IT’S in slightly sheepish tones that Roger McGough replies to my question about his latest venture – a reworking of The Hypochondriac, by French playwright Moliere.

The original was written in prose, but the Mersey poet decided instead to create his version in rhyme.

“I don’t know whether to be embarrassed about that or proud,” he laughs awkwardly.

“I had all these English translations and none of them were in verse. I thought ‘that’s a bit poor’, so I did it all in verse and then I got to the French one late and I realised he hadn’t done it in verse either.”

He is now debating whether to pretend this was deliberate.

“But verse is my forte,” he adds, in his compelling rhythmical way of speaking. “That’s what I’m good at. I wouldn’t have done it not in verse, no point. I’m not a dramatist, I’m a poet.”

Sorry, Roger, the cat’s out the bag, but surely nobody will mind after the success of last year’s Tartuffe, the first “McGoughiere” as Everyman and Playhouse artistic director Gemma Bodinetz has coined them.

Despite groans from the thousands of former A-Level students forced to suffer dreary lessons on Moliere, the play was a huge success and a major highlight of Capital of Culture year.

McGough is pleased that he is responsible for a revival of enthusiasm for the 17th- century playwright who is, when read/performed/ taught correctly, extremely funny.