Macrobiotic and Buddhist former heroin junkie cum gay transvestite. Volatile, funny and charismatic befrocked singer, formerly of Culture Club and now of Jesus Loves You, back in the charts with After The Love. This is the George O’Dowd who turned into enfant terrible Boy George. ‘I call myself George on my records now,’ says the 30-year-old. ‘Other people always call me Boy George.’

Today he’s dressed for cycling in a Soviet waistcoat, scruffy 50p trousers (‘bargain-hunted from a French market’), exotic fake snakeskin sneakers and a glittery Lord Jaganagh (Krishna God) brooch. He’s all in beige, navy and black.

‘I don’t like to wear stage gear when I’m on my bike because it draws unnecessary attention,’ he says, unbelievably loudly, in a sarf London accent. (His voice ranges from camp and butch to posh, in his estimation. But the thing that comes across in his fortissimo voice now is that his adrenaline is pumping.) ‘A postman still called me a fackin’ queer this morning,’ George replied in similar vein.

George O’Dowd is getting into dressing up again, foreseeing a new wave of high camp. ‘I think drag queens are probably my favourite people,’ says this icon of drag queens.

He used to wear make-up and showy clothes all the time, for attention and approval. ‘Then I became trapped because I was famous and thought people couldn’t see me looking normal.’

He has a shaved head, dyed eyebrows and eyelashes, and penetrating eyes. He’s also a big guy, at 5ft 11in and with a figure, in the words of the song, that is less than Greek. ‘I’m always dieting and I love getting on my bike. In the morning I get a lot of neurotic calls, so I love whizzing out for a ride.’ Riding his bike, he says, is also good for his mind. Originally long-haired, he cut his locks when he went to court. The Sun printed that he had gone bald. ‘It was a real victim statement. I shaved my head and wore a camouflage jacket. Everyone said I looked as if I’d been in a concentration camp. My mum was really upset.’

Boy George likes it because he thinks it’s a spiritual look – and other people with similar hair-free styles acknowledge him in the street. ‘I don’t have strong features and I’ve got a big nose.’ (He says he would never undergo plastic surgery.) ‘But my face is quite good for make-up because it is quite plain. I think I have an elf-like quality,’ he laughs and crosses his arms. ‘But I don’t think it’s my looks that attract people to me. I think it’s because I’m quite vulnerable.’

Why doesn’t he want to be a man? ‘I think all men are part female. To really be a man, you have to be in touch with your feminine side . . . I just like the idea of androgyny and having no rules.’ Would he rather have been heterosexual? He smiles. ‘No, never. Some people are born gay and spend the rest of their lives wishing they weren’t. But it has never been an issue with me.

‘When I was a kid, I felt really isolated. When you are young and gay you have no role models, nothing to relate to, and you know there’s something odd about you. Your brothers are talking about girls. There was a period in my youth when I felt like an alien.’

The man who said he’d rather have a cup of tea than sex – ‘it’s more reliable. But I think sex is great,’ he says now – has a boyfriend of five years’ standing. ‘We’re totally monogamous and in love. Of course I look at other people. I look for someone I can like as a person and friend and have sex with. In my business I attract a lot of sycophants.’

George O’Dowd is the sort of forceful personality who brightens up the world. He talks a lot, gregariously. And he swears and laughs a lot – the former expressing what one senses to be quite a substantial inner anger, the part of him that is still fighting the world; and the latter done in a self-protective sort of way.

He has prodigious energy and a wonderful and quick wit. He’s no fool. Yet he often contradicts himself when talking about his feelings – he’s working his way out of his confusion with a plethora of therapies from healers to shrinks and yoga.

So what’s his image? ‘I think people reckon I’m odd, a fackin’ queer or interesting,’ he says. ‘I get a lot of people coming up to me and kissing me in the street.’ He laughs, ho ho ho.

‘People see me as a pillar of strength. But I have many sides – I’m vulnerable, lost and very insecure too. There’s nothing worse than putting across this strength and then, when they have penetrated you – whoops, wrong word – they discover the other aspects. I think it is better to be an open book.

‘When I’m angry, I shout. Yesterday I was at the swimming pool and these girls called me Girl Georgina – so I shouted really loud at them. If I feel I’ve got to say something, I just scream it. I’ve become less belligerent about things, though – I used to really scream and be hysterical and not listen to what people were saying. Now I try to listen and weigh things up. ‘I think I’m naive and ridiculously idealistic, quite loyal, passionate, I really care about human beings and I like meeting people. That’s what I found difficult about being a pop star, it cut me off. Now I think I’m a really normal person, one of the most down-to-earth pop stars there is.’ Being at the bottom of the pit with drug addiction helped him with his process of self-realisation. ‘I had to step outside of myself and reassess what I was doing to myself. Drugs weren’t the cause of my problems, just a symptom. As a child I wanted to be loved more – there were lots of us fighting for attention – and I grew up with the image of myself as not being really important.’

Who would he be if he were born again? ‘I am born again,’ – laughs- ‘not in a Christian sense. But I’ve had a lot of experiences and I try to learn from them. You can be born again every day if you learn something.’ And is he reincarnated? ‘I definitely believe that. But I don’t know who I was. Who I come back as depends on my actions this time round.’ So what are his faults? ‘I’m quite selfish. That manifests itself by my being quite belligerent about things and not wanting to have another person’s opinion.’ Is he putting on an act and performing for me? ‘Doesn’t everyone perform? Everybody is an act.’ He sounds hurt, and his voice lowers into a more sincere tone. ‘I don’t think there is any difference between what I do on stage and what I do in real life. The way I perform is very much me. I am a mixture of complications and simplicity. I am what you see.’