BILL Bailey is exactly the right person to front a show, Limboland, with the theme being how we imagined our lives would turn out, and the darker reality.

Bailey’s wry, dark questioning take on political life has underlined his comedy since he broke through on the comedy circuit 25 years go.

“When I was a kid I thought the future would be great and Tomorrow’s World would fix everything,” he says with a wry smile. “But that hasn’t turned out to be the case and so that’s where my thoughts are coming from.”

How does he filter in the political content without appearing dogmatic – and dull?

“It’s a good point because four million people voted for Ukip, and you have to assume some of them will be in your audience.”

Bailey, he of the odd hairstyle and bulging eyes is left of centre, a natural complainer and given his grumbly countenance it begs the question; ‘Is the very essence of him Scottish?’

“I think it is,” he says, smiling. “I have a lot of Scots friends, I spend a lot of time in Scotland and I met my wife in Edinburgh. The way I think seems to chime with the Scots thinking.

“And I’m sure the Scots will come to think more about Corbyn (as the answer). He’s had a lot of bad press from the right wing, but he seems to be calm and look to achieve a consensus.”

Bailey’s comedy has always been clever, involving smart juxtapositions. (He once teamed up Kant's Critique of Pure Reason with the theme-tune from Match of the Day.)

“I love doing that. And I love talking about what I feel is wrong. And as long as there is pomposity and stupidity and arrogance out there, then there’s plenty for a comedian to get worked up about.”

Bailey’s but he ever think this comedy-music hybrid to be risky?

“I did. There was a time when comedy and music were seen as poor relations, a mongrel version of what comedy is supposed to be. You would hear the complaints; ‘Oh, it’s not just you with a microphone and a suit. You’ve got a mandolin as well you folk-singing hippy bastard.’ But it’s not a cop out. It’s hard work.”

Bailey was a clever clogs at school, in Bath. (Real name Mark; Bill was a nickname given by a teacher.’) “I think I got into comedy because I couldn’t really do anything else. I don’t deal well with contraints. I’d do well at school, but then react against it, and get into shouting matches. I felt I was being owned by some teachers and the only subject I enjoyed was music.”

The questioning stance has worked. Bailey is now regarded as one of the most original comedy acts on the circuit. He even gets to hold up the end of the Graham Norton sofa, alongside stars such as Matt Damon. How hard is it to be the Comedy Turn?

“It is an odd one. Of all those chat shows it’s the most fun to do because you’re on the sofa the whole time, not just wheeled on and off. But it’s surreal to sit there with the Hollywood A-listers who have no clue who you are, and think ‘Who’s this weird bloke on the end?’ But they’re all very nice. And you get time to tell a story.”

Did he go drinking afterwards with Damon? “No, he was being flown off to Spain to do another two hours press, but I liked hearing what he was saying about his Oscar success, that it wasn’t all that. He was a good sort.”

Bill Bailey seems a good sort, who doesn’t seem driven to pursue fame and comedy success.

“Comedy is great, it’s the chance to make sense of the world, to be scathing, to be articulate. It’s one of the last bastions of free speech.”

Except on television? “Yes, that’s right. That’s where I have the debates with the lawyers, and it drives me bat-shi* crazy. But live, I can say what I want.”

He adds, “Especially in Scotland. The audiences are honest, and if they like you – or don’t – they let you know, unlike the more metropolitan crowds.”

He breaks into a laugh; “Except in Aberdeen. One show I did had gone really well in Edinburgh and Glasgow but then this Aberdeen audience sat with their arms folded. And two hours into the gig I was thinking ‘What the hell? Have I lost it? Is this what happens? Do I go back to the telesales job?’

“They applauded the end, thankfully. And I think what was happening was they didn’t want to show appreciation too soon. They didn’t want success to go to my head.”

• Bill Bailey’s Limboland, the Music Hall, Aberdeen, October 19-20, the SECC Glasgow, 21-22,