NEIL Arthur is telling me the Lear Jet story. It dates back to the 1980s when Arthur and his musical partner Stephen Luscombe, the duo operating under the name of Blancmange, were in their pomp. It is a story that involves two major European cities, a pop superstar, a major missed opportunity and more than a touch of bathos.

“Stephen and I were found reclining in a boat in the park next to the Prado, slightly worse for wear,” Arthur is explaining.

“They tracked us down and got us to the airport and said: ‘David Bowie has asked you to come and support him in Paris tonight and tomorrow and your gig in Madrid isn’t until later, so you can go. There’s a Lear jet waiting for you and the band at the airport.”

The band, juiced on the fact that their hero had asked them to support him, rushed to the airport, boarded the plane, took off, circled Madrid airport twice and then landed again.

What had happened was that their London record company hadn’t told the Spanish record company that they would cover the cost of the Lear jet. This was in the days before emails and BACS transfers of course and the Spanish company weren’t prepared to spend the money. And so, the chance to support Bowie (and the chance to travel in a Lear jet) was lost.

“We ended up in a bar in Madrid and our tour manager was so exhausted he fell off his chair, split his head on the beautiful terracotta tiles and ended up in hospital with concussion.”

That was then. When Arthur goes on tour next month there will hopefully be no concussions and certainly no Lear jets involved. “We’ll be in a van. I hope there’s a bit of legroom because my knees are playing up.”

October in the Cotswolds and when we speak Arthur, now 60, has just waved off the delivery man who came to pick up the many boxes of vinyl and CDs of the new Blancmange album Wanderlust that Arthur has been signing.

It is now more than 30 years since Blancmange were in their peak Top of the Pops years, the years when they racked up seven top 40 hits including Blind Vision, their Abba cover The Day Before You Came and, of course, their 1982 calling card Living on the Ceiling.

But here we are near the end of the second decade of the 21st century and Arthur is proving that the name is still a viable pop proposition.

These days his partner Stephen Luscombe’s health means he can no longer be part of that proposition. An abdominal aneurysm forced him to take a step back after working on the 2011 comeback album Blanc Burn. But Arthur has taken up the baton himself and carried it forward at a pace.

“Since Blanc Burn there have been six Blancmange albums,” he points out. “That’s twice as many as the first time around.”

The latest, Wanderlust, was made in association with musician and producer Benge who has helped give the new album a fresh coat of paint (electronically speaking). The result is a smart, sharp-sounding record that continues Blancmange’s contemporary reboot.

It's crisp electronica meets black humour. There’s a lot of darkness in there, Neil.

“Well, there’s a lot of darkness around us, you know. I’m just observing things really. I always say: ‘Well, they’re only songs.’ The world outside is a lot darker. I also think I temper it with a bit of dark humour as well.”

He cites Gravel Drive Syndrome, a song about soulless social climbing. “Even I had a smirk at the end of it.” It was ever thus, he says. “I am quite happy to do the Abba song because I absolutely love it. I love the idea of this great big lanky northerner singing what was obviously written for a woman … Well, Agnetha, to sing. So, I like a bit of a laugh in the darkness.”

Does that stretch to Jacob Rees-Mogg, the arch - in every way - Brexiter who gets a mention on the track TV Debate? Umm, maybe not.

“A lousy piece of you know what,” Arthur suggests when I bring his name up. “God, what a piece of work he is.”

Not a fan then.

It’s worth remembering that back when Blancmange started at the end of the 1970s there was a Rees Moggian disapproval for anyone who dared to use synths in music. “There were many places where people would say: ‘Well, it’s not real music, is it?’ Stuff like that,” Arthur recalls.

“But, yes, we got: ‘You’re not playing it.’ Of course, you’ve got to play it. Very badly maybe, but we still had to play it and we still had to programme it.”

All change. Electronic music is now the mainstream. “I love it,” admits Arthur. “But the weird thing is I still start writing on a guitar.”

The original incarnation of Blancmange ended in 1987 after a Greenpeace charity gig at the Royal Albert Hall. “We were under pressure and I just thought after the last song I’m not doing that again. I walked offstage, thanked everybody in the band and took Stephen to one side and said: ‘That’s it.’

“I thought he would react in some way, but he said: ‘You know what? I completely agree with you.’

“And that conversation preserved the friendship. And that was more important than anything else.”

The friendship remains and the band has been reborn. Indeed, Arthur is arguably more creative than ever. He’s already had an album, Ideal Home, out this year with Jez Bernholz under the moniker Near Future and when he finishes talking to me he’s off to listen to some remixes his son has done for a project they are working on together.

If you want them, Neil Arthur can tell you stories of the old days, of Lear jets and not supporting David Bowie. But really, he says, “I’m more interested in the future.”

Wanderlust is out on Blanc Check Records today. Blancmange play Edinburgh Voodoo Rooms on November 8 and Glasgow Oran Mor on November 9.