Jeremy Hardy, the deadest of deadpan comics, is about as unstarry as they come, discovers Charles Hutchinson.

JEREMY Hardy is celebrating 21 years in comedy.

That said, celebration is not a word you would associate with this deadest of deadpan observers of English social and political life.

Asked if he has changed as the laughter lines have built up like the contours on an Ordnance Survey map, he says: "Just decayed really. I just find it harder and harder to concentrate."

The sharp bends of alarm hidden within fog have long been his trademark in appearances on BBC2's Loose Talk and QI and Radio 4's Just A Minute, I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue and the News Quiz. On Wednesday, he can put another pin in his comedy map, when he ambles into Pocklington Arts Centre for the first time. "It's always good to find somewhere they haven't seen me... though I have got new material," he says.

You could be in for a long night. "The shows are getting longer, not shorter. It just takes me longer to remember what I'm doing," Jeremy says.

Such self-deprecation masks a wit as thoughtful and unpredictable as ever. "It's not really a style that I've developed, because I was very deadpan when I started out, and it's just become more and more me. I wouldn't say there was a great deal of effort that goes into me on stage. It's just me shambling around," he says.

"I think, as well, that people quite like having someone on stage who's not that starry. You don't really get the feeling of being in the presence of a God figure when I'm up there."

Being "not that starry" extends to Jeremy's choice of tour poster and promotional photo. No visit to a swish London studio for Hardy for an arty black and white pose, no sinking into the mire of comic tomfoolery; instead you or I could have taken the snap of Jeremy looking less than enamoured with the world as he stands lugubriously in the great outdoors.

"I was in the Lake District, coming back from a gig in Whitehaven, and we were travelling over Hard Knock Pass, which is apparently the highest road in the country. It was a bit cold, and we were only there for about ten minutes," he recalls. "When we got the pictures back, we thought 'That one looks like a man shambling around'... and it does look like it could be Scotland, so I can get away with it at the Edinburgh Fringe."

He avoids the clichs of comedian portraits. "In most tour photos, someone is standing next to a suitcase or holding a microphone, but it's quite difficult to express what you do, so I just chose one of me walking along," he says. "My girlfriend favoured one of me staring out to sea, but that's a bit album cover. I'm glad we went with Hard Knock Pass."

Looking skywards, Jeremy Hardy is more cloud than silver lining. "There is this expectation that you should make people come out of the show in a good mood, but I can't be held responsible for the mood they're in: that should come from within," he says.

However, he does not let sadness envelop him. "I try to be angry, not too sad. That's why I try not to drink too much, otherwise I'd be carrying lots of carrier bags around on stage."

It was only a matter of time before the tut-tutting Grumpy Old Men sought his opinions, but his encounters with that forum for middle-aged myopia have not been wholly satisfying. "The sad thing about that Grumpy Old Men programme is that they took a lot of good subjects and didn't follow them through with the jokes... though I did some gags but they didn't use a lot of me," says Jeremy.

"They had a lot of Clarkson and lots of that squashed chef, and the financial correspondent on the Today programme. Why would he ever be humorous on any subject?

"Then there were some of the complaints. I was thinking, why are you complaining about health checks? I would rather check my own testicles, unless it was Cameron Diaz doing it."

At this juncture, I would like to invent the upside-down exclamation mark to indicate the tone of Hardy's responses. Will his mood be grumpy in Pocklington? "You can't be grumpy for two hours. No, no. There's an interval." What would be troubling him most in his show? "Piles probably." Upside-down exclamation mark. Has he given the tour a title? "I suppose I could call it Caroline." Upside-down exclamation mark. What keeps him performing? "I just think I'm irascible and I have to make a living." Upside-down exclamation mark.

Hardy's comic demeanour, along with the perspicacious wit of Linda Smith and the waspish put-downs of Humphrey Lyttelton, is a joy of early-evening Radio 4, a medium he prefers to television.

"I don't really care about being on TV. It's all right for giving you lots of money, and driving you there and back, but invariably I'm staring blankly into space whenever they cut to me." Jeremy says. "It's nice doing the News Quiz. It's all quite civilised; nobody gets really stroppy or difficult or starry in radio, and because I'm not what you might call an incredibly physical person, audio performance suits me quite well."

Throughout this interview, the chatter has been accompanied by the sound of Jeremy preparing a pot of coffee. "It's coffee from a Harvey Nichols tin from Christmas, but it's not Harvey Nichols coffee," he says. As ever with this foggy but bright spark, appearances can be deceptive.

Jeremy Hardy, Pocklington Arts Centre, Wednesday, 8pm. Box office: 01759 301547.

Updated: 15:39 Thursday, February 10, 2005