Lockdown is getting to us all. Dermot Bannon has radicalised my nephew

“My name is Dermot,” says the man onscreen, before he goes on to talk about his life – tales of travel and home-schooling and creativity and building Lego. He speaks kindly and clearly and passionately. But I know what he’s at. He’s really just spreading dark propaganda for his house-renovating way of life.

The terrible thing is that he’s doing this into the ears of our nation’s children with the co-operation of the national broadcaster on Monday’s Home School Hub (RTÉ2). What are they thinking, having this geometry-obsessed zealot on the air? He’s certainly reached my younger relatives with his glamorous tales of architectural derring-do.

“You know, I think we could get a bit more light in here,” says my nephew, gazing into my hallway after watching Home School Hub.

“Whisht you,” I say. “You’ll sit in the dark with the rest of us and learn to like it.”

My fellow Irish citizens! What are you doing next Monday?

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“I hate walls,” he says. “I like windows.”

I bless myself and mutter a prayer to ward off evil. “Outside is bright and inside is dark, just as God willed it,” I say. “If you’re lucky you’ll see some sunlight come the winter solstice.” (I live in a terraced house modelled on a passage grave.)

“Have you considered building a kitchen island?”

My nephew cycles off wearing a hard hat and a high-vis vest, talking to an invisible camera about what he's planning to do to open up my house. I'll have to deprogram him by reading him extracts from Bungalow Bliss

I start to cry. My nephew hands me an invoice for my “consultation”. Luckily, I can’t read it, because it’s very dark in my house, and there’s nothing anyone can do about that. Unluckily, I know what has happened. Thanks to the useful stooges at RTÉ, Dermot Bannon has radicalised my nephew. The child is now off his head on mind-altering architecture and probably isn’t drinking enough water.

He cycles off wearing a hard hat and a high-vis vest, talking to an invisible camera about what he’s planning to do to open up my house. I’ll have to deprogram him by reading him extracts from Bungalow Bliss.

Lockdown is getting to us all. It’s certainly gotten to my television, on which celebrities are now having disturbing Zoom calls with each other and calling them “programmes”. Home School Hub has been one of the best shows of this era, in fairness.

Sometimes, you see, a man just wants another man to slowly explain to him where all the capital cities in Europe are, as Muinteoir John does in this episode. And sometimes he wants to shout the answers to riddles from Muinteoir Ray. Or make butter along with Muinteoir Cliona.

I also like the shaggy dog who appears sporadically and tells me what to do (on the programme, not in “life” like Son of Sam). I even enjoy the guest appearances from creative folk like Ryan Tubridy, Sarah Webb and, yes, Dermot Bannon. Home School Hub finishes this Friday for the summer, and I think I speak for the nation’s parents, as well as the nation’s fragile uncles, when I say thank you Home School Hub for educating us with kindness and wit.

Daniel's consort, Ireland's first lady and queen of our hearts, Majella, hangs around the edges, dropping into the Zoom calls to say a casual hello to guests

Over on TG4 on Sunday, there’s another show that takes a similarly gentle and soothing tone with its audience, Daniel Sa Bhaile. I like it. If they called it Bewildered Uncles Working from Home Hub I wouldn’t even be insulted by that. In each episode (there have been two so far) the twinkly-eyed country’n’Irish sprite Daniel O’Donnell gets to speak in his native language (elvish) before rambling away sweetly to showbiz pals like Moya Brennan, Philomena Begley and Charley Pride via Zoom from his spacious Donegal kitchen.

Daniel’s consort, Ireland’s first lady and queen of our hearts, Majella, hangs around the edges, dropping into the Zoom calls to say a casual hello to guests. It’s so relaxed that occasionally she’s glimpsed just sitting in the background eating Maltesers and drinking tea.

She also always takes part in the weekly exercise segments in which she and Daniel are led through a Zumba or hula-hooping class by a sincere and perplexed woman or man via Zoom. Now, apparently “Watching Daniel O’Donnell do a Zumba class” is not a reasonable answer to the question “What are you doing?” when your wife walks into the room and sees you watching Daniel O’Donnell do a Zumba class. It apparently requires more context.

I disagree. In or out of context this is one of the best things that’s ever been put on television – up there with the moon landings and Tubridy Tonight and that dog who could say “sausages”. Watching Daniel, dressed in a nicely pressed shirt, new jeans and perfect Lego-combed hair, grinning from ear to ear while energetically doing Zumba badly, is good for the nation’s soul. And in the previous episode, when Daniel is crooning the outro song (“There’s Always a Fire in the Kitchen,” he sings) and Majella bursts into the shot hula-hooping manically like a Bannon-radicalised circus performer or the planet Saturn, I felt that here, finally, we have a worthy Irish contribution to the world of prestige television.

I consider the great friezes of ancient Persepolis, and then I consider Daniel O'Donnell crooning country'n'Irish doggerel while Majella commandeers a hula hoop

And, dare I say it, but is there not a frisson of something risque about the whole endeavour? I imagine it’s not just for pandemic reasons that the cameras are operated remotely from a nearby broadcast truck but simply to protect the less worldly interns. There’s always a fire in the kitchen, indeed.

For more information about mythological god-kings, tune into Samira Ahmed’s excellent BBC Four documentary series Art of Persia (Monday). The production team got a huge amount of Iranian access, and Ahmed takes us from modern Tehran to the Elamite ziggurat of Choga Zanbil and then on to the ancient sites of Persepolis and Susa.

She tells us the history of these fallen empires, as well as the mythological tales that were overlaid on them by the poet Ferdowsi in the 10th-century epic poem The Shahnameh. Along the way we learn a few interesting things about both political spin and the limits of xenophobic 19th-century English archaeology.

It's really excellent film-making, and it's a bit baffling that it ended up on the relatively niche BBC Four, while a glorified corporate video like Inside Monaco – which I wrote about last week – makes it on to BBC Two. Anyway, it makes me think a lot. I consider the great friezes of ancient Persepolis, and then I consider Daniel O'Donnell crooning country'n'Irish doggerel while Majella commandeers a hula hoop. Yes, at their core our two very different cultures appreciate great art and have much in common.