Olga Wojtas hears the one about the lawyer turned academic who moonlights as a successful comedy writer.

None of law lecturer Greg Gordon's students has ever told him directly that they know about his double life. But he says they allude to it in a "sleekit" way - a Scots word that Robert Burns famously applied to his mouse and that in this instance means "sly". When one of the Aberdeen University students drops a catchphrase into a small group tutorial, it signals that they are well aware of Gordon's celebrity status as writer for, and occasional actor in, feted local comedy team Flying Pig.

Gordon writes the company's sketches in the local dialect, Doric, which is still widely spoken in Aberdeenshire. But he insists the language is not exclusive. Seven-year-old Flying Pig follows in the footsteps of the legendary Aberdonian comedy trio Scotland the What?, which successfully toured south of the border and overseas. "One of the things that has always pleased me is how well colleagues from England or outside Aberdeen are able to understand the great majority of what you're saying. It tends not to be the language that throws them, but references to local politicians and situations."

The company is debating travelling to The Edinburgh Festival Fringe and farther afield. Much of the humour derives from an unlikely character speaking broad Doric, such as Noah (who says there's nothing unusual about 40 days and nights of torrential rain, but is completely inefficient about getting the requisite animals on board) or Genghis Khan (a fey interior designer whose ferocious reputation is the result of Chinese whispers).

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Buff Hardie, one of the Scotland the What? stars, rates Gordon as one of Scotland's most gifted comic writers. Flying Pig, like its predecessor, has its roots in Aberdeen's annual student show, which has been running for 80 years. In the past, it has been dominated by law and medical students, Gordon says. He is unsure why the medics were so prominent, although they have now largely been driven out by timetabling. But, he says, lawyers tend to work with language and be comfortable with it - and are often inveterate show-offs. "If you're doing court work trying to persuade a jury, it's in your interests to make things very simple and to communicate in a way they can understand."

Gordon, a specialist in civil justice systems, oil and gas law, and professional responsibility, spent seven years in private practice after graduating, believing he should have some practical experience, but he was keen to return to higher education. "I always felt more interested in the law than the business of law. In practice, I always found myself researching more than I needed to. I hated it when I was instructed just to find a quick and dirty answer," he says. "And I find lecturing rather less stressful than court work. Although it's very, very important, if you don't explain something well students can go off to look it up in a book. Nobody's going to go to jail as a direct result of poor lecturing."

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He has taken a pay cut since leaving private practice, although he comments that Scottish solicitors earn less than their English counterparts. "I have to say that the money is not as dreadful as I thought it might be." He is less effusive about the financial rewards of comedy writing. "The amount of money we make is entirely disproportionate to the amount of effort, and not in a good way," he says. Each company member stands to earn a four-figure sum from their latest production, and next year they are set for a five-night run in His Majesty's Theatre, the city's main venue, with a potential audience of more than 8,000. Despite the prospect of increased earnings, Gordon has no plans to give up the day job.

"I've never wanted to be in a position where there's a mortgage to pay by virtue of being funny, where I have to wake up and write potboilers," he says. "I found it a real antidote to legal practice. This was a deliberately ridiculous world to have fun with. It's not an antidote to academic life, but it's certainly not an extension of it either, and at the moment I have no desire to let either part go." His sketches feature observational comedy rather than satire, the closest analogy being the BBC's The Fast Show . There are running characters and catchphrases, and occasional deeper reflections on life. "For satirists, it must be very difficult. We maybe steered away from it because we feel events are just so inherently ridiculous already."

The company's least successful sketch was a love song between President George W. Bush and Tony Blair, while perhaps the most popular involves two parks department employees, Archie and Davie. In a nod to Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, they attempt to have erudite discussions during their lunch break, but misunderstand everything.

Gordon believes a show's success can depend on a few people in the audience. "If there's somebody who very visibly is not enjoying himself, a big gruff guy with his arms folded, you get a little pool of people around them who feel inhibited. Whereas if there are two or three people, ideally spread around, who are on your wavelength, they almost conduct the laughter."

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Gordon mulls over ideas for sketches on the way to and from work, and either sets aside a couple of nights a week to write or goes on a writing binge during a fortnight's holiday. He performs from time to time, generally playing extremely angry characters. "I think that tells you more about the other actors than me. They were reluctant to be totally unpleasant; they always wanted to have some redeeming feature." In private practice, he had no qualms about using the e-mail network to publicise shows, but at the university he avoided this since he feared the university would not approve. "But I got into trouble for not publicising it. Some colleagues were actually quite aggrieved."

He does not see his comic writing as detracting from being a serious academic. "One wouldn't think less of an academic who was very good at archery or landscape painting. Some people make claims that comedy is very, very important. I don't think so, but I don't think it's very, very frivolous either," he says. "There's nothing wrong with the sole or main intention of just giving people a right good laugh."

But while he admits he enjoys trying to entertain students, particularly when teaching negligence cases featuring people making "very poor, very stupid decisions", he stresses that this is not a two-way process. He warns students that, just because he is not afraid to use humour, "this is not carte blanche to write funny stories in exams".