Comedy colossus now in complete control.

Indeed, she was once described by comedian Arthur Smith as ‘Koren the Barbarian’. And this is a woman who later admits she’d refuse to say ‘Good morning’ to her staff on the basis such a declaration may prove to be premature.

Any entrepreneur and theatre impresario who can survive thirty years in the business and control ten venues has to be tough-ish. But does the reality match the publicity?

In her office near Edinburgh Playhouse Karen Koren scarcely looks like Thor in a frock at all. She’s tanned, blonde-bobbed, red-lipped and blue-eyed and she’s warm and welcoming. So is this nightmare Norsewoman rep justified?

“Well, I have had a bit of a temper,” she says, smiling. “In my forties, I went to counselling for about fifteen years. And I think it’s sorting itself out now.”

We’ll come to the counselling later but meantime Koren does assault you with frankness. She reveals a life story, a triumph over adversity tale which she describes as ‘nothing short of incredible’ and she’s right. Her parents were Norwegians who came to live in Edinburgh and her father was killed in a car accident when she was eleven. Koren’s mother couldn’t cope with her five kids and developed a drink problem, and little Karen became a surrogate mum to her four brothers.

“Everything in my life stemmed from my father dying,” she rewinds. “My life went from great happiness to toughness. But at sixteen I’d had enough of changing nappies and ran away.”

To Glasgow, in fact where the stunning young blonde found work as a go-go dancer. There, she met a musician, fell for him and followed him to London. She found herself pregnant at 19 and they married. When Koren suffered 2nd degree burns during a kitchen kettle accident she came back to Edinburgh to recover, and found herself looking after her mother, (who now had a baby herself after an affair.) “You couldn’t make it up,” she says, with a wry smile. The burns healed, but the marriage rifts didn’t and Koren became a single parent.

But what to do, in her twenties and with a little boy, Kristian (her father’s name) who became deaf after contracting measles? “I didn’t believe I had any talent of any kind,” she reflects. “I tried to study photography, but I had my wee boy to look after - and my mother. At one point I called the Samaritans, asking for help for my mother but they sensed it was me who needed help.”

Koren worked as a PA at the Norwegian Consulate but then in 1985 fate knocked on her door and the ebullient, determined side of her character kicked in.

“Friends of mine in the acting world had started doing comedy and asked me to find a venue in Edinburgh. (Which became McNally’s). But what really freed me up to do this was the death of my mother (from cancer). In some ways, it was the best thing that could have happened to me. The tragedy of her life was gone.”

This part-time delve into comedy grew and the lady who kickstarted careers of the likes of Paul Merton, Alan Cumming and Mike Myers, went on to createthe Gilded Balloon in a 150 seat theatre in the Cowgate. Performers such as Roland Rivron and shows such as An Oblivion Boy Has Raw Sex With Fluffy Girlies pulled in the punters. Koren found herself in her element; pulling the productions together, finding the right acts. She was a creative and a producer, a one woman ad agency. “I loved comedy. I think I needed a laugh, which is why I hung around with them. I loved to stay up all night and drink and party, and I had fun. But then the business grew and I had to control all of that.”

The natural expansionist (her Viking blood?) however had no real back-up with the added ventures such as The Counting House. “It was hard. I knew all these women in London, for example, who proclaimed themselves to be feminists, to be tough women who could do anything. But the reality was they all had men behind them. They just talked a good fight.” She pulls back and qualifies; “Look, I don’t hate men. I quite like men. But I got on with it on my own.”

In 1987 Koren was pregnant again and had a daughter, Katy, but no husband or long-term partner. An immaculate conception? “Not really,” she says, laughing. “Another musician. Katy and her father met when Katy was fourteen and they get on fine now.”

Koren got on with creating a business success story and the Gilded Balloon became legend, with attractions such as Laten’Live, where other comedians would support/heckle each other. However, in December 2002, the Balloon burst when the building burnt down. Koren’s ability to cope with adversity was sorely tested along the way.

“The building is gone, not Karen Koren,” said . . . and the words were prophetic. Koren clearly had to be tough; she was dealing mostly with men in licensing , the showbiz agents, and in planning offices, and she had to deal with sexism. “I’m talked to as if I’m being patted on the head. That brings the anger out,” she says in rather an angry voice.”

She reveals she had to work hard to contain the anger. On one level, Koren is (was) a party girl, always up for fun, and her staff, it seems would lay down their lives for her. She’s a mother to them, a problem solver. She’s still the carer she became aged eleven. But the temper was never far from the surface. Hence the counselling.

“The problem I’ve always had is when I’m hurt I go back to being the vulnerable child who didn’t have any support. The hurt child has this angry defence. I was reacting to what I’d been brought up with. And over the years I worked hard to prevent people seeing the fragility. But counselling revealed I was something of an isolationist and I had to learn to put that part of me to one side.”

Koren’s a talent scout, a producer, an encourager. Does she see herself as a a role model for single mums with kids. “I hope so,” she says.

What frustrates Koren? Women who let the side down. “The women who call themselves feminists, and can’t do anything without a man beside them. And why did that bra woman Michelle Mone have to do her own publicity wearing her underwear?” She likes Nicola Sturgeon, although she’s not an SNP supported.

What disappoints is her failures, such as the New York-style ice rink concepts she created in Edinburgh then Glasgow, the idea then repeated in London and elsewhere. But she couldn’t make it work financially in Edinburgh.

And while Koren has built up a huge business, with a £1.5m turnover, she’s had to remortgage several times to pay the turns.

“Unless you have a million bars there is no real money in producing. And not when you support performers you want to try help make it.”

Which brings us to loyalty. She’s shown a huge commitment to developing comedy talent but many turn out to have selective amnesia when it comes to remembering who gave them a start. Aussie performer Tim Minchin, (who wrote the music for Matilda) whom Koren discovered in Australia, is a case in point.

“It was more disappointing in the early years,” she says of the acts who later acted aloof. “The Tim Minchin story, well, it was like a love affair. I so wanted to help him so much. I’d have done anything and that was like losing someone.” She smiles and sighs; “But it’s life.

“Another one was Phil Kaye. I gave him twenty years of my life and he could have been a multi-millionaire but he’s self-destructive and arrogant and believes he’s better than what he was. He got a great TV series on Channel 4 and blew it royally.”

Yet, bitterness doesn’t seem to feature in Koren’s vocabulary. She still loves the business, still has more than ten venues operating at this year’s Fringe. And she counters arguments by the likes of Stewart Lee who says the Fringe is all about making money.

Did has Koren ever put shows on simply for the cash?

“Yes,” she admits, with a guilty grin. “I put on the Chippindales, although I thought they might have changed their act a little.” What? Perform a Shakespeare soliloquy before revealing their Bottoms for the ladies. “I know,” she laughs. “I was blind as a bat.”

Koren could retire walk away, but she won’t walk away. “I’m trying to nurture my daughter into the business. She’s here right now. I want the Gilded Balloon to live on through her.”

What of her personal life? “One of my regrets is I haven’t been able to stay with a man for very long. They’re all too frightened of me.”

At least the Viking rage is contained now, isn’t it?

“Oh yes,” she says, offering up the sweet smile of the sixteen year-old go-go dancer.

• The Gilded Balloon Gala Night, August 15, features a host of stars including Alan Davies, Ross Noble, Johnny Vegas, Stephen K Amos, Barry Cryer and Sean Hughes.