MILTON Jones, the king of the one-liner and Mock the Week regular, is back.

His new tour, The Temple of Daft calls in at The Anvil in Basingstoke for two dates in March and, in comedy terms, he’s embarking on uncharted territory.

That’s because joke machine Milton, the man who can cram in up to 250 gags a night, is now a joke machine with a purpose.

His new tour strings the quips together in to a broader story, one that sees Jones take on the mantle of Indiana Jones, don the hat and set off on a madcap journey to surrealist comedy.

We caught up with Milton to talk about big hair, bad shirts, Mock the Week and his new direction.

Your new tour is called The Temple of Daft. Why?

Basically, previous tours have been lots of jokes in different forms, but basically lots of jokes. This is more of a story, more like one of my radio shows. It loosely, and I say loosely, follows a kind of adventure-archaeology type story. It started off with me noticing that I had the same surname as Indiana Jones, and it has all transpired from there.

You talk about using a narrative style, and you say this is a bit of a departure. What brought that on?

Two things. When people see you on telly, they want to come and see the same sort of thing when they see a live show, but obviously not the same jokes. Moving to a narrative was a way of keeping the same style. It begins to mine other areas of jokes as well, in terms of, if you can do a scene where you’re talking between two people - even though I’m the only person there - that’s a different sort of writing than just one-liner after one-liner.

How do you prepare for a tour?

When this tour begins, anything I write will go in to the next tour. I’m amassing jokes from the moment my last tour begins, and then once it finishes, I begin to go to little out of the way places to test them. Generally speaking, the further you travel, the more pleased they are to see you.

I will go with bits of paper and ideas, and it will be throwing mud against a wall and seeing what sticks. Eventually I’ll accrue enough material to do try-outs nearer home. So, it’s a trial and error process from the beginning of that.

Years ago I started as an actor, and I’d quite like to incorporate more of it. For instance, previously the footprint of the tour has been I’ve gone on and done 15 minutes as a character, and then there’s a support act, and then I do the whole second half. There’s a different character this tour. Previously, I’ve done my granddad, but this will be a different relative.

Basingstoke Gazette:

Your schedule is preposterous. How do you remain sane?

Well, it is difficult, and there are some weeks, or some months, where you’re away from home quite a lot, and maybe it’s the winter … But it’s actually harder to write a tour, creatively, you know, that’s where the brain ache is. Once you’ve got a show that’s up and running, it’s more a physical battle. I try and see as many people around the country as I can, friends and relatives. Because there’s nothing worse than talking to hundreds of people, and then being the last person out of the car park, go to a hotel, and then the next time you talk to someone properly is when you talk to hundreds of people the next night. That’s a recipe for madness.

What do you do to reenergise?

Me and some other comedians get together - I did it yesterday - and play football. We like it because we see each other, but also it’s one way of turning your head off, to become completely involved in something else.

Has being known as the king of the one-liner ever been an encumbrance at all?

People want to put you in a box, so that originally it’s people who are booking gigs; they want to know what type of comedian you are to fit on a bill. And I think that’s true of television as well, to some extent.

On Mock the Week, I sit in the one-liner chair, and if it’s not me, it’s Stewart Francis or Gary Delaney - you know, it’s the ‘odd’ bloke, so that has gone in my favour.

I’m sort of grateful for where it’s got me, but if I go for an audition for another show, albeit a sitcom or something, it’s quite often as the crazy neighbour. You think well, I’m glad I’ve got this audition, but it’d be nice not to have to do that role forever. So, I suppose this show is me trying to move things on.

Tell me a little about Mock the Week. Do you have to mug up, read all the papers beforehand?

It’s a bit like doing an exam in that we actually get some stuff beforehand, but the list is so long that basically it’s every story that happened in the news that didn’t involve someone dying over the last week. So, there is no way I can cover all of it.

You just hope, like an exam, that the bit you’ve revised comes up, because it records for nearly three hours for a half hour show. You hope that the 10 minutes you zoned out for isn’t the 10 minutes that appears on television. When I know I’ve got Mock the Week in the diary, I think, oh, it’ll be nice to see those people again, but it is hard work, there’s no escaping that, especially after you’ve done quite a few.

When you get a group of funny people together in a programme is it competitive?

I’ve known lots of those guys for years and we all get on and it’s fine. But the way it’s set up, it’s always seven people trying to get through a door for two. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a joke that would have fitted, and I just couldn’t get a word in. But I suppose from an outsider’s point of view, that is where the dramatic tension is, because you’ve got all these people trying to get a word in.

A lot of your stuff is family friendly, and you’re sometimes called a Christian comedian - do you think that by going against the flow it’s served you rather well?

Yes, although it’s not a conscious effort: I’m not thinking how can I be different to this. I’m just doing what I would find funny myself, hopefully. And I think it is true that I get a very wide demographic, as a result, coming to my tours, because…it’s partly having done Mock The Week and Radio 4, those two ends of the human life scale. And it’s kind of accessible in a way that people feel happy to come as entire families, which is great to look at. I know that there are grandparents who come with their grandchildren.

What’s your hair care secret? 

Well, I did use to use wax, but actually under TV lights that’s not so good – it wilts, because it’s hot, and that’s not good. So now I use something called Backcomb Dust, which is actually far drier and keeps your hair higher for longer.

See Milton Jones in The Anvil on March 20 and 21 at 8pm.

Tickets: £25 Box office: 01256 844244, anvilarts.org.uk