With a line-up that resembles a poor man's Sky 1, the fledgling tv3 could not yet be accused of bringing us many television firsts. But a weather man who delivers his report while performing the pogo? Well, if nothing else it's original.
It was a report by tv3's Entertainment Correspondent, the scarily chirpy ex-AA Roadwatch babe Lorraine Keane that had Martin King jumping up and down Sex Pistols-style. That's Martin for you, friends say. He'll "like, do anything".
On the first night of broadcasting this eccentricity extended, in an act of great restraint on Martin's behalf, to donning sunglasses and grinning inanely at the camera.
The toe-curling grin doesn't appear half so often since his Dad told him to cop himself on. Now the former 98FM radio presenter uses a facial expression straight from the repertoire of Father Ted's Dougal to convince the viewers, "I'm a bit mad, me."
Then there are the props. In one Monty Pythonesque move King brought an ironing board on air and proceeded to show viewers how to use it as a surf board. When he mentioned in an interview that he would love to use the BMW Z3 series in a report, the car company delivered one out to Tallaghtvision HQ.
King says things like "It's raining buckets" and "There's yer weather". He even does requests.
One couple who were having a baby christened were informed about conditions in their area on the day in question. "It will get a bit windy before the next feed," said King.
Out in weather expert land, there are mixed feelings about the new kid on the block. Met Eireann produced the impressive graphics and compiles the information for tv3, but King admits he had to learn the difference between an anti-cyclone and a bank loan.
"tv3 knew the direction they wanted to go in . . . It wouldn't be my style of broadcasting, but there is room for the more lighthearted way of presenting the weather," said one well-known presenter.
What has really put the wind up the weather forecasters is that RTE appears about to follow suit.
Newspaper reports this week suggested that the professional presenters could be dumped in favour of more unconventional weather guys and gals. "Zany" Martin King has a lot to answer for.
King was born and bred in Dublin, a fact obvious to anyone who gets within earshot of him.
The eldest of five, he shone at maths, English and book-keeping at school.
His career prospects did not include prospects like weather man. His worst subject by far was geography.
He got into radio when, like most 15-year-olds, he realised he would never cut it as a footballer.
His first job in broadcasting was with the pirate station, the Big D. He made tea and opened doors before his talents were fully recognised.
It was at the height of the raids on the pirates, and sometimes King's dad, who worked in the Customs service, would tell his son to stay at home, saying: "I'm going to your work today instead."
In the mid-1980s he became a DJ with newly established Sunshine radio where his Dublin twang won him few friends. Station bosses advised him to move to the south side, develop a better voice and drop his friends.
As King eloquently puts it: "I told them to Foxtrot Oscar" before he jumped on a plane to Tenerife where he spent six months as a DJ. The club he and his friends worked at was called Bali, soon to be renamed Balimun.
When he came back home he had to start his broadcasting career all over again. Sunshine took him back despite its reservations about his unwillingness to cultivate the compulsory mid-Atlantic accent. He stayed there until the day the pirate music died on December 30th, 1988.
When independent radio became legit the following year, King was one of the first signed up by 98FM. Andrew Hanlon, now head of news at tv3, was responsible for bringing him on board the new station.
At 98 he was famous for his Cash Calls, giving £5,000 (later £1,000) away every hour. One day he gave a total of £10,000 to one man. Such was the emotion of the moment that King had to be contained by station staff.
The programme's cult status led to a host of crank callers giving out thousands of fictional pounds pretending to be King. Veteran rocker Brush Shiels once fell hook, line and sinker for a prank played by one of the DJ's more expert imitators. He is probably still waiting for his Rehab lottery scratch cards.
In his time at the station, King became friendly with Father Michael Cleary, who presented a late-night talk show. King's eldest son, Simon, suffered from eczema, and Cleary gave him a medal blessed by Mother Teresa which, he says, helped clear the skin complaint.
When Andrew Hanlon called again, King was happy at 98FM. He had emerged as a kind of radio version of Jeremy Beadle. Surprising people in their beds at breakfast time. Eating cereal on the street. He had married and had three children but later separated and was now settled into a new relationship with 98FM's Jenny McCarthy.
King had always wanted to break into TV, but it took a while for Hanlon to convince him that a personality-driven weather report was the right vehicle for the move.
Interestingly, he hasn't yet signed a contract with the station. It is thought he is looking for more flexibility to do other work, a luxury tv3 bosses afford few staff. A show, Mar- tin's World, where King looks at bizarre, wacky stories from around the globe is planned. But what King really wants is his own chat-show.
People may scoff at his longterm ambition, but Martin King would not be the first to launch a TV career via the weather slot. Late Show presenter David Letterman started off predicting cold fronts, as did former Stan Collymore girlfriend, TV presenter and Uberbabe Ulrika Johnson.
So what are the chances that mad but harmless Martin King will become the next Chris Evans, Pat Kenny or Gay Byrne?
The answer is, er, blowin' in the wind.