He is the King Of proper Grown-Up Pop, the ex-cheeky chappie Housemartin turned bilious chronicler of adult lives. His band, The Beautiful South, sold 2.2 million copies of their greatest hits album, Carry On Up the Charts. Paul (né pd) Heaton, leader of the many-vocalled Beautiful South, sits in the Dubliners Bar at the Copthorne Hotel in Kensington, West London with his regulation bowl-cut barnet and seedy anorak: lager and fag his orb and sceptre, refreshed from a writing spell in Gran Canaria that has resulted in the highly rated Blue Is The Colour, the band’s fifth non-compilatory album. Q is here to discuss all aspects of Heaton life, from politics to swearing. Mysteriously accompanied, as we are, by Heaton’s chums - Kevin Warcup (a chunky Northerner) and the improbably named Alfi Hitchcock, who works for the Mean Fiddler organisation - the dialogue strains to run wild as an Alsation on a long lead.

Eventually - just as Heaton reveals that he would be a millionaire if the band didn’t share out all the money they make - the conversation collapses as Alfie attempts to tell a long and involved joke concerning the alleged death of popular Irish chanteuse Dana. But before this, what a tapestry unfolds. Join us then, reader lads and lasses, as we delve into the secret mind of Paul Heaton.

We were going to call it The Worst Blues Album in The World... Ever but the record company didn’t really fancy it. I suppose it is falling into the irony trap. See, me and Dave reckoned that the worst blues album in the world ever would be the best blues album in the world ever, because blues is about feeling shitty anyway. So really, we’ve released the best one, it being the worst. Which is why we wanted to use the title, but again, it was being a bit clever, wasn’t it? I wrote the lyrics while I was in Holland, in Eindhoven, Rotterdam and The Hague, and I wrote the music with Dave in Gran Canaria. There was a review taking the piss out of my lyrics and the last line was "Soooo clever..." So every time I write a new set of lyrics. I go That was soooo clever. Kevin, come and sit on me lap. the reason I brought Kevin is because when I do a one-to-one interview, I go quiet and become stunningly boring (Kevin sensibly declines to sit on Heaton’s lap).

Me and the me mate used to play this game. We used to walk into newsagents. He’d walk in and I’d shout. That’s him! And he’d leg it out and we’d see how many people we’d get legging it behind us. We got up to about five once. They’d say. What did he do? And I’d say, Nowt. It used to annoy people for some reason.

There’s a song on the album called One God. It seems to deal, yet again, with religion.

I hate talking about this sort of shit. I don’t mean the songs are shit. Er - it’s just about, er, fucking hell, it’s just about a plastic world. It’s only the last part of the song that makes reference to religion. The first bit is about makes reference to religion. The first bit is when you get a hunch about something - like when you see really young girls wearing lipstick, and earrings on new-born babies - and it mentions this bicycle on the bottom of the ocean that you can see from your glass-bottomed boat, which I’ve got five of parked off the Portuguese coast... urgh, it’s just that false feel about things. And then the end of it says there’s only one god; you could have two or three, to wave the magic wand and get things more.... caring, if you want. "We care because you care"... That’s him!

You saying I’m Sinead O’Connor with a hairdo? It’s not meant to be a slag-off of religious people, I’m just waving my magic wand at the subject, sort of thing. I don’t have an obsession with God, I’m pretty much a stern atheist and that always ties in with me politics. Maybe I’ve got an unhealthy religious obsession. Maybe I should join a death metal group, get if off me chest. Yeah, it does crop up a lot. So does drinking. So does....no, drinking and God. You’re right, I’ve only got two subjects.

Very much so. You obviously don’t get the same excitement you get doing it the first time, but I still get excited. Usually when I get excited I like to play stuff to people. Not so much live, but recordings. Playing it back to friends is much more pleasurable than playing it to a total stranger. When friends like the songs you know you’ve done the job right.

Because I like being in a band. If you go solo, there’s the fear of failure. If your record’s at Number 80 and it’s got your name next to it, it might as well say You Are Shit. I’d be scared of that, but the main thing I’d be scared of is just hanging around with musicians and sessioneers. It’s not the same. There are better musicians than some of the friends I’ve chosen in the past to join the band, but they’re friends and it shows when we’re on tour, when we’re having a laugh or when we’re arguing with each other. We’re all quite opinionated. Our bassist Sean has his thoughts on what television shows you should or should not do. Because he watches so much telly, he tends to have a chip on his shoulder about half the programmes. He’ll say, We can’t do that, the presenter’s a wanker! If you say, he’s never done anything, Sean says, Oh yeah, he’s made racist remarks, he’s made sexist remarks. He makes up this whole folder of abuse. If I did go solo, I’d still want other people to be on the photos, so it’s not just you. Get your mates in.

That’s an insult! Yeah, we get a lot of mainstream audiences but we’ve probably still got a lot of a Housemartins-type audiences - student-based. I think that’s just the sales, rather than anything to do with what I’ve done or said. I had no idea the album would do that well. I thought it might stay in the charts for a while, but I didn’t think it would get to Number 1 and stay there for a long time. Yeah, it was a big surprise. Dave Rotheray’s got this theory which is quite a typical Dave Rotheray theory. He reckons it’s like the Irish elections: you get a second vote if your one doesn’t get in. The Beautiful South is everyone’s second or third vote. I had a theory which was similar but I can’t remember it.

One of the advantages of Dave Hemingway’s voice is that although it sounds similar to mine, you can lose yourself in it more easily, whereas with me you always know it’s Paul Heaton singing. I’m not slagging meself off but I think sometimes whenever I open me mouth to sing people think, Ah yeah, he’s winding us up there, he’s being cynical. Even if they like this genuine love song, people think I’m going to be winding them up with the one after... I’ve just got this cynical reputation. I always think band’s first singles, if they’ve done well, set up opinions of the band. People still associate us with Song For Whoever and The Housemartins with Happy Hour.

Probably. There’s some new songs on the album that are pretty straightforward and genuine. I used to find it a lot harder than I do now. It’s getting easier. Even on I’ll Sail This Ship Alone, the last bit ended with this punchline of the narrator wanting to kill or kill himself. But these songs are more straightforward, no twist at the end, soppy stuff. I was sad when I wrote them.

Oh, I can’t go into that. Just break-ups and then the release of happiness when you’re with somebody else and all that. Too embarrassing to, er, put down in print: (makes strangled face) I luv you!

French?

Is Miaow the last one, or was it 0898? I always get them mixed up.

Right. And We Are Each Other. Well this one sounds even tireder. It’s sort of fresh but it also sounds even more melancholy. At the time of Miaow, it was a bit of a CNEEEE (mimes slow downward movement of doomed glider) type thing. It wasn’t a rapid decline, but we were going through a dodgy time in terms of sales. It’s all trends - we’re struggling to get played on Radio One at the moment ‘cos it’s Oasis and younger-than-us type bands. I bet they smell fresher than we do. Me, I haven’t had a bath in weeks. (There then follows an immense diversion to discuss merits of the straight "sleever" beer glass over the dimpled mug. Some businessmen are starting to look at Heaton and his friends funny. A question is clearly called for).

Not really no. I’m always aware of being famous and I’m pretty aware of how famous I am. Actually, I think I’m a little less famous than I really am.

I don’t know. Not that famous, do you know what I mean? Not like someone like Jarvis Cocker or the Gallagher Brothers or him our of Blur... Damon. Those blokes must be recognised pretty much wherever they go. To be honest, we’ve never really wanted to be on the first page in the sections in the weekly music papers about how somebody left his passport in the hotel reception and had to drive back 400 miles to get it and the hotel’s been burned down by Colombian drug dealers. I’d rather just mould away in a dark room.

No! Ha! I don’t know, when we started I was keen on dispelling the myth of fame and the Housemartins’ image and winding people up, really. It was something about George Bush, he lives in a little house somewhere and I can’t remember it. Load of rubbish. It was good for the first few gigs, I used to sit on the front of the stage. We played Manchester and Bristol and I was unbelievably rude. I’ve got a tape of it. I just sat there at the Town & Country in Manchester absolutely seething, Fuck off, you Manc twats! What are you gonna do about it, pal?

I don’t know if I actually said it, but it was along those lines. I just used to be rude. I remember clearly what I said in London. Arsenal had just won the Championship. We’d gone on about half an hour late, to shouts of "Get on with it!" I said "You’ve waited fucking 10 years for a decent football side, you can fucking wait half an hour for us". We smashed everything up as well. It’s quite weird. You’d have to be there to realise that’s what we were. We only had seven songs on our first tour!

It was fear and it was arrogance. We were like those early Oasis gigs - I’d strut around pretending I was hard. Our first gig was at Liverpool and people didn’t really like us so we decided (chortle) a way to get people to like us was by being a set of cunts on stage. And it worked!

About once every year I get the old records out and listen to maybe two tracks. I don’t really have contact with them. Hugh’s just come out of jail, I spoke to him about a month ago. I sometimes speak to Norman on the phone. I saw Stan about a year ago, he came back to Hull. He seemed a little bit confused about what to do next, because he was writing kids’ books. He’d be best presenting children’s television. He reminds me of - what’s him off MTV? Ray Cokes? Not in a good way, heh heh heh!

Oh yeah. I’m sat in front of the telly constantly destroying anybody who goes on. I’m driven by hatred. I don’t mean hatred, I just mean little chips on me shoulder. I enjoy it, though; it’s not a severe thing where it eats away inside me. I enjoy arguing as well. I enjoy arguing about politics and I’ve asked our plugger to try and get me on Question Time. They think that I’m winding them up for some reason, but they’ve had Jo Brand and Stephen Fry on there. They think I’d swear or abuse guests.

Because I sit at home watching it and there’s a lot of people come on it who I have arguments against. I wouldn’t be as skilful at arguing, obviously, as a politician, but a lot of the arguments from the Conservatives - and some of those from the LibDems and Labour - are so simply defeated.

The argument in the Labour Party at the moment seems to be, We can run the Tory company better than you can. They can’t. The bankers would run a Conservative business better than some jumped-up little shit like Tony Blair.

No. He’s dropped the child benefit, he’s now concentrating on pensioners.

No. I’ve stayed where I was: in the same house, no car, which isn’t a big effort - I can’t drive anyway. Obviously I can afford taxis if I want them, certain luxuries...

I always though Billy Bragg’s best songs were his love songs. I’ve had a couple of letters saying, Where the hell do you think I’m going, having dropped the politics. I don’t want to ram it down people’s throats as much as perhaps I did. I’m still doing political songs, anyway. Obviously there’s anti-sexist or maybe anti-racist nonsense we do. And we’re doing a song about vagrants on the new album. What I’m trying to say, right, is (barks) I’m gonna vote Major!

I don’t know really. It depends how you run your business. We run The Beautiful South business as a co-operative so everybody gets paid absolutely the same. Everybody in the band gets paid the same as I do. Yeah Mick Hucknall can be a socialist, but I’m not sure how much Simply Red make or how difficult it would be to split up amongst the band as well. Everything from recording royalties to publishing royalties still goes on to other band members and to the Swiss bank account I’ve got. Maybe.

You surround yourself with the right people for that sort of thing to work, people you trust. I’ve been ripped off by a few people, people I thought were friends, but that doesn’t make me think I should go right wing because of that. Further to the left if anything.

No. Obviously, put two starving kids in a field, they’re going to scrap over a piece of bread, but that doesn’t make any difference. We’re not in that situation. Even if we were, it doesn’t mean you have to reward those who’ve done it. Just because you’ll never get Utopia doesn’t mean you shouldn’t strive towards it. If you don’t, they’ll take the piss going the other way and we’ll be back to the Dark Ages. It’s never in my head that it could be achieved, or that it actually mattered that it could be achieved. Socialists are constantly put on the back foot by people saying, Yeah, you want, you want. We’re somehow made to feel as though we’re grabbing, when really, socialists are just trying to defend what we’ve got now. That’s how I see it. It’s probably a bit simplistic.

Hang you. Bring back public hanging. Free taxis for pensioners. No VAT on fish and chips and pop and crisps. I’d nationalise fucking everything. Heh heh heh. And if there’s any complaints, I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it. That goes back to the idea of never thinking about Utopia. I just see myself as somebody trying to defend things in the first place.

Sting turned up once with a snake on his shoulder. I don’t know if he’d not noticed it had got there, fell out of his rainforest on him. But he came in with this snake to this big gig in Clapham and told Stan to fuck off. So I said to Stan, Come on, let’s to and talk to Elvis Costello.

The band has only recently decided to put away money for charity, but I’ve never wanted to do it unless I was in a position to direct it. Not because I don’t trust other people but because it would be something I’d be interested in doing. Otherwise it’s money down the drain.