“I have great sympathy for hookers,” says Dermot Morgan. “It’s like, ‘you’re on after the meal – and we want head as well.”

Morgan recalls the day he was told by RTE that the series of shows which he had completed would not be transmitted after all. “It wasn’t just that – it was the fact that eighteen months of my life had gone into it. I had to get up on a stage that night and try to be funny.”

Curious people they are out in RTE, who can give carte blanche to a major stinker like “Leave It To Mrs. O’Brien”, and scrap Morgan’s show – which by all accounts is not half bad. Could anything be worse than “Mrs. O’Brien”?

Morgan has recovered the tapes, and plans to vindicate himself come hell or high water. “It was the fact that I was being judged without people even seeing the thing which I find shattering,” he protests.

Since then, he has been flitting around the media with varying degrees of success, and has effectively adopted the mantle of Smart Alec to The Nation in the face of little competition.

The man who gave the world Father Trendy is determined to prove himself more than a one-trick pony. With a bit of luck and better organisation, following its spectacular success in this country, “Mr. Eastwood” could have broken the English charts, and Morgan’s laughter would have reached the ears of Muiris McConghail – wherever he might be[.]

As proven by “Mr. Eastwood”, Morgan is an extremely gifted mimic. During the interview he occasionally lapses into an Eamon Dunphy impersonation wh[ic]h is quite uncanny.

A very amusing chap, Mr. Morgan. Unlike many comics, he doesn’t turn off the juice away from the stage, but frequently goes off on spiels, testing the reaction, constantly brushing up his act. With more sustained exposure than the bitty pieces he pops up in, he could prove himself convincingly as a comic talent of international calibre. Unfortunately if “Mrs. O’Brien” is considered acceptable comic meat, he is in something of a quandary. And the standing army of amateur Smart Alecs will always be convinced that they could do it just as well, in fact better. As he puts it, “most people have a good element of wit. But if you’re setting yourself up professionally, then you’re up for grabs. You know the type: ‘well I do a bit of public speaking myself at my Institute every year. Here’s a gag you can use’ … which is fine. Keep ’em coming.”

So how do the public treat Dermot Morgan – in private[?]

“Very rarely you’d get people saying ‘tell us a joke’ – unless they’re very pissed. I’ll tell you what they might expect, and I don’t think it unreasonable: they’d expect you to be good humoured. By and large, that’s not hard to comply with. Right before a gig, or if I’m worried about something at home, I might be introspective. But even when things look very dark and they have done on occasions – you’re trying to make a living and there might be very little going on – you can have a laugh.”

There are no pension schemes for comedians, are there?

“Last year, I was thinking, Jesus, I’m going to turn around at fifty and not have a tosser. I won’t have made enough in that time to give my kids something decent. Worrying about money is a serious business. I’ll tell you about an unspecified time when things were very poor and the bills were coming in. I’m not whinging about this, I’m just telling it as a fact. You simply don’t know the fuck where it’s going to come from. You worry the shit out of yourself. The pressure can be very heavy. I can turn off at times and say ‘it’s not me, not me’. Sometimes, eve in that, you can see a black humour. It can be very depressing. But then things pick up again. As Barry Devlin says, ‘in showbusiness, you always have a ticket for the Sweep’.”

The standard of Irish comedy in general is conspicuously poor. What other Irish humour does a comedian of Dermot Morgan’s stature like?

“Well, I’d like to see more of “Glenroe” because it is compulsive viewing. The part I liked best about Miley is when Dinny says ‘I believe you’re going to Rome for the Wedding’ and Miley shrugs ‘I suppose there’d be no reason not to. The spuds’ll be lifted by then.’ Wipe out! Wesley Burrows is an amazing scriptwriter.

“I write scripts as well, but they’re all for myself. If I get into a series, I’d only work with a group of writers. You really sharpen people by playing off other writers. For the volume that’s required of television, there’s no doubt about it – just to push you, or challenge you for space in the programme. I’m writing for myself at the moment, and I’m writing an album – it’s been very successful but I think I’ll have to break up. I’m having musical disagreements with myself!

“The video of the McGuigan song is 3 minutes 34 seconds of a 20-minute pilot which myself and Windmill Lane are hoping to interest RTE in which will not only serve the Irish market but the UK as well. We want RTE to take an interest in us, to say ‘there’s merit in what these guys are at.’ The reasoning behind it should be this: we have enough resources in this country, technically, both in-house in RTE, and among the independents, to work together – sounds like the United Nations! – to put together a show which will not only pay for itself here, through advertising, but will be into profit through export to Channel 4, and so on. Take the precedent of Paul Hogan.”

The Aussie accent is funny enough in itself, but the material is a little … thin, wouldn’t you say?

“Well, one thing about Billy Connolly, or Sir Les Patterson, quite aside from the material – and Connolly has brilliant stuff indeed – but an added plus, is that I like to listen to Connolly’s voice. It’s a beautiful voice to listen to. I love the lilt of it, and the sound of it, I’m not saying that any Scots geezer who comes along is great – he’s got the material as well.

“One of the characters I do which hasn’t got an outing yet is a South African heavy called Can Der Kaffir Basher. I love listening to their accents. They caricature themselves as Europe’s hostages. The English would be the Law and Order people, the Irish would be the breeders. David Dimbleby did this programme recently, “The Black Tribes Of Africa” and he was talking to this guy who was obviously on his best behaviour – hadn’t been to the Bunny Carr South African division. Dimbleby says, 'it’s true that a lot of people have died in your custody’. The guy says ‘I want to make dis quite clear to you. Any person is quite at liberty to come to me and make a complaint. And not one single complaint has been made to me in the last year.’ (laughs). The option is quite clear – ‘my office is on the eleventh floor – my window is always open!’

“But I love to listen to people’s accents. It’s a real turn on. I don’t mean I get the horn every time I listen to one, but in a more general sense. My wife Suzanne’s German accent is great, but she’s losing it! Disgraceful!” (laughs).

Do you find that people consider the clowning aspect to be the only side of your personality?

“It’s not a problem now. It’s something to worry about if you’re not doing it professionally. When I’m with a few mates, the natural thing is to get into, not just a gag session, but spiels. You take off on flights of demented ranting, and that’s fun – trying to gross each other out. I have great sessions with my sister, Denise, and my brother Paul. Heckling each other. Telling really vile, or sexist, gags. There’s an understanding that we’re parodying the thing. The idea is that we’re shocking ourselves, and there is a dignity that we’re shocking.

“The most ironic thing about trying to make your way in the world of comedy is that you have to establish a credibility in a serious way. People have to realise that you’re not just a buffoon. If you start to become a buffoon, nobody wants to know. The lovely thing about the record is that people are laughing with you. They know it’s quite clever. That’s the credibility thing. Very important.”

What do you think of Hal Roach?

“(adopts Hal’s voice) Heh, heh, heh, heh. What a woman. If she was in India she’d be sacred, heh, hey. I was playing golf today, and I only hit two good balls. That’s when I stood on a rake in the bunker, hey, hey, hey[.]

“I mean, what can you say about the lad? I have a certain sneaking sympathy for anyone who’s taken so much slating. OK we’ll laugh about him, about Hal Roach’s old gags. But he must have a neck like a jockey’s bollox to survive. His respectability and his acceptance has been relatively latter-day. He used to be slagged to death, but he did make a living. It’s not my style of thing, but I admire the fact that he does it. His claim is that ‘my act can be watched by children and adults.’ Mine can really only be watched by adults. His credibility springs from the fact that his persona is ‘I’m the comedian who’s going to take a beating’: the much-maligned comedian. And he does this hangdog bit from his experience as a comedian.”

Laughter is supposed to be good for you[.] Better than a ten-mile jog, I’ll warrant.

“They say that sex is the equivalent of a 14-mile jog. I’ll have to put on my TRX trainers! Running isn’t half as much fun as horizontal jogging. What’s the other phrase? Discussing Uganda.”

Have you strong political views?

“I’m not interested in party politics, although the Progressive Democrats might be quite interesting, simply because O’Malley is an abrasive and interesting character. But I doubt it.”

What did you make of the criticism of “Mr. Eastwood”[?]

“Recently on Breakfast Television, Roy Walker, the Belfast comedian, slagged it off on the grounds that it was Paddy bashing. That Barry comes from a small town and why shouldn’t be be grateful! The presenter, Ann Diamond, was bubbling over about it, but Walker put a damper on the whole thing which is a pity. I don’t think Ritz Records in London were doing the business properly because she didn’t seem to know that it sold 20,000 copies in Ireland, and was top of the Downtown Radio charts up North. It couldn’t be Paddy bashing, because we don’t like records which we feel are pejorative to us. I’m extremely proud of Barry McGuigan, and Geldof. They say he’s a saint, and he is a frigging saint by historical standards. That’s not a joke. I think he’s got the purest motives. Geldof wasn’t being put down, McGuigan wasn’t being put down, so Roy Walker – keep telling your jokes about mother-in-laws!”

When did you first get up on a stage?

“When I was in college in UCD. I came through college relatively unscathed by education. Not only did I not read ‘Ulysses’, I didn’t even read all of the equivalent of ‘Coles Notes’ on it. I formed Big Gom And The Imbeciles there. Totally obvious, of course. I mean Big Tom must be laughing hysterically all the way to the bank. Take the money, Tom. Take it all, every bit of it. Take it out and count it. Go into your bank, take out some of your wedge, get it in single notes, and roll in it. (laughs). Under the arms, as well. Ooooh!”

Having escaped from Stalag Luft Belfield, Mr. Morgan took to teaching for a while, and began writing letters to Mike Murphy.

“It was a great vibe, getting the name read out. Once you decide to be a comedy writer/performer, the name of the game is to sell it. So at the time it was a pretty big thing. Nice. Fr. Trendy had been knocking around my head for a long time, watching “Outlook”. He’d have a Midlands accent. He’d been to Maynooth – ‘what’s wrong with that?’ – and he wanted to reach out to people with a message. Brian D’Arcy wasn’t the particular one I was taking off, but he was as much in line with that kind of thing as any of them.”

So what’s Dermot Morgan’s own view of religion?

“I’ve never really sorted out the religion thing at all. All of us are cultural Catholics. Everything I am is a reaction to that, and the same goes for the groundswell of people coming up at the moment. I suppose I’d reconsider religion once I’d [exorcised] all the excesses, and the dogma.

“Confession, for example, is a rare and wonderful opportunity to be able to go in and talk dirty to a total stranger!

“My lunatic hurler routine was unusual in that I was probably the first person to be able to do that on more than a marginal basis. Gaybo said that he knew that guy. He gets him in the audience every Saturday night.

“Gay Byrne is one of my genuine heroes, because he’s done more to liberalise this country than any other person. He’s changed the whole set of parameters for discussion, and he’s always pushing it back.”

So for Dermot Morgan, what’s the most satisfying thing about the comedy game?

“When you have people corpsed on the floor. You’re fuelled by that. You feed on that, and then you go further until you can get them crying with laughter. That’s it. The coup de grace. It’s finished them. It’s so satisfying. If you give me the choice between being The Beatles, having young girls screaming at me – taking off their undies and sitting on my face (oh! that’s wrong! Cut that out!) – and being a successful comedian, I’d go for the comic option. There’s a certain level of attention-seeking in it, but mo[r]e than that, when sufficient madness has built up inside you, it has to come out.

“I made a decision, that if I didn’t do it professionally, I was in danger of being in a situation, looking back in X, Y, or Z years, and saying ‘well, I can always tell a gag at the Office Party.’ That would be so awful. I’d sooner become humourless.

“I really wanted to do it. And to do it in a way that you get credit for it.”