Living like a vampire

Comedians’ energies peak at around midnight. It must be genetic, for even as a schoolboy [O Briain was born in Wicklow, but educated in Dublin], I’d do my essays at 3am and then crash out. Clearly, I’m no longer a teenager, neurologically built for sleeping all day and being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed right through to the wee small hours. But possibly from force of habit, I still like to sleep late after a gig and then face the day. Of course, that’s a huge source of annoyance to anyone trying to make a delivery to you of a morning. Those people believe the whole world goes to bed at the same time as them and that you’re just very lazy, standing at the front door in your dressing gown, scratching yourself. The fact is I’m in one of the few jobs suited to the nocturnal make-up that is in my DNA.

Sharp wits and a good sense of timing

The ordinary rules of celebrity don’t apply to guys like me. I had the good fortune to choose the one branch of showbusiness where prettiness is not required. No one cares what you look like or what’s going on in your private life. The only question is, “Are you funny?” You need something of the everyman about you. Audiences want their own lives and experiences reflected back at them and there’s no surer way of being able to do that than by being one of them in the first place. Also, in comedy, you’re allowed time to get good at what you do. It took me about seven years to find my own voice in terms of material, confidence and delivery [before venturing into stand-up and after reading maths and theoretical physics at university, O Briain worked as a children’s presenter for Ireland’s RTE network]. You’re not just thrown on to TV overnight and before you’re ready for it, for which I’m grateful.

Dressing for success

I’m the one who’s working when I and a theatre’s worth of ticket holders find ourselves in the same place at the same time. And there comes a time when it’s no longer appropriate to pace the stage wearing trainers, jeans and a T-shirt. You’re a little older, a little more successful and you have to accept that you’re in an entertainment environment. So take it seriously, why don’t you? Stop looking so shambolic. Obviously, I don’t go the whole dinner-jacket-and-dicky-bow route, but still, some sharp tailoring – a good cloth and a good cut – never goes amiss. It gives you confidence and lends you a certain gravitas, which you can then set about puncturing with tales of your own ineptitude and misadventures. You remain the butt of your own joke, but you’re in a good suit. It works.

Listening to the audience

Mine is one of your more off-the-cuff, improvisational types of comedy, and within any 90-minute show, about one third of the time will be spent doing unscripted nonsense inspired by the people sitting in front of me. Let them talk. Listen to them. I don’t understand why more comics don’t do the same. You’re mad not to spark off them because, although you’re the pro and should be ten times better at storytelling, they’re all parked there idling like Ferrari engines, just waiting to take off. Yes, it can backfire and someone can get the better of you – if they do, then they’re the hero of the night and I make sure I give them huge acclaim – but the risk-versus-reward equation works so much in my favour. The heart of every show is different thanks to the audience. Tap it and pure gold will always appear.

Dara O Briain Talks Funny – Live in London is released on DVD by Universal Pictures UK on November 17