Emo Phillips is not normal. A tall, gangling and awkward figure, he comes across as a life-size mannequin who’s being manipulated by a sozzled puppeteer. And then there’s his voice, a bubbling, wavering vehicle that sounds like what might happen if you put a normal voice in a sodastream and over-cranked the handle. (‘Ireland’ is pronounced “Eye-oyre-al-andh”.) Of late he’s lost the pudding-bowl haircut but still retains his engaging child-like demeanour; imagine a particularly talented and engaging pre-pubescent, possessed by the Devil.

“Are you taping this?” he inquires, in a fashion that’s reminiscent of the sound you get when you attempt to tune in a radio station on Long Wave. “So I can speak a little quicker then?” he asks. Oh, god, please no.

“I’m looking forward to playing Ireland because Irish people and Europeans generally have more patience than US audiences,” he considers. “And you have a wonderful theatre tradition that allows me to be a little spazzier than normal.”

Like hotpress, Emo celebrates his 25th year in the entertainment business this year, but what inspired him to take to the stage back in the ‘70s?

“I sucked at everything else,” he confesses. “Comedy was the default career. Those who can’t make fun of those who can, I guess. When I was 18 I wanted to work in the local factory, but the woman hiring asked me if I could handle long hours, hot and sweaty conditions and poisonous fumes… I said I hardly know you and you’re sexually harassing me. I love comedy because I don’t get sexually harassed. Ever. I used to be scared of pretty girls, though. If a young man is good looking then pretty girls will sleep with him even if he’s poor, so any talent he has has no chance to sprout. He’s getting laid and he might get married and have kids and any talent he might harbour remains untended. I had a ten-year period where no women would sleep with me and I had enough a sapling of talent for it to grow to a reasonable height in that time. But when a man gets famous the girls do come after him. And keep his career at that level. And anyway it’s an empty experience. Especially afterwards. A lot of women have dated me just to forward their careers, damn anthropologists.”

How does he define the secret of his success?

“Comedy is like a dog and some comedians like Steve Martin or Woody Allen are like sheperds that just whistle and the dog comes. I’m just like a yuppie with a dog. Sometimes the dog comes and sometimes not. But I’ll wait all day. I have a carefully devised system where if the audience laughs I’ll keep the joke and if they don’t I’ll throw it out. So in Kilkenny you’ll enjoy an hour of non-stop laughter but bear in mind the millions of people who’ve had to suffer beforehand. And if a joke sucks during my act rest assured that you’re helping future audiences by not laughing so you should feel good about that.”

What makes Emo laugh?

“I admire the courage of Chris Morris and people like Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer. But I don’t think it would work in the USA. It’s like MTV’s Jackass is really popular in the US but I don’t think you can teach young Irish men about scars. America is a country now where everyone has their lives very safe, very secure so Jackass is seen as dangerous and interesting. In Britain and Ireland young men still fight so we can’t really teach you about danger. Except we have guns so nobody fist-fights. So Europe looks more dangerous but really it’s not. You have scars and we have graves.”

Kilkenny is famous as a fine city in which to enjoy a jar, but is Emo a big drinker?

“I used to drink every night until I threw up,” he remembers, “but I was bulimic, not alcoholic. People drink a lot in Ireland ‘cos it rains a lot and that rinses away the sick. It’s a great eco-system. My own tipple of choice is fine Irish whiskey. Because I started out on alcoholic lemonade and moved to beers and lagers and spirits and wines so my mouth is like an old whore. Everything’s been in there. So nowadays I need something with a kick. I guess I’ll be syphoning petrol tanks by the end of my life.”