Ryan Tubridy proves his lockdown life is as boring as everyone else’s

While there have been several landmark anniversaries for the pandemic in recent weeks – on Liveline late last month, Joe Duffy noted it had been a year since Ireland's first confirmed case – it falls to Ryan Tubridy (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) to mark the fateful moment when the full gravity of the situation sank in.

On Wednesday’s show, Tubridy recalls that it was “pretty much this time last year” when he hosted “the last Late Late Show to have an audience”. A pivotal moment for sure: we all have to be reminded where we were when that happened.

Tubridy, however, hasn’t forgotten. “We had no idea what we were facing into, I thought it would be a matter of weeks,” he says, recalling the early days of lockdown. “This is crazy, but we’ll be fine. I don’t mind hearing the sound of my own footsteps crossing the floor to address half a million people, I’ll be grand.” And they say nurses have it tough, as Alan Partridge once observed.

In fairness to Tubridy, who actually caught Covid-19 during the first wave, he isn’t playing the martyr. His recollections arise in passing during his opening monologue, and he quickly thanks his production teams for their work over the past year. “We have to find ways and means to entertain people and keep them going,” he says, by way of a mission statement.

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Such harmless fluff allows Tubridy to show off his everyman side, proving as it conclusively does that his lockdown life is as boring as everyone else's

That said, the grind of the past 12 months may have affected Tubridy’s idea of what constitutes entertainment. On Monday, for instance, the host regales listeners with an account of powerhosing his driveway over the weekend. “This is not very interesting, I appreciate that,” he admits, rather too candidly, “but I’ll just say it to you, I was amazed at what it does to paving slabs.”

He returns to the subject the next day, by which time his attitude has soured. “I’m already tired of my new obsession, it’s quite tortuous,” he says, surely speaking for us all. Having botched the cleaning, Tubridy realises it’s better to hire someone qualified if you want a job done. “Would you ask a professional powerhoser to present the Late Late? Probably not,” he says, answering his own question lest anyone can think otherwise. Nor is it the end of the matter: almost inevitably, he ends up talking to an actual professional powerhoser on Wednesday. They say that broadcasting is a high-pressure career, but this is ridiculous.

On one level, such harmless fluff allows Tubridy to show off his everyman side, proving as it conclusively does that his lockdown life is as boring as everyone else’s. That such ephemera is more entertaining than most of his other items is more ominous, however. However well-meant, his tips for long lockdown days can sound like a prefect’s self-improving credo: “Write stuff down that you think you should do.” Meanwhile, his interviews with aspiring backing singers and Canadian authors, though characteristically personable and professional, are forgettable.

His conversation with Irish actor Brían F O’Byrne is similarly drifting into the realm of bland pleasantries when the host asks his guest why he gave up alcohol 18 years ago. The tone changes abruptly, as the reflective O’Byrne paints a starkly honest picture of himself before quitting drink – “I was a shell of a person” – and sympathises with people struggling with addiction during the pandemic.

It’s a bracing interview, which adds welcome emotional heft to proceedings. Tubridy has done a decent job of providing light-hearted distraction in a slot sandwiched between the Covid-heavy slogs of Morning Ireland and the Today show. But his programme needs a hosepipe ban if it’s to be more than filler.

Substantive issues

Certainly, it's notable that perennial jesters Dermot and Dave (Today FM, weekdays) tackle more substantive issues in their mid-morning berth than Tubridy does in his. Though better known for weighty items such as Dave's Bad Jokes and Say Stuff that Suits the Music, on Wednesday Dermot Whelan and Dave Moore take a different tack, exploring why there are so few Travellers in third-level education. The duo talk to Anna, a thirtysomething mother who left school before her Junior Cert, but is now preparing to enter NUI Galway as a mature student.

Anna talks about juggling family life with her studies, and recounts leaving school to “go into the workforce” and then get married. Whelan, meanwhile, produces some startling statistics, such as there being only 61 Traveller third-level students in Ireland. Whelan is also interested in why there should be a “disconnect” with education in the Traveller community, asking if Anna experienced any “negativity” from her family over her decision. (Far from it: “They’re very, very proud,” Anna replies.)

It’s an occasionally awkward conversation. Though Whelan says he’s conscious that his guest isn’t a spokeswoman, the questions occasionally sound like sociology 101 queries. Moreover, while the hosts are keen to learn about wariness towards education in the Traveller community, there’s less examination as to why they might feel unwelcome, particularly when Anna describes her old attitude to university: “I felt I didn’t belong there, that I was imposing on someone else’s playground.”

Still, it's striking that the unabashedly irreverent Whelan and Moore should explore an issue so crucial, yet largely unheard, on other more ostensibly serious talk shows. Nor is it a complete anomaly: the duo's generic celeb chat with Laura Whitmore takes an unexpectedly topical turn when the UK-based broadcaster draws on personal experience to discuss how female public figures are treated differently from their male counterparts in the media and beyond.

Fans of corny humour need not panic: Whelan and Moore haven’t been chastened into sudden earnestness by the impact of the pandemic. Among their other items is a suitably daft conversation with comedian Bernard O’Shea over the correct pronunciation of “briquette”. But that Dermot and Dave should cover other burning issues underscores how the past year has changed everything.

Moment of the Week: Cagney’s candour

Wednesday's edition of The Hard Shoulder (Newstalk) features a compelling conversation on health and life when host Kieran Cuddihy talks to broadcaster Mark Cagney. Cagney recounts how, in January, he collapsed twice after experiencing tinnitus-like noises and loss of spatial awareness: a hospital diagnosis revealed a stroke. "It was a small clot in a large vessel – if it was the other way round, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he says.

Cagney feels lucky, despite no longer being able to drive. But he is open about his “anxiety if it will happen again” and “depression about who I am now”, worrying how perceptions of stroke survivors might affect his career. It’s riveting radio: always a thoughtful broadcaster, Cagney speaks with honesty and clarity and ponders mortality. “Do you feel lesser?” Cuddihy asks. “I don’t know yet, because I’m only coming out the other side,” Cagney replies, but adds firmly: “I’m not dead yet. I’m still going.” Going strong, by the sound of it: here’s to Cagney returning to the airwaves soon.