For a current affairs presenter, Kieran Cuddihy has a drily cutting sense of humour. But going by some of his one-liners on The Hard Shoulder (Newstalk, weekdays), he shouldn’t give up the day job any time soon. Broadcasting from Athlone on Tuesday, the host larkily introduces the manager of the town’s marina as the man “in charge of keeping things shipshape”. Cue cymbal crash.
True, he concedes this gag is a bit of a dud, but he’s on a roll. Flagging his travel slot on the Champagne region, Cuddihy then says that regular contributor Fionn Davenport “will be explaining exactly what makes that place so bubbly” before adding, slightly contritely, “God, I’m full of the great jokes today, amn’t I?” Take my mic, please!
If Cuddihy’s witticisms are more flat than sparkling, it’s not really a problem: his drivetime show has enough fizz to compensate. (Clearly, those Champagne puns are contagious.) He approaches his brief with reliable verve, whether cheerily chatting with guests or crossing swords with Ministers. And while his interview with Minister for Health Stephen Donnelly is mercifully short of groan-worthy jokes, it doesn’t lack memorable cracks.
The Minister appears on Wednesday’s programme to promote his plan to deliver more than 3,000 hospital beds by 2031, but his wonkish enthusiasm isn’t shared by the host. Cuddihy is particularly incredulous at Donnelly’s claim that European health ministers look with envy at the Irish health system’s ability to hire staff. “Ah, come on,” the presenter splutters, “People are going to choke on their cornflakes, if they’re eating them this late in the day.”
The skirmishing continues, with Cuddihy highlighting failures in the health system, while the Minister gripes that little attention is paid to falling waiting lists. “We’re not in the business of giving rounds of applause to the pilot when they successfully land the plane, that’s their job,” the host snaps. “We’re in the business of focusing on all the children in this country who are being failed horribly.” When Donnelly says this is a gross misrepresentation of staff efforts, Cuddihy delivers his coup de grace: “Let me be clear, it’s you that I’m blaming, not the healthcare workers.” It’s quite the onslaught, though it could be worse: imagine if the Minister had been delivering bad news.
“Everything has to change, because the dollar is on the altar of controlling people,” Ó Maonlaí muses, as a nonplussed Cuddihy hums in the background
That said, Cuddihy is an equal opportunities bruiser, vigorously tussling with politicians of every stripe. During Tuesday’s debate with European election hopefuls, he ends up clashing with pretty much every candidate, though his exchange with former RTÉ reporter and Independent Ireland contender Ciaran Mullooly stands out. Swapping journalistic objectivity for colourful rhetoric – “We’re being told by Big Brother what to do in this country” – Mullooly is agitated by lopsided planning that has thousands commuting daily from rural areas to Dublin. “You’re a happy man, you’re on the east coast,” he says to his host, not entirely complimentarily. “I’m not so hubristic that I expect everybody to know my own business, but I actually don’t live in Dublin,” retorts a miffed-sounded Cuddihy. “I commute from Kilkenny, so I do know the type of thing you talk about.”
Conversely, the host seems uncertain how to deal with singer Liam Ó Maonlaí. The Hothouse Flowers frontman is there, somewhat counterintuitively, to talk about Ireland’s recognition of Palestine, but instead proposes dismantling a finance system that supports the arms industry, albeit in idiosyncratic terms. “Everything has to change, because the dollar is on the altar of controlling people,” Ó Maonlaí muses, as a nonplussed Cuddihy hums in the background. Much like the Mullooly spat, it’s not wildly informative, but is fun to hear.
Generally, however, the host easily engages with his guests, from stand-up Karl Spain to actor and comedian Miles Jupp. (Neither give him tips on comic delivery.) He also confesses to an unexpected but heartfelt enthusiasm for cartography, listing favourite old maps, and even proposing a new society for fellow devotees: the saps with maps club. Cuddihy’s show is in a good place, but he needs to work on those jokes.
Andrea Gilligan talks to an unusually chastened Adrian Kennedy
The mood is altogether less jaunty on two separate but disconcertingly complementary items on different Newstalk shows. On Tuesday’s edition of Lunchtime Live (Newstalk, weekdays), Andrea Gilligan speaks to broadcaster Adrian Kennedy about his being diagnosed with prostate cancer. Kennedy, who occasionally stands in for Gilligan on her show, is best known as a mischievous shock jock whose late night phone-ins on Dublin radio stations were full of garish tales and gruesome opinions, but he sounds unusually chastened as he recalls getting the news: “I fell off the chair when the consultant told me.”
With Gilligan in supportive mode, her guest outlines the treatment he opted for – surgical removal of the prostate gland – and is commendably candid about how he felt about the operation: “I was a nervous wreck.” Despite Kennedy having had surgery only a few days previously – “That’s very recent,” says a clearly surprised Gilligan – he says he’s speaking out to urge men of his middle-aged vintage to get the kind of blood tests that detected his cancer: “We’re awful brats when it comes to looking after our health.” For a man who once thrived amid bad behaviour, he sets a good example.
Then, on Wednesday, Pat Kenny (Newstalk, weekdays) conducts an eerily resonant interview with political correspondent Seán Defoe, who talks about his experience of testicular cancer. Like Kennedy, Defoe is open about his stunned reaction at his diagnosis – “I went completely dizzy” – and his natural inclination to be blasé about his health, particularly as a 30-year-old male: “We’re young men, we’re indestructible.” Now in recovery, he’s welcomed back by Kenny in clunky but sincere terms. “It’s kind of dismaying to see you here,” the host says, “You’re remarkable.” Again, the interview is part human drama, part public health messaging, but while Defoe’s illness is no laughing matter, his very presence puts a smile on the face.
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