companion. Nothing serious though, eh, chuck?"

Gromit raises a mysterious eyebrow. This is Gromit-talk for "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Wallace brightens as he admits who his ideal woman is - his Auntie Roma. "She makes a stunning hot-pot," he says proudly. He leans towards me confidentially. "And Gromit has a soft spot for Lassie, eh lad?" Gromit uncrosses his paws sharply as if to say: "You must be joking!"

The pair are immensely relieved to be back oop North after their alarming Goodfellas-style experience bundled up in the boot of a yellow New York cab.

"It's a darn good job I've got a sense of direction, that's all I can say," explains Wallace, as Gromit looks on in amazement.

"I realised what had happened right away and set out to rectify it."

Gromit can take his master's fibs no longer and gives him what his animated forefather Paddington would have called A Hard Stare.

"Well, the lad here gave the driver a bit of a warning nip, as you might say," admits Wallace. "And he let us go...in the wilds of downtown New York! Well, I suppose we were lost, really."

Gromit sniffs loudly. "Gromit got a scent of which way we should go. From then on we relied totally on my amazing sense of direction."

Another Hard Stare. "And, of course, Gromit's amazing sense of smell. We were back with Mr Park in no time."

Are they upset that Nick Park is making a packet out of his documentaries of their life while they're still cleaning windows?

"Oh, we didn't realise Mr Park was paid any more than we were," says a shocked Wallace. "Oh, that is a surprise.

"Still, we mustn't grumble. We've got our window cleaning....we're doing tidy business too.

"And, of course, I'm very busy with our inventing most of the time. There's not a lot of time to go swanning around being famous.

"Of course we're always thrilled to get an award, but it's really very much of a team effort, y'know, so we don't like to take too much of the limelight, right Gromit?"

Man's best friend looks away perplexed, as if to say: "Speak for yourself, mate".

"Oh well," continues Wallace, "it was grand to win an Emmy, though. We're proud."

After a hard day refining the Get-U-Up-dress-o-matic-morning- riser machine, the pair like nothing better than a night in front of the telly.

"I don't watch many soaps, but now we've got the satellite and cable thingys," says Wallace.

"Gromit enjoys his Alsatian Street, and Airedale and Watchdog of course. I'm keen on the Dairy Channel. Fascinating stuff there. Cheesemaking, butter- patting, pasteurising, you name it!"

Time to hit Wallace and Gromit with the big one. There have been unkind rumours, I suggest tentatively, that you are not actually real. Some people say you are mere plasticine puppets, putty in the hands of arch-manipulator Mr Park and his co-writer Bob Baker.

Wallace smiles kindly. "Weren't we real enough to be kidnapped?" he asks.

"Mr Park is our esteemed director, who makes kind suggestions about our theatrical interplitations and our artistic style." Gromit nods firmly.

"And, if we're not real, chuck, why are you talkin' to a couple of lumps of plasticine?"

Copyright 1996 MGN LTD
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