THOSE of us in the "Green Light Radio Appreciation Society" (which, of course, as aficionados will be aware, was founded by the late, great Aubrey Whitlington De Vray in Kilkenny some time in the late Forties), when we convene our monthly meetings in the Arms Hotel, for which we have now become legendary (particularly since Norman - author of Wet Battery Wonderland, In The Air that Night and Paddy Hooley My Friend - Gilmartin was defenestrated in what seems now, God knows, a childish dispute over Your Choice and Mine), invariably, in postprandial mode, find ourselves recalling what were, for us, the truly glorious moments of broadcasting history.
Foremost, perhaps, can only be that wintry morning when all of south east Asia seemed on the verge of conflagration and the late, great Maurice O'Doherty in his sombre baritone declared: "Today the Vietcong crossed the demilitarised zone ... Oh, excuse me a moment, I've just been handed a newsflash," and continued: "In table tennis today, Trinity beat UCD by five matches to four."
For others, of course, human nature being as variegated and unpredictable as it is, this episode will have no great significance, and for them, the very suggestion that it might be considered for inclusion in the Magic Moments of Radio Museum which we are planning, is likely to be regarded as some sort of joke.
There is, of course, a reason for this. For, excellent as we may well consider the above postmodernist juxtaposition of Trinners Twitties and Mekong Tunnel Rats to be, I fear I must submit that when it comes to the surreal delights of Morning Call, The Likes Of Mike, The Live Mike (incorporating the sideways world logic of Dermot Morgan, with men called "Ambroazz", and Twink as "Rose Vilet"), sadly the bloopers and anecdotists of the fusty late Fifties and silk suit Sixties have no option but to pack their cravats and walk.
This is why we in the society have decided to give Mike and Me special attention this month. For within these pages, as we dedicated members have long been craving, is revealed at last the innermost workings of the parallel world psychology that led ultimately to the release of Balfe Bothered and Bewildered and The Likes of Mike (LP version). Simply by reading this book, you can travel a road once regularly travelled by two extremely wacky men indeed (let us not forget, colleagues, that it was Mr Balfe who was responsible for "We Remember Ted Laverne - He Was Brutal") - and all the wackier, I'm afraid, for the stripey ties and seeming respectability - through an eerie, six o'clock world of damp hotel carpets, cheese and onion sandwiches, in search of free drink and Glen Campbell songs, the penniless broadcasters, of course, catered for by the Catholic Boy Scouts of Ireland, the Ballynachta Pipers Association, or whoever else happened to be celebrating at the time. This constituted a musical background which was destined to lead, inevitably, I suppose, to the rousing bravura of the Panzer Grenadiers as they stormed across the midlands of Ireland thumping their chests to the sound of the Erotica as false teeth shot through the air across the rooftops of Multyfarnham and Magherafelt.
In a world of Perrier scooping alternatives, this may all now seem tame - but it certainly wasn't then, let me assure you, and neither was the boiler suited Wyngardemoustached Cavan/Louth accented maniac on the candid camera spots. Many chairs I indeed fell off in those platform heeled, prePope days.
Mike and Me is a fine read - shockingly direct and often clearly very painful for the author, particularly in the sections dealing with his upbringing and relationship with his parents. At times, the style - surprisingly old fashioned and schoolbookish - serves to constrain what can, at its best, be a near anarchic imagination. Next time out I would hope Mr Murphy lets rip - and, may I be so bold as to suggest, stop worrying about critics. Buy them a big drink with an umbrella in it - and SMILE! For there are many of us - not only in the society (which is all made up, of course) who would gladly devour more of these yarns with glee.
For the moment, though, for anyone who has ever walked the Ennis Road, dreamed of sticking their head in a lions' cage or entering the Moldavian Dance Championships 1978, this book is definitely a must.