"Blur would have been nothing without us,” jokes Suggs as he talks about the immeasurable influence of Madness.

Then, remembering that he and the rest of the band will take to the stage for the Big Feastival at former Blur-guitarist Alex James’s farm later this month, he asks if I can not mention that bit until after the event.

This is Suggs. He, like Madness, is funny, irreverent, energetic and quintessentially English.

Firing on all cylinders as he excitedly talks about the upcoming Feastival, a delicious merger of food and music, Suggs talks about how the festival scene has evolved since he and Madness first performed as teenagers.

“The whole festival thing has changed beyond all recognition,” he says.

“I’ve been around for 400 years so I’ve seen the development. When we started there was just about two. Now there’s all sorts of amazing things going on all over the place – which is great for us because we enjoy playing live.”

“The first gig I ever went to was at Charlton football ground in 1974. The blokes were [urinating] down each others’ legs. There were no toilets, no food. My mum would certainly have never come to a festival with me. It’s a generational thing.

“We play all sorts of festivals now. There must be a lull in the conversation and somebody says: let’s get those old farts out there.

“It is interesting. People want to go out and congregate with other people and play music. And watching people play live is something you can’t get from a computer. It’s incredible.”

The reignited scene is responsible for reigniting Madness, the band Suggs and his friends started when he was just 16.

Within a couple of years, the ska group from Camden Town were appearing on Top of the Pops, their unique style continuing to capture something of the country’s spirit.

Hits like Baggy Trousers and House of Fun tapped into something that had largely been untapped by other bands. They didn’t take themselves seriously – rather, they wanted to have fun and they wanted their audiences to have fun with them.

However, despite being huge in the late 1970s and early ‘80s, things began to slow down as time went on and, when reaching the ripe old age of 27, Suggs thought it was all over.

But then something happened. Festivals changed. No longer were there just a couple of events a year with limited demographics. The scene, rather, became an industry. Festivals began springing up all around the country, each one offering something different and appealing to far wider audiences than ever before.

Suddenly, festivals weren’t just for a certain age group or type of person. They were for the whole family. Some bands seem to regard this shift with bewilderment or, sometimes, disappointment, but Suggs couldn’t be happier.

“The great thing about festivals is that, when we play a gig, we know the reaction we’re going to get,” he says. “At a festival a lot of people haven’t come to see you.

“It’s good to see young people dancing to music you probably recorded before they were born.”

The Big Feastival, to be held next month on Alex’s Kingham farm, has an appeal beyond the music. It offers another of life’s great joys: food – and lots of it.

Celebrity chefs are on hand to offer live demonstrations and street food appealing to every palate is never too far away.

“I’m really digging the fact that half of it is cookery and the other half is rock & roll, so as well as the really good line-up there’s hopefully some really good food to get my gnashers ‘round,” Suggs continues, his appetite perking up.

“I very much hope that Alex James is going to present us with the finest selection of cheeses known to humanity. What could be better than that?”

Suggs, who lists Montgomery Cheddar and Red Leicester among his favourites, ponders cheese for a moment, before adding: “Alex has got into cheese at the right time because it was on its uppers. I think with cheese we make the mistake of eating it after a meal. We should make it the meal.”

Keen on cooking, though admitting to not quite being as good as his wife, Anne, Suggs says he enjoys making a pheasant stew, which, after jellied eels and bangers and mash, is the exact sort of very British thing you’d imagine Suggs enjoying.

With the conversation returning to Madness and the band’s repeated success, I confront him with the possibility that he and the rest of the band are now national treasures.

As expected, he bats the notion away with a humble humour.

“You never consider yourself a national treasure,” he says. “But there’s an empty plinth in Trafalgar Square and we’re very happy to put ourselves on it for a bit.”

Whether he is or isn’t, the fact is Suggs will never see himself in that light. That’s not why he does it. That’s not why Madness do it. They do it for something altogether simpler.

“You start off and you have a good gig and you’re really happy,” he says. “No one imagines that 40 years on you’re still going to be doing it. I could have easily been sitting on a park bench somewhere – but life just keeps throwing things our way.

“You never know what’s round the next corner. You’re never going to beat being a kid in a band and having birds turning up and everything – but it becomes a blur.

“The whole purpose of what we were doing was to have fun and we still do. It’s more fun now.”

With one question to go, he insists that it be something deep and philosophical. Reeling from the pressure, I say the only thing that comes to mind: How would Suggs like Madness to be remembered when the band is gone?

There’s a momentary pause, allowing time for Suggs to examine and delete the serious answer and replace it with another altogether funnier one.

He tells me that when Madness is gone he’d like the band to be remembered for crashing a bus into a lamppost with Morrissey at the wheel and Barbara Windsor as the ticket inspector.

Then he breaks into song: “To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.”

And the madness continues...