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His schedule does look daunting. To promote his debut solo album, Flicker — a mix of folksy ballads and soft rock, in debt to Fleetwood Mac, Elton John and Horan’s favourite band, the Eagles — the singer is spending six weeks continent-hopping, playing the sort of intimate shows 1D skipped to head straight to arenas. His first, in Dublin, he describes as terrifying.

“I asked to play Ireland early, but I didn’t expect it to be scheduled first,” he says. “In hindsight, it was good to have a home crowd riling me on, but I wasn’t prepared for the silence or the staring. It freaked me out.

“With 1D, the screaming didn’t stop. We’d all run around and there was always some explosion going off or prop coming on. Now, I just stand there thanking God for my guitar. When I put that down, I haven’t a clue what to do with my hands.”

It was Horan’s idea to play Flicker in full before it came out. “I wanted to watch people’s reaction,” he says. “They don’t know the lyrics, so they can’t sing along. I’m forcing them to ­listen. But, of course, that means playing to a relatively quiet crowd, which is spooky. I miss the comfort blanket of being in a band.”

For those only faintly familiar with One Direction, the X Factor-formed boyband that Horan joined at the age of 16, he was the baby-faced blond who dated Ellie Goulding and strummed an acoustic on stage, mostly — he shrugs now — because no one ever suggested he shouldn’t. By 2012, a combination of Horan’s Irish charm and sideswept hair (huge in South America, apparently) saw sales of his doll outstrip those of all four of his bandmates, including the handsome Harry Styles.

Since 1D’s demise in January last year — or rather hiatus, as it is still officially described — the competition between the quintet has heated up. All are now successful solo acts, but, like Take That and the Spice Girls before them, that first flush of post-band fame is unlikely to last for them all.

There are girls outside Niall ­Horan’s hotel — the smartest in Stockholm, according to my cabbie — but not enough to trouble the traffic. Had the 24-year-old Irishman still been part of One Direction, the street would have been at a standstill.

Inside, there is none of the madness that came with being in the biggest boyband since the Beatles. He strolls along a corridor with no security in sight. Life as a grown-up solo star must feel pretty relaxed.

“Nah, it’s still full-on,” says Horan, whose slinky single Slow Hands has been one of the biggest hits of the year, going platinum in the US. “I’ve been busy every day for the past six years, and that’s how I like it. Give me a day off and I’m bored after 15 minutes.”

His schedule does look daunting. To promote his debut solo album, Flicker — a mix of folksy ballads and soft rock, in debt to Fleetwood Mac, Elton John and Horan’s favourite band, the Eagles — the singer is spending six weeks continent-hopping, playing the sort of intimate shows 1D skipped to head straight to arenas. His first, in Dublin, he describes as terrifying.

“I asked to play Ireland early, but I didn’t expect it to be scheduled first,” he says. “In hindsight, it was good to have a home crowd riling me on, but I wasn’t prepared for the silence or the staring. It freaked me out.

“With 1D, the screaming didn’t stop. We’d all run around and there was always some explosion going off or prop coming on. Now, I just stand there thanking God for my guitar. When I put that down, I haven’t a clue what to do with my hands.”

It was Horan’s idea to play Flicker in full before it came out. “I wanted to watch people’s reaction,” he says. “They don’t know the lyrics, so they can’t sing along. I’m forcing them to ­listen. But, of course, that means playing to a relatively quiet crowd, which is spooky. I miss the comfort blanket of being in a band.”

For those only faintly familiar with One Direction, the X Factor-formed boyband that Horan joined at the age of 16, he was the baby-faced blond who dated Ellie Goulding and strummed an acoustic on stage, mostly — he shrugs now — because no one ever suggested he shouldn’t. By 2012, a combination of Horan’s Irish charm and sideswept hair (huge in South America, apparently) saw sales of his doll outstrip those of all four of his bandmates, including the handsome Harry Styles.

Since 1D’s demise in January last year — or rather hiatus, as it is still officially described — the competition between the quintet has heated up. All are now successful solo acts, but, like Take That and the Spice Girls before them, that first flush of post-band fame is unlikely to last for them all.

Not that Horan need worry. Since the release of Slow Hands in May, the Mullingar-born singer has looked a far less likely contender for an early exit. Co-written with the Adele collaborator Tobias Jesso Jr, the song has proved the post-1D hit with the strongest staying power. Last month it was the most played song on US Top 40 radio. Meanwhile, Styles’s much-hyped solo career seems to have stalled, while Horan’s other bandmates have called in big names to help them: Zayn Malik with Taylor Swift; Liam Payne with rapper of the moment Quavo; Louis Tomlinson with the EDM DJ Steve Aoki.

With Flicker, Horan has his sights set even further than 1D’s vast fan base. The album’s only duet, the jaunty Seeing Blind, is with the Grammy-winning country singer Maren Morris. “I don’t know much about country music, but I saw Maren performing at the Grammys and was blown away,” Horan says. “I asked my manager to get me her email and sent her Seeing Blind. Thankfully, she was mad up for a duet. She recorded her part on St Patrick’s Day, her in Nashville and me in New York, with a Guinness, watching the session on Skype.”

Being an ex-One Directioner comes with unusual kudos. In the past, boybands could expect at best fleeting fame, while few from their ranks sustained solo careers. 1D were lucky in that their rise coincided with the repositioning of glossy pop. No longer was it aimed solely at teens. Ed Sheeran was among 1D’s regular co-writers, ditto producers who had worked with U2, Shakira, Pink and Madonna.

“We arrived at a time when pop was becoming credible,” says Horan, who worked with Jacquire King, producer of Kings of Leon and Tom Waits, on Flicker. “For the boybands before us, it was a different era. They did covers and dance routines. Nothing felt natural. For us, there was freedom. If we didn’t like a song, we didn’t record it.”

Horan describes his years in the band as “like the best school trip you’ve ever been on — we were just floating around, having fun. We spent a lot of time on flights. Playing to thousands of people felt normal. That was our day, just as getting up and going to work is for most people. It was impossible to understand the madness that other people saw. I’d watch videos of us on YouTube and read articles about us, because, when you’re in that bubble, you haven’t a clue.”

When the band became a brand ­flogging everything from bicycles and bedding to toothpaste and nail polish, Horan surely sensed the scale of the band’s fame? “So the toothpaste seemed mad,” he says. “But then along came the 1D duct tape and the toothpaste suddenly seemed sensible. I said no to the duct tape, but the rest of the band wanted it.”

Horan seems unnervingly normal for a twentysomething reportedly worth £50m who spent five years being screamed at and counts Justins Rose, Timberlake and Bieber among his golfing buddies in LA, but he admits there was a period of re­adjustment after 1D called it a day. Sensibly, he spent it backpacking.

“Eight weeks, with just a bag on my back and a couple of mates,” he says. “Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand and the Philippines. I don’t want to say I went to find myself, ’cos that sounds like a load of shite, but I did change, big time. “I realised I’d become a bit of a recluse, which I didn’t like. Had there been the option to go shopping at 3pm at Westfield, for example, I’d say no. Kids would be leaving school and I’d have to keep my head down, wear a hat. As a tourist, no one bothered me.

“I began to wonder if I wasn’t as recognisable as I’d imagined. I realised I might have spent years worrying about nothing. Now I walk around London all the time. In fact, I love taking the Tube so much, I’ve just sold my car.”

Horan’s easy-going attitude extends to his solo career. “I haven’t a f****** clue what’s going to happen,” he says. “Success for me isn’t about fame and fortune. I just love going round the world making people happy — as clichéd as that sounds. Spend 30 quid to see me and I’ll make sure you get your money’s worth.”

Still, Horan insists that if the call came to reform One Direction, he’d be back in a flash. “If it comes tomorrow, I have my bag packed. If I have to wait till I’m 60, so be it. I’m serious. We’ll be like the Eagles and never stop.”