A MISCHEVIOUS grin emerges beneath Ian Hopkins’ Sundance Kid moustache as he rewinds to the late Seventies, and the days when he and John Duignan were both in the closet.

“We were lecturers at the University of Paisley,” (Duignan in Economic History and Hopkins in Management) he says, sipping a beer in a Glasgow bar. “We met in the photocopying cupboard, where we each exposed ourselves.”

His comic timing kicks in and he laughs. “By that I mean the fact we were both closet writers. And it was great to discover someone else of the same mindset. Then one day John mentioned this new comedy programme on TV and suggested we write some sketches together and send them off. Amazingly, they liked our stuff.”

Not The Nine O’Clock News had arrived in 1979 on Beeb 2 and it was a godsend for the closet chums. Hopkins and Duignan became part of the front line corps. Hopkins, from Ayrshire – his dad was a commission weaver (“His arse was always hanging out of his trousers”) and Barrhead-born Duignan, would go off and write sketches separately, then post them to the other for feedback/edit. “We’d then meet back at uni – often back in the wee cupboard - to discuss the work.” The pairing worked perfectly, and even though NTNON producer John Lloyd was being assaulted with 15,000 scripts a week from hopefuls, the cheeky Scots found their work being performed by Britain’s top comedy actors.

One of their early sketches featured a young Pamela Stephenson in school uniform, in the back of a car with Rowan Atkinson. “The policeman asks Atkinson ‘How old is your girlfriend?’, who then looks at his watch, which reveals ten to twelve. Atkinson says ‘Sixteen – in ten minutes’.”

Hopkins grins; “It’s been downhill ever since,” he says, in reference to a gag which may not see the light of day today.

Regardless, the pair went on to write very successfully, for series’ such as Spitting Image (John Lloyd producing) then back in Scotland with Naked Video. The writing expanded into a succession of theatre plays such as Albatross Soup, their homage to the Marx Bros’ Duck Soup. There have been “countless” hopeful sitcoms submitted and next year will see the publication of the third of their trilogy of domestic comedy novels, The Lambshank Redemption.

We discovered the anarchic, madcap lives of Mungo and Ethel Laird via the first novel, Skelp The Aged, (think if Tom Sharpe developed a Scottish sense of humour and retrained his sights on East Renfrewshire), and later in The Buick Stops Here. On reading, it’s not hard to tell the writing pair love to write gags.

What’s more surprising however is that the pair were relatively late in years (Hopkins is now 75, Duignan 73) before they tackled comedy writing. Why the delay? “You didn’t grow up in working class Fifties Scotland dreaming of writing comedy,” says Hopkins. “Careers teachers were not trained in seeing past convention.”

In fact, Hopkins’ Rector at Kilmarnock Academy failed to see the teenager heading anywhere but in the direction of the dogs. “He actually wrote to Glasgow University, where I’d applied, saying ‘This boy is unfit for university.’” This was after having secured four very good Highers? “Ah, but I was a rebel,” the writer laughs, suggesting his inner James Dean hasn’t entirely disappeared. “I demanded the chance to play football. That was Strike One. Strike Two was smoking in the gym. Strike Three - playing cards in the gym. Strike Four - drunk at the school dance.” He grins; “Allegedly.”

Hopkins become a Work Study Engineer, taking an external degree before going on to become a lecturer. John Duignan meanwhile left school at 15, and became a fitter, later earning a First in Economic History. “He’s the sharpest guy I know,” says Hopkins. “We’ve had great times since we met. We golfed, in Elderslie, and drank together. We formed the Renfrewshire branch of Alcoholics Unanimous. He’s the best of company.”

During the time he lectured and wrote comedy Hopkins says it wasn’t too hard to combine both. “A heavy work load lecturing was 10/12 hours a week. This was tough for the first year until you had prepared the lessons. After that, it was a lot easier.”

The easier times allowed for the pair’s comedy skills to be refined. “I reached the dizzy heights of Number 3 writer for Spitting Image,” says Hopkins. “But it was tough. The producers would call up on a Saturday night and ask if we had anything for the next day’s recording. Sometimes we had, sometimes, we didn’t. I put my heart and soul into it.”

Wasn’t he tempted to go full time? “I was married with two kids, (now living in Bishopbrigg with Sheila, Duignan in Barrhead with Margaret) had a cushy number at uni and my own consultancy.” And sketch writing didn’t pay fortunes. “We got a tenner for a quickie,” he recalls.

In the mid-Eighties, the duo were approached by comedy legend Jimmy Logan to write his next panto. “During our first meeting at his big house in the south side of Glasgow, Jimmy was Dr Jekyll. He pulled out the bottle of whisky. He was so nice. The second meeting he wasn’t there at the agreed time- he arrived an hour later and wasn’t too pleased when we pointed out we’d got the time right.

“There was no drink this time. But he’d read the script we’d sent in and I could sense he liked it and would put it on. Then I said to him, ‘Jimmy, what about money?’ He hummed and hawed and then said ‘Listen, lads, you know I could make your names.’ The reality was he wanted us to do it for nothing.’”

Did he find the talent difficult in general to work with? “Sometimes they think you have to be an arse to become successful. But most of the time we were at arms length.” He grins; “And our egos were as big as those of the actors.”

It’s unusual to write of a comedy partnership without speaking to both halves of the pairing. That’s not practical. John Duignan is dealing with the effects of Motor Neurone Disease. As Hopkins explains this his regular loquaciousness subsides. His voice becomes soft and emotion fills his eyes. He doesn’t say as much but you know he’s worried silly for his chum. But a few softly spoken words emerge. “He’s been such a great joy in my life.”

We shift track. Back to writing. Hopkins is writing another play at the moment but the days of gag writing are gone. “I gave up during Naked Video,” he reveals with a wry smile. “The writing got harder. At one point, we’d do over 100 quickies for a show. I dropped that down to 10. Then one week, my daughter Traci came up with an idea so I sent in 11.” He laughs hard; “The BBC took her idea and sent the other ten back.”

Hopkins and Duignan were men of their time. But that doesn’t mean their time is over. They’ve still got the new book to come out next year. The pair are still in the closet together, figuratively. The pair still love to make the world laugh.