We meet in the downstairs bar in the International on Dublin's Wicklow Street, where we're joined by Des's brother, Aidan. Des is four years older than Aidan. The similarities are there: the facial structure, the accents, almost more Massachusetts than Queens, where the two brothers grew up. The older brother has been here for 15 years and Des is constantly keen to point out the "totally different experience" both have had in Ireland.

"When I started out, I was educated here, and I'm this Yank that knew everything about Ireland. I got away with murder at the start . . . material that probably wasn't even that funny, but there was just an element of total surprise.

How does he know these things? How can he do these accents?" In contrast, Aidan only arrived three years ago. "He started doin' comedy in the States when he was still in college, and I said, 'Come over.' You'll spend years just tryin' to get a gig in New York, whereas, like, you can help me run the International.

And now he just runs it himself."

Since arriving, Aidan has made a tremendous success out of the International Comedy Club his brother began. It's now packed three nights a week, with Aidan hosting the show. "I may do most of the work, but Des is still the boss, y'know. Des is my boss, that's how I like to look at it." "He works for me, " smiles Des, in his typical commanding fashion, before giving a kinder opinion. "Nah, he runs it completely, I'm just the executive."

Since Aidan arrived, things have changed.

Because since then, Des Bishop has become a household name thanks to his Work Experience TV programme, a social experiment of sorts that involved the comedian dipping his toe in minimum-wage work, showing a side of our economy known and loathed by some, but alien to many. I imagine sibling rivalry, transformed into living in the shadow of another must be, well, at the very least annoying.

"You have to weigh the pros and cons of being the brother of a comedian, and I think there's more pros than cons at the moment. It's not that bad a thing really." Aidan is diplomatic, but not emphatic, much to Des's annoyance:

"It's not negative, just say it. Don't trust these people, " shouts Des.

I suddenly realise that 'these people' refers to me, and the scene takes a turn for the uncomfortable. "It's not a negative thing, " repeats Aidan. "It's not negative, it's positive, " Des shouts again. "Thanks Des, " Aidan mutters, irritated. "Just remember that they will always suck the life out of you if you let them, " Des concludes. Aidan looks up at me nervously, "Are you gonna put that in there?"

Des is frank about his success, and franker about the drawbacks. "People hassle you.

There are the usual things that you hear. You know, there's not a real respect of things like boundaries when people know you from the TV. Particularly at night when they're drunk, they come up to you and hassle you and everything. But that's just one tiny negative thing out of loads of positives."

"Des handles it really well, I have to say, " adds Aidan. "I'm into it, " Des says. "I like people coming up and I have good craic with them. I have good craic with people who are coming up to be fun. It bothers me a little bit when you get someone coming up with alternative agendas, y'know, like looking for too much. There's only so much you can offer somebody that you don't know. Some people look for too much. Some people turn on you when they don't get what they want. They snap. That stuff I hate because you don't owe anybody anything."

Aidan has benefited from the success too, and the two brothers are soon laughing and soothing any tension with nightclub stories. "I can't go to nightclubs really anymore, unless I'm in the mood to greet people for two hours.

I only do that if I'm with some friends who I want to have loads of women come up to so I can introduce them to them, " jokes Des.

Until 1996, Des Bishop was just an American student living in Ireland. He didn't think he was going to stay. But he decided to go to college here and repeated his Leaving Certificate, and decided to stick around. He returned to New York every Christmas, Easter and summer, so the brothers remained close. "Then when you spend time together, you notice how unclose you really were, compared. And then you get to know all the annoying habits, " he says.

We are interrupted by Des's ringing phone, "I have to take this, I'll explain to you why, " he says. He never does, but Aidan and I discuss how he feels being 'Des Bishop's brother'.

When Des gets off the phone, he looks at Aidan quizzically. "I was just saying in terms of being Des's brother and that, when I first came over here, it was hard because there was a lot of pressure on me, because here was an open spot involving the International. I didn't realise the granditute of the International, like all these top Irish comedians. . ."

"What?" says Des, interrupting sharply.

Aidan looks over nervously, "I don't know if 'granditude', if that's a right word?" "'Granditude'?" scoffs Des. He laughs, but Aidan continues regardless. "I mean, the meaning or the influence, that people had careers like Ardal O'Hanlon, Dylan Moran . . . I didn't know that. I came over here, and not knowing this 'International', all these great comedians came outta there. And here I was coming in here having to live up to that."

The brothers explain that the pressure is now off. Aidan has made a successful club a runaway success, honing his own act in the process. And more importantly, "People don't come to the International expecting to see Des anymore. They know he's in Vicar Street. I don't know if people come to see me, but they come to see the vibe. And I'm the host, so I do create some of the vibe."

Des then goes into the details of how successful his brother has been, before concluding, "Of course, he doesn't get credit, because there are loads of people out there, loads of begrudgers who just constantly look and say, 'He was handed this'. They don't realise that the success was totally due to him. He was handed a successful story that he has turned into a three times more successful story. But nobody will give him credit for that. They'll still think it has something to do with me. Really, it hasn't at all. And that's just their own crap.

A lot of comedians would think, 'Why did he get it?', but like, it's nothing to do with anybody else. It was my thing that I built up from nothing and I'm dealing with family because I trust him and I think he can do a good job."

I ask Des what he thought of the criticisms some people had with Work Experience. "I don't know what you're talking about, " he says. "Genuinely I'm not so sure." What if people found it patronising, I say? "Who said that . . . middle-class people? I find that some people like to say, 'It's really patronising', but I'd like them to explain themselvesf I think in conversation, you mean. Publicly, nobody criticised it. Nobody even had the bottle at the time to go out and say, 'This is patronising' or whatever. In conversation, when I'm not around, some people might say that. To my mind, it's not patronising, because it doesn't have anything to do with those people. If you mean media people. . . I dunno, I have no response to that." Des then goes to great length to explain how friendly he still is with many of the people he worked with. He talks in a forceful manner, shooting holes in my question or suggestions, breaking them down to prove he is right. But I wasn't looking for right or wrong, just an answer. And a feeling swells in the basement bar that things might get a little nasty.

And perhaps it is my fault that they do.

Bishop has made a career out of observing the Irish. This is what I want to get at; how, off the stage, how does he really feel about them. I query him on his abstinence from alcohol, musing that considering Irish people are so insecure about the amount that they drink, perhaps they distrust him because he chooses not to indulge. I am met with a cement wall of silence and glares. "Ask Aidan about his drinking, " Des says, lowering his voice. "I don't drink either, " Aidan says quietly.

Des is caught up on the 'trust' element of my question. "I totally disagree with you. That's an insane statement. That's a crazy thing to say.

I don't think it's about not trusting. I don't even want to engage with that, because that's ridiculous. First of all, the reason I don't drink is for loads of reasons which are irrelevant. Some people might make the assumption that we don't drink because we're American. Which is totally wrong. That's crazy. I just totally disagree." The following questions are barely answered. Des mutters, sighs, glares, grimaces and sometimes just refuses to talk.

He becomes animated again on the subject of New York, belittling the view most hold of it. "The concept of New York, I mean, there's no connection between that and reality and our life. People go to Manhattan shopping, but they forget that New York is not just Manhattan. There's the Beaumonts and Ballyfermots of New York. Growing up in Queens, we were surrounded by the people who made the city happen."

We conclude with a stab at philosophy.

Aidan indulges, "I try to take one day at a time and be as light-hearted as possible." I ask Des if he has a philosophy on life. "Not really."

Honestly? "Trust nobody." Even your brother? "No, you can't trust that bastard." He then growls, "Maybe if I was less pissed off I could answer your questions. I'm not in the mood."

Stunned, I thank them both. Des stands up and walks briskly up the stairs, silent. By the time I get up there, he's already talking to someone else, in control and speaking at a volume that is accustomed to filling venues the size of Vicar Street. He shoots me a glance, and gets back down to business.