Having been duped, by a friend, into performing while under the influence of alcohol, Colin Murphy went on to acquit himself "reasonably well" at his first ever open spot before promptly being booked to return to the same venue for his second ever gig. There was a catch, however. He had to act as compere.

It was a baptism of fire and fittingly, by his own admission, he went down in flames. "Yeah, I went to my second gig and I had absolutely no idea how to be a compere," he recalls, laughing at the good of it. "I arrived at the venue armed to the teeth with the five minutes of material I'd used the previous week and nothing else because I didn't realise I'd need anymore. To make matters worse, it was much the same crowd as had seen me the first time so I couldn't even use the five minutes I had."

A true professional, Colin did what any man in his position would do, choosing to "arse about and make stuff up."

So how was it? Did he thrill the assembled throng with his improvisational skills? Did he wow them with his spontaneous cutting-edge banter? Did he reduce all and sundry to quivering wrecks with his extemporaneous musings? Sadly, he did not.

"I died," he states matter of factly in his thick Northern lilt. " In fact I died every week for about six months until, eventually, I stopped dying as much. I know it's an awful lot of humiliation to have to put up with it but I suppose I'm either very thick skinned or else very stupid."

Thankfully, such gory days are behind the 30-year-old Downpatrick native now, and with just two years experience under his belt, he now comperes thrice weekly at assorted venues around Northern Ireland: Derry's The Cracks 90, the Queens University Comedy Club and Belfast's infamous Empire Club, a notoriously tough comedic nut for stand-ups to crack.

"Myself and a guy called Jake Junior are the regular comperes at The Empire," explains Colin. "It used to have a really bad reputation but it isn't as bad as they say any more. I mean, the audience there doesn't suffer fools gladly and if they think you're no good they won't have any qualms about telling you, or booing you off. But I think that's good in a way because it means that comedians can't arse about up there, they have to just get on with it.

"I think part of the problem at The Empire was that before myself and Jake took over, Paddy Kielty was the compere there and it got to the stage where there were just hundreds of screaming wee girls coming to see him and not the acts. He was like a pop star. That's when it became a very difficult place to play, especially for English acts. It was hard for us originally because you still had people coming to see Paddy, and no matter how hard you tried you couldn't get through to them that he wasn't going to be there. It's a lot nicer now, though. We get a full house every week with people coming to see the whole show - comperes and acts."

A support slot on the aforementioned Mr Kielty's 25-date nationwide tour in 1997 enabled Colin to hone his act to near perfection so he promptly sold his soul to London-based agent Dawn Sedgwick, whose small (but beautifully formed) stable of comedians contains such thoroughbred Irish stand-up stallions as Ardal O'Hanlon, Tommy Tiernan and Jason Byrne. Inevitably, the sorties to Britain followed.

"I'm doing alright over there," muses Colin. "I've no plans to go and live there or anything because I'm happy enough to commute over and back, do my gigs up here and then go down south every now and again. I'm still doing open spots over in London in some places. I think it's the same for every Irish act who goes over. It doesn't matter how well you're known over here, if they don't know who you are then they don't trust you. You can sort of understand it, I suppose. It's getting easier for me now because word of mouth gets around and if you do a few good gigs, then promoters will be talking to each other about you and you can get one of them to back you up for a reference.

"Actually, the first gig I ever did over there, I asked for the hardest gig in London and everybody said Up The Creek was the toughest of them all. So I said 'That's the boy for me', went and did it and it was a doddle. Honest to God, compared to The Empire, it was an absolute fucking doddle! I went on expecting hell and it was just the loveliest gig. It was really nice, just great crack."

Great crack is Colin Murphy's stock-in-trade. He confesses that he's not a big fan of the hectoring style of American wiseguys such as Denis Leary and the late Bill Hicks, but instead lists Dylan Moran and Tommy Tiernan among his current favourite stand-up guys. Indeed, his own style isn't all that far removed from Tiernan's: an hilarious melting pot of surreal yarns, acute observations and droll commentary on life, the universe and everything.

Although he invariably mentions The Troubles in his act, it is not something he wishes to dwell on particularly. This hasn't stopped him getting in trouble across the water, however.

"I have got grief in England whenever I've done stuff about the north," he concurs. "It's funny, really, because of all the people in the room I think I'm the most qualified to talk about it. For some reason or other, though, the self-appointed Taste Police decide that I shouldn't talk about it."

To which the response is?

"To that kind of rubbish? Well, as I said, basically I am the person who's most qualified to talk about it and if they shut up and listen they might actually learn something." n

• Colin Murphy plays the Murphy's Laughter Lounge on Thurs 16th/Fri 16th/Sat 17th July and Murphy's Ungagged - Kinsale on Sun 18th July.