Ask the person next to you whether they’re familiar with Milton Jones. If the answer is yes, they probably know him as that guy from Mock the Week with the crazy shirts and cringe-worthy (but annoyingly funny) one-liners. And yet, from the moment that Jones begins talking to me from a hotel in Buxton at the start of his tour, it becomes evident that this aloof persona is a carefully crafted personality, a guise which is far removed from his forthcoming and surprisingly chatty telephone manner.

With six shows down and 85 to go at the time of speaking, Jones seems somewhat lacklustre about the prospect of his tour; he describes the feeling as “a bit like the beginning of Everest”. He distinguishes between the “creative energy” which is needed “to get the show together in the first place,” and the “physical energy” which is spent travelling the many miles between gigs. With a show in Canterbury one night and in Durham the next, I can’t help but sympathise with Jones – it seems that working in comedy is never glamorous, regardless of the heights to which you have climbed.

Jones recognises that his style of comedy isn’t to everyone’s taste. He describes how he inevitably became known for his one-liners, adding that he “probably tried to create a little world of my own, and that’s gradually blossomed into something that people can recognise.” He acknowledges, though, that “comedy is very subjective... people like certain things and not others”, and seems grateful that a particular group of people enjoy his work. The nature of Jones’s style means that his shows are highly scripted, but ironically he admits that “I get more satisfaction out of doing stuff that’s off the cuff” – it seems that his facade has been necessary to facilitate his success in the industry, a necessity rather than a preference.

Unsurprisingly, however, Jones’s niche style of comedy is looked down upon by some of his colleagues in particular – anyone who has watched him deliver a punch line on Mock the Week must have noticed certain panel members with unmistakably sour faces whilst the audience dissolves into hysterics. Jones admits that “Mock the Week is quite a daunting programme to do... you think you’ll be asked to say what you think and you never are, so the only way to get in is to butt in.” He talks about the extent to which the show is edited, commenting that “the edit doesn’t necessarily reflect the atmosphere at the time... I’ve seen myself laughing at things I didn’t laugh at... people’s faces aren’t actually necessarily what happened at the time.”

So is the show completely fabricated, or is there some truth behind the various “faces” which we are shown? “I get on with all of those guys individually, but it’s a bit like someone shaking hands before a race. When the cameras come on, it’s sort of every man for himself... people may look as if they’re smiling... but most people are thinking, ‘What am I going to say next?’, rather than listening to the next person.” Whilst Jones acknowledges that “it’s a powerful show in terms of getting on in the business,” he admits that “it’s a hard show to do.” Perhaps, though, the individuality of Jones’s style brings its advantages. Still speaking of Mock the Week, he suggests that “the bits I’ve managed to get in have worked well [because] they were presenting a different kind of comedy to what was happening in the room, and that was some people’s cup of tea.”

Amongst his peers, Jones stands out as a comic whose content and manner is consistently ‘clean’ - his surrealist one-liners and puns take the place of the bitchy rants which we have become so accustomed to within the comedy circuit. It is evident that Jones’s Christian faith has a huge impact on his work – does he believe that his fellow comics step beyond the limits of humour? “I think it’s impossible to operate as a comedian in a moral vacuum – I don’t think that whether you can get a laugh or not is the criteria of whether you should do it. Without judging the people who do the ‘shock’ stuff, it’s a marketing tool as much as anything – the controversy feeds itself and sells out tours. If you’re going to be sold for something I think it should be something worth being sold for... I’d stay away from soft targets who can’t answer back. I do believe in a morality, I think there are some grey areas to it, but I try to keep my conscience as clear as it can be.” Jones clearly pays a price for this moral integrity – he admits that when appearing on shows such as Mock the Week, “conversations and subjects can come up where you have literally nothing to say... so you end up saying nothing by default.” This only adds to my sense of admiration towards him – he clearly knows what he believes and is unafraid to stick to his guns.

Jones’s appearance is instantly recognisable – his fuzzy hair and grandad jumpers excellently complement his aloof and good-hearted persona. Should he take credit for the current Christmas-jumper trend? “It would be nice to think that but I doubt it somehow. It’s suddenly harder to get that type of jumper in Oxfam shops these days, and they cost a lot more money. I’ve gone on to shirts now, so I like to think that’s the new thing, that I’m blazing a trail and in about five years’ time you’ll find everyone wearing those type of shirts... I’ve moved on from jumpers now – jumpers is old hat to me.” It is this ability to laugh at himself, this humility, which makes Jones so loveable. Amongst the shark-infested, dog-eat-dog world of comedy, his integrity and goodwill are both rare and refreshing.

Jones's tour comes to the Cambridge Corn Exchange on Friday 29th April: see here for all dates and tickets.