When you’ve got to the point where you don’t want to hear another fucking Christmas song and you’re just about to turn into the world’s first serial killer specialising in the dispatch of carol singers, one place in which to seek respite is the home of David McSavage, in Dublin’s posh Leeson Street. But only if you’re hard enough.
One should not make any assumptions of plushness about McSavage’s abode based merely on his address.
“Don’t let the address fool you! It’s a basement apartment,” he insists. “The place is just one little humiliation after another really. I only live here because it’s dirt cheap.”
Previously, the flat was the home of his brother, the Fianna Fail TD, Barry Andrews. “He’s younger than me and I really resent the fact that I’m older and I have to live in a place he moved out of to somewhere far better.”
I ask him what appeal the place has. Bad move. “Appeal?”, he howls, “That’s like asking about the appeal of Auschwitz or somewhere!”
Of the many drawbacks of the apartment, one that adds little to his sense of Christmas cheer, comes courtesy of one of his overhead neighbours.
“There’s this bloke upstairs, and every morning he gets up to take a piss,” says McSavage. “Now, it so happens that his toilet bowl is right over my head when I’m in bed. So I get this incredibly long and loud cascade of piss, followed by a gap, and then a few more stutters of loud piss. (He imitates the sound of this activity with masochistic glee). That noise! Right above my head! Sometimes it’s so bad I have to get up!”
There are other problems of a lavatory nature that add to his ire.
“Thanks to some awful drainage problems, you often get a dreadful smell of shit. It’s really humiliating.”
But why no Christmas decorations at all at chez McSavage?
“I couldn’t be bothered really. We probably have a bag of decorations somewhere around the place. But it’s a dreadful place, so it’s hardly likely to turn into a house of fun just by hanging up a bit of holly, is it?”
Er, probably not.
And then there’s The Cave, or as he seasonally refers to it, The Grotto.
“The apartment is laid out in such as way that there are certain parts of it, such as the loo, that you can only get to by ducking your head and bending down to go through under this archway,” he says.
Yes, I get it. Just another little humiliation. In similar situations one might have to resort to the odd drop of the hard stuff. So, is there a drinks cabinet around? Actually, I shouldn’t have mentioned drink.
“No, we don’t really have much drink here,” he says. “You see, I’m an alcoholic and I have a similar attitude to drink as Tommy Tiernan. Tommy explained that it’s like a relationship with a girl you were so much in love with that being friends afterwards is out of the question. That’s what it’s like with me and drink. But my Polish wife, Hannah, probably takes the odd shot of vodka. It’s a miserable place, really. I’d love to get out.”
You play music in your show, so you must have a big music collection, right?
“Eh, no. You see, once you get married that usually fucks up any interest you have in collecting records.”
Right. So how about turning to the television as a source of comfort? McSavage brightens up. “Well I watch telly late at night. Usually The Hitler channel.” The Hitler Channel? “Yeah, that’s what I call The History Channel. I can’t really explain it, but I’ve become kind of fascinated with all that Hitler stuff. If I’m home in the afternoon I might watch The Afternoon Show for that mad red-headed one.”
He does listen to the radio. “My favourite programme is Joe Duffy’s Liveline for all that pornography of sad stories,” he tells me, before breaking into a high-pitched imitation of Joe. “Oh great. You’re leg fell off. What happened next? Did anything really awful happen to you after that? Go on, go on, tell us all about it. Tell us all the bad things that happened to you!”
McSavage has two sons Daniel, aged 12 and Jack who’s six. He also has a few favourite items about which he raises a smidgen of enthusiasm. Nothing over the top, though.
“The artist Graham Knuttel did a poster for one of my gigs and I keep that," he says. "And I have a battery-powered amp I use for gigs. And then there’s the guitar that got broken in two. I’d never, ever let that go.”
How did that happen, and what could have caused this uncharacteristic outburst of sentimentality?
“I’d had the guitar for about six or seven years. Then, one day, I was doing a gig and this alcoholic junkie fell on it and broke it in two. It cost me more to have it fixed than it originally cost me, so I won’t be getting rid of it in a hurry,” he explains.
I wonder if DIY might be high on his list of interests.
“Oh I do a bit of DIY. I’m very good with my hands. I made most of the furniture we have in the house. Well, when I say I made them – well you know those flatpacks you get in places like IKEA? I’m very good with those.”
But McSavage is not particularly house-trained in the tidiness department.
“I’m the classic Irish male," he explains. "I’m really untidy. It causes lots of arguments with Hannah. I’d love to be able to live in just one spot and have everything I need spread out around me within arm’s reach.”
But there must be some advantages? He agrees. “Well, I’m working at the moment as a street artist in Temple Bar. Living here means that I can walk to work. Also it’s handy for shops and stuff like that. But I’d love to get out of the place.”