SCOFFING biscuits, quaffing coffee and oozing sexiness, Will Self sits in the corner of his dressing room.

More than impressed by the Arts Centre's hospitality, he devoured 20 Cafe Noirs, insisting there would still be room for an after show packet of Malted Milk.

With his signature sarcasm, he added: "But I do have compassion for the cow."

All this rich tea and sympathy is a far cry from his former days of snorting smack in the company of John Major or guzzling caviar for some snazzy restaurant.

"What's happened to you, Will? Are your years of illicit rebellion really over?" I ask, a little disappointed that he hadn't turned up drunk and incomprehensible.

Well, actually, that's a lie because he did use lots of long words that I struggled to keep pace with and also declared: "I want to be misunderstood."

But back to his new-found love of biscuits and reformed lifestyle.

"I've given up smoking, drinking and don't touch any drugs."

Sounding like a father lecturing his teenage daughter on the perils of Diamond White, he warned me that alcohol is one of the most dangerous drugs.

Now with two young sons of his own, Will has certainly grown up and out of his wayward ways.

"I doubt Montaigne and Nietzsche had fine child caring skills. But wet ones have got to be dealt with," he sighs.

And as for highs, these days Will claims to enjoy hill walking and has just bought a fishing rod.

"So underneath that caustic exterior, you're a big cuddly teddy bear?" I questioned in disbelief.

"Yes I don't have any genitals. Just a flap of fur," he replied. How reassuring that he hasn't, unlike the spliffs and wine, relinquished his prickly sense of humour.

Further pushing my luck, I said: "Why do you use so many long words?"

Apparently it isn't a conscious effort but he can't stand inverted snobs who shirk at the thought of more than two syllables.

My time was up and Will was due on stage. Within seconds we were treated to his legal form of indulgence saying the unsayable.

Reading from his latest book, Feeding Frenzy, he reminded us that the Queen Mother was a glutton for luxury and epitome of "unreconstructed bigotry" who couldn't even recognise T.S Eliot when he was reading poetry before her very eyes.

Will may be sober, smoke free and less screwed up. But he still knows how to raise an eyebrow in hilariously highbrow style.