“Well, I have played Dublin, Galway and Belfast before and I love playing Ireland,” confesses Brendan Riley, “but maybe you know me from small parts in soaps like Coronation St. and Hollyoaks. I loved doing ‘em ‘cos it’s an easy gig and you get to meet Jack Duckworth. And your mum can tape it and show it to the neighbours: ‘That’s my Brendan there, he’s the one robbing Rita Fairclough, I’m so proud.’ Actually I’m joshin’ with you, I’m just the guy by the bar with no lines. ‘Cos it’s supposed to be a local and they need local regular punters so you get paid to drink beer. If I wasn’t already doing my dream job as a comedian I might have taken that up as a career.”

The genial Scouser has built up quite a following in this country, and is happy to admit that his Liverpudlian background has been a help in winning fans in this country.

“Well the humour in Ireland is very similar to that in Liverpool and the North of England generally,” he insists. “And the same is true of places like Glasgow. I think it’s a class thing, in that it’s a specifically working-class humour. Like, when I got into doing stand-up comedy there were guys in London doing the Ben Elton Oxbridge smart-arse stuff but I couldn’t really relate to that. I’d been a car-mechanic before and in my opinion that’s a much more fertile background for comedians. I mean, the job’s so bloody awful, at least it was for me, that you might as well have a laugh.”

What prompted the move from a career in the motor industry to the uncertain world of comedy?

“A career in the motor industry?’ he splutters. “You sound like a vocational guidance teacher! I always fancied myself on stage and I knew I’d always be that guy that I see at gigs now going ‘I could do that’ so I just went for it, jacked in the job and went on an Enterprise Allowance scheme. I’m probably the only bloke in the world who’s done that. There’re were a funny looks at the DHSS, I can tell you. And it was a tough start, I went on a workshop for aspiring comedians and out of ten classmates I think I’m the only one still working. But it’s down to ambition and doing the little spots and the open-mic slots until you suddenly find that it’s become almost effortless. I mean, it’s a lot of work as well but I can honestly say that I’m more or less the same on-stage as off. I don’t adopt a character or whatever I just, go on and chat, I suppose.”

Unlike many current comedians, his act includes material relating to the conflicts in Afghanistan and the Middle East. How wary is he of tackling such contentious issues?

“I think that a lot of people are perplexed about world events and if I can offer a view or a sideways take on what’s going on in the world then I feel that’s valid,” he considers. “It’s what we’re all talking about anyway, isn’t it? And it’s not as if I’m dancing on people’s graves, certainly not, but I am looking at the hypocrisy and in some cases blind stupidity of people like Bush. And nutters like Bin Laden. It’s a way of looking at why some people can commit the most awful of acts in the name of ‘The People’ when most people would be appalled at such carry on. Yet politicians appear to believe that they’re fulfilling the will of the people. Mind you, I do girlfriend jokes as well like!”

Speaking of girlfriends, how does his Dublin-born partner Val feel about him gigging on a circuit that is famous for its, uh, distractions?

“What, do you mean groupies, like? I’ll tell you,” he pauses. “Do you know, I think that that whole side of the business is talked up by male comedians in truth. It’s not like you’re in the Rolling Stones, put it like that. Most women who might fancy saying hello are intimidated to come up because they think you must be over-confidant or big-headed. Or they don’t want to be the only girl in a group that comes up after. The idea that women are gaggin’ for a bloke that can make them laugh has not been my experience.

Who does he admire on the current comedy circuit, or indeed, who would he cite as influences?

“A lot of the Irish guys I’ve seen are a lot more clued-in then their counterparts on the UK circuit,” he says, “and I think that could be because you’ve got a smaller circuit so you’ve got to constantly produce new stuff. Eddie Bannon, who’s on the bill with me this time around, is a guy who cracks me up. Again, maybe it’s that working class thing and he’s talkin’ about the ridiculousness of everyday life.

“In terms of influences, I grew up listening to guys like Dave Allen, just a great storyteller, and Woody Allen as well, and while I don’t do exactly that kind of stuff I do think that those guys taught me that people like me could get up there and just… be funny. Billy Connolly is another guy that, even if he wasn’t a comedian, you’d still like to just go for a pint with him. Like, I’d love it if he was my mate, can you imagine? In a way that’s what I try to do with my own act, I’m really just having a pint with me mates.”