Cut to a cold Monday morning in the Central Hotel, just around the corner from The George, and Buckley is sitting on a couch in a hotel bar. He pushes a box of chocolates towards me, an apology for missing our first arranged meeting. Now let us never speak of it again." Buckley is nothing but striking. Sipping water, he wears a hint of stubble, and glazed eyes that indicate a late night at work. His mauve sweater matches his eyes. A purple zip-up top and tweed-mix blazer are draped over the arm of the chair. One week you can really be enjoying it and then the next week . . . well, it's kind of like everything, you turn up at work one day and think 'God, I'm not into this, I want to go home, '" Buckley begins, reflecting on his residency at the George. But definitely over the last 10 years, I've seen a cycle. I can get into it sometimes for long stretches and then, other times, I'll go off and do something different in my head." Despite a late night, Buckley is lively and great company and hilariously self-deprecating.

A decade in the bingo business was not particularly on the cards for Buckley, who is now 33. He grew up in Blanchardstown, the middle child of three boys. His parents are both deaf, and as his mother taught in a school for the deaf in Cabra, Buckley and his brothers attended another next door to it. His response to people slagging his parents was f**k off", but ultimately it piqued his interest in communications.

Although top of his class, Buckley didn't particularly enjoy school. ?It wasn't about me, it was about, 'I'm as good as everybody else.'" He squeals the last part in a feigned indignant whining voice. ?Ah, the hamster on a wheel, it's just stupid, " he laughs.

At DCU as a business student, Buckley came into his own. His stories about college life are funny and disjointed. ?I was such a nerd. I was involved in a business students' international organisation. That's how I got in a bit of travelling. I was on the national executive for Ireland and involved in the training scenario. So I'd go to Austria for a weekend and train people. When I think about it now, what was I training them for?

I have no idea, but I know there was a lot of wine and beer consumed. Yay! This international thing's a laugh!" He cracks up. I also buggered off to Canada for a year and a half. Ironically, I worked for the national lottery in Canada. That's kind of funny now that I'm, " he fills his lungs with a mocking voice of husky importance, THE FACE OF TELLYBINGO IN IRELAND, " before adding a fullstop of yay!"

It wasn't until after returning from London from a stint working for ITV that the concept of Shirley Temple Bar came into being. The Alternative Miss Ireland pageant was to be the platform. Buckley had no background in drama or performance, and was roped into it by friends. As a kid, it would've been:

'Declan's very flamboyant, Mrs Buckley.'

'Yeah, yeah. Shut up Declan. Take off my shoes!' That kind of scenario, that's for sure, but there's probably very few gay boys in town that don't have a story like that. But I didn't do the Billie Barry thing, thankfully. Can you imagine me? The grin permanently on my face. That would be scary."

Shirley was a massive hit, earning Buckley gigs around town, eventually one as the presenter RTE's Telly Bingo. Shirley Temple Bar has become a strange national icon of sorts . . . loved by the gay community and their grannies alike. On stage a few weeks later in the George, Buckley is bizarrely mesmerising in a red cloak, miming 'Lord of The Dance' before stripping it off to reveal a cheesy Irish dancing dress . . . all neon green and dodgy celtic symbols . . . and hurling himself around the stage, a hilarious and crazy whirlwind.

Buckley admits he's calmed down the party side of things since his days dancing the night away at Powder Ball in the Pod nightclub. There might have been weekends where it was like, okay, that was a bit close to the bone, and I don't really want to meet terrorists or drug dealers. I had lots of fun. . . of course there are things I'd like to change, decisions I made that were really stupid and bad and there were people whose lives I've ruined by breaking their hearts!" he laughs. By deciding to do the Shirley Temple Bar thing I've eliminated the chance of ever being pope, but screw that. I didn't want to do that ever anyway. I think it's your job in your 20s to go a little bit crazy, but that lets you stay in when you're 30. So when you're 40 you can lie on your back and go, 'Me back's busted, I shouldn't have been dancing so much when I was 20.'" Back to the bingo, where Shirley Temple Bar has recently given up the ghost on RTE, leaving Buckley to step out from her shadow and present the programme himself. The gag kind of worked very strongly at the beginning, but after a time, it was just a bloke in a dress calling out bingo numbers.

That became tedious for everyone, " he admits. The transfer happened because we all kind of felt it was done. It kind of came up in conversation, and I thought, you know what, that's something I'd like to try. It's good for me as well, because it balances my head out because I was wearing tights a bit too much for my own sanity."

It must have been difficult to leave the protection of Shirley behind, but Buckley insists the ?character on the television is still not me. That was what was really different, doing 'the Declan'. I realise that it never is you on the TV. Is Anne Doyle really that person who does the news sternly reading the headlines? You and I know that she's not.

You play a kind of a caricature of yourself.

You accentuate certain aspects and you downplay others. I know I'm a lot more boring than the campy scary character I come across as, but when I'm performing, I can't show that side. I've learned that there's not really any point in wondering what people think anyway. My job isn't to make people think. My job is to read bingo numbers. If I can read them, and they understand them and they can win prizes, then I'll probably get away with it until next week."

Buckley's workplace, the George, has been in and out of the headlines as a spate of attacks against members of the gay community have prompted gardai to offer extra patrols around the area. ?People always had their heads kicked in, " Buckley despairs. Going back to when I was in school, a guy was murdered in Fairview because he was gay. And that has happened since, and it's happening all the time worldwide. But it's like the riots in Dublin.

What is that a symptom of? Is it a symptom of those political feelings, or is it a symptom of social unrest? I don't know, but I'd still rather not get my face punched in. My position is, if you come near me, I'm gonna f**king punch you back, " he pauses. Jesus, this is getting a bit deep!"

Later, we return to the subject. I think anybody who does have homophobic notions, their views are becoming less and less acceptable. So how you actually voice your homophobia is going out and being violent. Most people I know who are in any way intelligent, they might have a few questions about homosexuality, they mightn't understand it, but I don't understand heterosexuality."

But you're not going to beat up hetero people, I venture. ?Well, " Buckley says, tilting his glass for dramatic effect ?never say never." We laugh. They'll all be petrified coming out of Buskers: 'Ah, I'm gonna be straight-bashed!' Maybe I should organise a straight-bashing outside the QBar." His voice trails off with another imaginary scenario.

Leaving aside general 'gay-bashing', Buckley has been bashed a lot himself, made fun of, taunted at in the street as a 'freak', but he believes that because he has a character to hide behind, the abuse is easier to brush off.

I saw this really weird interview with Cher on Dr Phil the other day when I was getting my make-up done in RTE and Cher was complaining because everyone sees her as this granny wearing not very many clothes, skipping around a stage, and she was saying, 'There's a lot more to me going on', and the response to that was, 'But aren't you glad that people can't see all of that?'

That's the whole point, " he says.

People comment, people say 'Who is that scary freak on the TV?' But I don't care. Anybody who steps outside their front door is open to abuse. Everybody has an opinion. All you have to do is turn on a late night phone show with Bernie from Whitehall saying whatever. Yes, I've been offended and pissed off. No, I can't do anything about it because it's par for the course. Yeah, it bothers me.

You have to decide what you want to do with it. Do I get over it or do I give up my job?

F**k you, no. So I get over it . . . through drink!" he mock cries, sweet painkiller!"

Buckley and his partner . . . together for five years . . . have recently completed renovating a cottage in Ranelagh . . . my Dublin 6 love nest, " he jokes. They argue about me coming in late on a Sunday after my gig, banging through the house looking for something to eat and him trying to sleep because he has to get up for work in the morning. But cleaning the bathroom is the big argument." Recently, they've talked about having a family. Anybody who's getting a little bit older thinks about those things. You see it going on all around you. I'd love to have a kid knocking around. And also, someone you can. . . not mould, " he stops himself. That sounds so controlling!"

Perhaps create his own army? Yes! Ah, my little midgets!" And then serious again. When you get to a certain point in your life, you have acquired enough experience that you want to share. It's a completely natural human desire to want to love people, that sounds wanky, but that's a bit of it. 'At least you'll remember me little Fockroy or whatever I call you, '" he laughs again.

I'm a drifter!"

Buckley says over and over throughout the interview. And his life and career certainly have meandered quite a bit. And the abuse directed at him says more about those who throw it.

You should do what you need to do to make you happy, as long as what you're doing doesn't hurt anybody else, " Buckley concludes. ?Do I think that? Yes. Do I practise it? Jesus, don't ask me!"