'I’m a boy who just wants to have fun' - DJ Danny Baker ahead of stand-up show

He tells me I can call him back whenever I like. Think of some more questions and get in touch. Put him on speed dial; just as he’s been to the nation’s consciousness for some 40 years.

Danny Baker, broadcaster, raconteur, comedy writer, journalist and screenwriter, is utterly, breathtakingly, mind-smashingly, high-kickingly hilarious.

He is uproarious. He is irascible. He is the one, the only, Mister GOOD TIME CHARLIE.

He’s on the road for what-and-might-not-be the final tour of his life. Who knows. Danny doesn’t. He’s told his PR it’ll be his final tour but, like Status Quo, Frank Sinatra and Rick Bloomin’ Astley, he’ll be back.

Or, it might just be his last tour. He and his wife, Wendy, might well up, fly off to Portugal, order a few bottles of Alentejo and stick their feet up. After all, they’ve earned it.

But first he needs to tell us about his tour, Good Time Charlie’s Back, which will be high-kicking its way around the UK until the end of July. The show follows the success of his Cradle To Grave show, which was a critical and commercial hit.

“My fellow Vaudevillians, following the extraordinary success of the Cradle To Grave tour I was asked to reconsider my initial statement that I would never undertake such a venture again. The applause of the public can be a seductive narcotic and weaker souls than I would be tempted to repeat the thrills harvested during that ‘uproarious whirligig of joy’ simply to bolster their already outsized egos. After much reflection, I have decided that I cannot allow such rampant narcissism to cloud my judgment. I said ‘one farewell’ tour’ and I meant ‘one farewell tour’. There will be no more.”

Yeah, right.

“Therefore I am pleased to announce that, to mark this momentous decision, I will be embarking on a nationwide, high-principled, peppy series of one-night-stands calling at dozens of theatres around the country starting in May. These shows will be startling, high kicking, fresh, eruptive and often under three hours long.

“On this, once again, you have my word. To help me mark the festivities I will joined on some nights by both Bruce Springsteen and Bob Dylan – two of the nicest dogs I have ever owned.

“I hope people will understand my resolve never to tour again and also why these upcoming performances are absolutely necessary to mark such a declaration. I hope you can once more attend to help celebrate my iron will in this matter and on the night reflect that, even in these fickle times, there are still men who will hold fast to their principles. I am that man. So vote for me. Sorry, not ‘vote’, I meant ‘come and see’. It will be almost certainly your last chance. To quote the philosopher Slocombe, ‘I am unanimous in that’.”

Bonkers, isn’t he?

Danny Baker is 60. His story sparked into life when he met Elton John at his record store, One Stop Records, in South Molton Street, in London’s West End. Much to his surprise, he wasn’t blown away when he handed over a stash of vinyl to Rocket Man. Rather, he viewed Sir Elt in much the way he’d view his older sister, Sharon, or his older brother, Michael, who later passed away. To him, the rich and famous were normal; regular fellas and fellettes who just so happened to have a strange job.

He was heavily influenced by his beloved father, to Fred ‘Spud’ Baker, a dock-working, union-leading father, and Betty, a factory worker mother. They grew up on a working class estate in Bermondsey, the like of which no longer exists.

“My old man played a big part. I’ve written three volumes of autobiography and it turned out to be his biography. Dad’s was a docker and a third of the show on the last tour was about him. He was extraordinary. He was not to be pigeon-holed. He wasn’t an embarrassing dad. He was a tremendous man. He was a tremendous, tremendous force. He’d bring home stuff out the dock all the time. We only ever holidayed about six times and we only ever went to Norfolk Broads. He would insist we went first class, whether we had a first class ticket or not. He thought life was tough enough so you had to find a way to skin a cat, however tough it was. When I started to write, dad used to take an interest. But he was a very funny bloke. He’d be saying: ‘How’s the typing going, boy?’

“A lot of the audience recognise their own parents in this. There’s also nostalgia for a certain type of vanished working class – because that whole community has been cleansed here in London. So let me tell you, the things that people tell you about the working class estates are nonsense. We didn’t want to move on. We had a terrific time. We were happy on our estate.”

In the punk years, Danny started writing for a fanzine called Sniffin’ Glue, which led to an offer to join the NME. He wrote there during its glory years, alongside Julie Burchill, Tony Parsons, Charles Shaar Murray and Nick Kent. Danny initially began working as the office receptionist, but was soon contributing regular articles and reviews before progressing to interviews. He often refers to these times during his radio shows, regularly citing examples of the ridiculous behaviour exhibited by his rock star interviewees.

The Times, the TV and others soon came a-calling and Baker found himself one of the most in-demand journalists/presenters in the country, focusing on entertainment and sport. He wrote for Chris Evans’ seminal TFI Friday show as well as writing for Angus Deayton and Jonathan Ross, among others.

His radio career began at the end of the 1980s and continues to this day, though he was taken off the air in 2012, when he was taken off the air by BBC London. He branded his employers ‘pinhead weasals’, burning his bridges as he exited in a blaze of glory. Boom.

In between times, he got ill and nearly died. His cancer diagnosis came in 2010 and he underwent chemotherapy and radiotherapy before getting the all-clear. Little wonder he wants to live life for the hell of it, having fun until there is no more.

But even Danny didn’t foresee his reinvention as a stage former.

“If anyone had said 18 months ago, you’re a stage performer, I’d have rolled in the aisles. I’ve been around comedians all my life, I didn’t think I’d become one.

“I was going to do two of these shows then move to Portugal and not worry a about anything one bit. Two dates became five. That became a tour. That became another tour. So I don’t know. Besides, now that Ken Dodd has passed on and Bruce Sringsteen is on Broadway, someone has to take on the four-hour mantle.”

The title came from a bloke he met at his local shopping centre.

“I was in there and a local boy came up to me and said: ‘I know you, you’re a right old good time Charlie’.” Danny liked it, so it stuck.

He doesn’t want to provide a window into another world. His show doesn’t deliver on ideas, like an evening with Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens. It is, instead, about one of the most precious commodities known to man, woman or beast: fun.

“I’d like to say the show depends on the moment, though that might sound unfocused and rambling.

“When I did the first one at the City Varieties, in Leeds, even my wife, who pays scant attention to what I do for a living, said about five minutes before I was due on: ‘Are you sure you shouldn’t be writing something down?’.”

He didn’t. The audience roared. It was a hit.

Besides, he’s lived such an absurd and ridiculous life that the only sane place for it to go is the theatre. Danny has been mates or has written for everyone from the Sex Pistols to the Royal Family. Fans of his radio show will be thrilled.

“I’ve not found it in any way different to the radio. The stories remain the same. All you have is this personality. If I haven’t got the storehouse of things over this four decades, I’d be stuck. But it’s there. Look, I’m a writer at heart and I always knew what was good, what was extraordinary.

“But though I’ve met all these people, on the night of a show I find stories about my family edging out stories about anyone you might wish to name.

“I have no message, I am not raising awareness, I want people to have a terrific time and walk out and have a great time, then go to work the following morning.”

Despite the joke, he has no intention of becoming a Ken Dodd, treading the boards until he’s six feet under. Rather, he wants to live life and be happy, fly here and there, have a laugh with Wendy and the kids.

“You can only keep kicking your legs up in public for so long. My youngest is 19 now and I don’t feel the need to keep on working. I want to live for pleasure alone. Two years back, the last book came out and we wanted to go out and be in Portugal. I happened to say we’d do a few shows then go.

“And once I’ve finished this tour, nobody will notice if I tiptoe out of what used to be the spotlight. I do one show on a Saturday morning. It’s not like I’m Kayne West. I live for pleasure alone, I have for my entire life.

“I have learned no lessons when I’ve gone through life, not even when I was mortally ill. We get 70 summers in this theme park in space and we have to make the most of it. I don’t think: ‘What’s it all about?’ I’ve absolutely no interest. I’ve been rattling around this theme park for 60 years and I want to share a few stories about the things I’ve done.”

I ask Danny whether there aren’t deeper ideas, whether he’s not perturbed by the Age of Austerity, by political malfeasance and injustice. He laughs. It’s clear the answer is no. I might as well have asked Jordan the square root of 13,456. It’s 116, coincidentally.

“Bless you for even thinking I have sudden depths. Don’t think I get on here and talk about a condition or getting a point a view across, I don’t. I’m extraordinarily shallow. I’m not entitled to be miserable. I’m a euphoric person and that has been alright for me. My radio shows, if any one hears the 5 Live show, bears no relation to the news. I’m like taking off tight shoes.

“Let me put it another way. If you sit down on a long journey, you don’t want to be sitting next to a paper-rustler who’s talking about Brexit. You want to sit down and see a fella with a smile who tells you he’s met Prince William and has a few stories to share about him.”

He doesn’t care to pick out highlights. The man who featured on I’m A Celebrity, who conducted Michael Jackson’s final interview with the NME, who went on tour with the Sex Pistols and who described his casual cocaine user as being an unnecessary activity for an already-compulsive talker simply doesn’t care.

“The gift of it is that none of it stands out. From the moment of Elton John walking into the record shop when I was 14, I’ve never been over-awed. I’ve just thought ‘whato, what fun’.

“I’ve met some big egos. The worst were at the Concert for Diana, which I wrote. We had everyone from Kayne to the Royal Family. I guess you could take a step back and say ‘they’re all insane’. But I don’t reflect. I’m not deep.”

And there’s the rub. Danny is an exception in an age of being on-message and having an agenda. There isn’t one. He just wants to have fun. And isn’t that refreshing?

• Danny Baker plays the Warwick Arts Centre on May 5.