Ivo Graham looks set to become one of the next stand-up stars. Ahead of a run of shows in London, we thought we'd put some questions to him. Reading this back, it turns out we were quite combative, but - as you can read - Ivo answers everything with patience and wit...

Hi Ivo. Let's start off with the name. Ivo?!?

Ivo is a masculine given name, in use in various European languages. The name used in western European languages originates as a Normannic name recorded since the High Middle Ages, and the French name Yves is a variant of it. The unrelated South Slavic name is a variant of the name Ivan.

Those are the Wikipedia-sourced hard(ish) facts, in lieu of the 'funny answer' I've spent 24 years trying and failing to come up with. No it's not short for anything, no my parents weren't drunk, no I'm not going to call my next Edinburgh show Ivo Ivo It's Off To Joke I Go.

You started off your comedy career by becoming the youngest ever winner of 'So You Think You're Funny?'. Was it always the plan to go into comedy?

I had never had any intention of going into comedy before my first term at university, at which point I saw another student in a bar doing a stand-up routine about losing his virginity and I thought "I could do that." And, sure enough, just three and a half years later I'd lost my virginity.

An early mastery of that kind of classic switcheroo meant my first few gigs, later on in my first year at uni, went adequately well, but there was a definite blip once I moved beyond gigs to friends in student bars and paraded my stammering schtick to less biased crowds further afield. There are still blips, but these days they are fewer and further between. Thankfully.

You went to Eton. That's not cheap. Are you parents upset you've not used your education to go into a more 'traditional' vocation? Or joined many fellow Eton alumni in politics?

Thank you for putting it so delicately. My parents have been very supportive of what I am trying to do with my life, with the kind reassurance that the sensible jobs "can wait" (but they are waiting, it is heavily implied, and I will, eventually, succumb). Politics is not one of them. I'd be a terrible politician. I'd always be defecting on promises and forgetting speeches and badmouthing bigoted women while my mike was still on. Not for me, no thank you sir.

You went to university in Oxford. How did it go? Was it hard to juggle studying and performing?

I studied French and Russian, and juggled studying and performing very badly, despite the fact that stand-up really places far less strain on one's time than other extra-curricular foibles like sport, theatre or a sexual relationship.

I once wrote a whole essay about the romantic poet (and all-round legend) Mikhail Lermontov on a Megabus to Lancaster, which is not an achievement many can lay claim to. I emerged with a low 2:1 and the nagging sense that I'd betrayed quite a lot of the promises I made at interview stage.

Given how well the performing was going, wasn't it a bit pointless getting a degree?

I think any answer other than "of course not" to that question would make me look a very arrogant swine indeed. A handful of marginally non-disastrous gigs and one slice of good fortune in a competition does not a lifetime in the business make. Plus, I loved my degree, and my time at university. So that's a no. Probably the most definite no so far.

You're now in your mid-20s, but you are still fresh faced. Are you still getting asked for ID in pubs?

I am still getting asked for ID in pubs, yes, and, given that I'm 24 years old, it's entirely correct that they should do so, and continue to do so for another year, according to the rules of the extremely prudent "Challenge 25" policy responsible for stamping out the culture of underage drinking which has blighted this nation's high streets for years.

I love getting asked if I have proof of age. "Yes, I do!" I reply, and hand them the keys to my family's Ford Fiesta (which I can't actually afford to drive at the moment as my parents have stopped paying my insurance). Occasionally, they won't accept this, and I will have to provide the actual licence too before the transaction can go ahead. But I'll be very sad when I no longer have to dance this merry jig with the nation's barkeeps, and am attempting to stay fresh by using a variety of expensive creams recommended to me by the adult woman who since March of this year has allowed me to refer to her in public as "my girlfriend".

When these wear off, I will be devastated, mainly because I'll have to start my comedy sets with something more challenging than a hack, tedious, and crushingly unoriginal reference to my age. And, of course, I won't get asked questions like this any more.

You're now signed to the same agency that represents the likes of Michael McIntyre and Jack Dee. Has that boosted the opportunities available to you?

There's a lot of talk that having a powerful agent is the key to getting all sorts of unfair advantages over one's peers, and of course that is true to an extent: I'd be lying if I said I'd paid full price for my copy of The Complete Laughter Box, the compilation of all Michael McIntyre's DVD releases to date.

However, the main advantage is being surrounded by a lovely and supportive group of people who really know their comedy and are able to give me great help and advice with what I am trying to do with my life. Who am I kidding? It's the ruddy DVDs.

You've got a few TV appearances under your belt now. How have you found the process of performing for television?

It is a very exciting privilege to be able to perform on TV, which in my opinion remains our generation's primary source of information and entertainment, regardless of what people are saying about the "internet".

Last year, I appeared on ITV2's Fake Reaction, a panel show in the QI mould, where I got to do a pole dance in lingerie with Louie Spence and Joe Swash (lovely guys, and very talented dancers). The thought - as I slid down the pole to the horrified shrieks of the studio audience - that this could be watched by my parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmother and step-grandmother (Liz, who married my grandfather a few years after his and Grandma's divorce and nursed him through his last years), sat in their living rooms all around the country and bursting with pride at what all those GCSEs (11) and A Levels (4) had amounted to, was a very inspiring thought indeed.

You're bringing your show 'Bow Ties & Johnnies' to London. The title gives a hint, but what can people expect?

Bad gigs. Trains. Girlfriend. Eton. Awkward poshness. Bow Ties vs Johnnies. School magazines. Shakespeare. Excel. Sporcle. Thank-you letters. University. Grandma. Girlfriend (reprise). Validation. Taxi. Other tradesmen. Disaster. Relief. Exit (to Blink-182).

How bloody boring does that all sound? Unfortunately, that is the show. It's the setlist I wrote down and recited every day before my show for the first week of the Edinburgh Fringe (before I got complacent), and I can't really sum the beast up much in much more detail than that.

Have your family seen you perform this show? Is it embarrassing performing any of the more risqué content in front of them?

My parents saw this show at an early London preview (5/10: material hadn't really come together yet) and on the last night of the Fringe (7/10: polished but very tired - arguably guilty of phoning it in). Overall, I reckon they've watched me perform upwards of 20 times each (mostly together, except when they're on one of their 'happy breaks').

They've been frustratingly unperturbed by the sexual content, even when I've known they've been in and deliberately tried to unsettle them by using dirty words like 'bukkake' or 'wheelbarrow'. "You can be as crude as you want, dear," they'll always say as we glide home in the Fiesta (and it really does glide). "The problem is that it just isn't funny enough."

Tough one to end on: Given how many young, white, middle class, male comedians are around - why should audiences pick to come and see your show over someone else's comedy show?

Because if you took all the white middle class comedians in Britain under 30 years of age, I'd definitely be in the top five. Actually, ten, I've probably missed a few. Top eight. I'm in the top eight. Plus, if you've made it to the end of this unbearably long article, then the sort of comedy I do really must have a fairly strong chance of being your sort of bag. Come down the Soho and get yourself an hour of it.