It’d probably be a gross dereliction of journalistic duty to lead into this interview with anything other than the Robbie Williams smack exclusive, but I’ll get to that later. What’s far more important is that Richard Hawley is a lovely bloke, his new opus Lowedges is a lovely album, and the dinner being served at its launch is just as lovely: pie, mash, gravy and mushy peas, all soused in Henderson’s Relish, an unassuming brown taste sensation that’s been “made in Sheffield for over a hundred years”.

For the night that’s in it, the occasional Pulp guitarist and former Longpigs frontman has had 100 bottles of his home-town flavour-enhancer specially commissioned: ‘The Richard Hawley Special Edition’ boasts the label and you can see he’s well chuffed.

“It’s like Worcester Sauce only it’s nice,” he explains proudly. “Michael Palin loves it, and Sean Bean has crates of it flown over to LA if he’s making a movie. Here’s a bottle of it to take home, our kid. Stick it in your coat, but be careful you don’t fall and smash it if you’re having a few beers.”

I observe that it’s ‘Vegetarian Society Approved’ and ask Hawley what those of a herbivorous bent could possibly put it on.

“Do you know that’s a good question, our kid,” he laughs. “I know even vegans can have the fucker but I don’t know what they use it for. Maybe they put it on a rock. Boiled rocks with Henderson’s Relish. Mmm… fuckin’ lovely.”

Hawley addresses me as ‘our kid’ throughout our encounter, laughs continuously and goes to great lengths to explain why records are much better than CDs. “It’s all to do with sound waves and shit… perfect arcs… that sort of thing.” Then he cracks up again: “Look I can see I’m boring the fuckin’ arse off you, our kid. Just take my word for it, records are better.”

No, carry on… it’s very interesting, I urge him.

“Nah, you’re just being fuckin’ polite now,” he bellows, before continuing with his long-winded explanation. He’s not wrong – it’s excruciating.

His third solo album Lowedges, on the other hand, is anything but dull. The hotpress review that likened it to a soak in the tub with a glass of red wine and a big fat reefer was bang on the money. Hearing Hawley croon his way through a series of soothing, brooding, moody love songs, it immediately becomes apparent why so many reviewers liken him to Elvis, Scott Walker and Roy Orbison.

“That’s not a problem for me because, fuckin’ hell, let’s face it, they’re not bad singers, do you know what I mean?” explains Hawley. “I’ve only been singing a bit… for three albums and it’s better than being compared to something shit.”

Speaking of which, is it true that Hawley’s had murky past dealings with Robbie Williams?

“Yeah, I got introduced to him when he’d just left Take That,” comes the reply. “A mate of mine from the Pulp days in Sheffield asked me to come down and play on a track when they were demoing stuff. Everyone was on heroin at the time, apart from me, and there wasn’t a lot being done. So I ended up writing a song called ‘Clean’ just to kind of get something done. I’ve never actually told that story before so you’ve got an exclusive there our kid.”

So, are you telling me Robbie Williams is a smack head?

“No,” Hawley chuckles. “I’m not mentioning specifically that anyone was on heroin. I’m just saying that everyone who was there was on heroin. He might not have been there or he might have been, do you know what I mean? But anyway, I got that done while we were in the studio and Robbie’s rang me recently after hearing Lowedges and said it’s a beautiful record, blah, blah, blah… and wants to write some more songs. But I said I was a bit busy.”

What do you think of Robbie’s stuff?

“What, his solo stuff?”

Yeah.

“No comment.”

That’s a ringing endorsement if ever I heard one…

“No comment… you fucker.”

Great album… you big bollocks.