Perhaps radio really can change a nation, or so hopes Cormac Ó hEadhra, manning the phones for Tuesday’s edition of Liveline (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays), the opening segment of which sets his listeners the small task of choosing the nation’s 10th president.
The resulting phone-in canvasses so many people that it might just qualify as a poll of voting intention for the entire country.
Rita wants the top job to go to The Irish Times columnist Fintan O’Toole – “a lovely speaker, a very well-educated man, and would really represent us on the world stage”.
Maurice begins initially eager to discuss the “cringe factor” of some of the names being circulated, before Ó hEadhra nips the negativity in the bud and tells him to focus on who he actually wants for the job. Somewhat on his heels, Maurice opts for Bob Geldof, who he describes, with commendable eloquence, as “known globally for his past humane endeavours”.
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Terry punts for Johnny Logan, “a charismatic individual who looks well and has represented Ireland well in the past and is known around Europe”.
Éamonn from Cork gives a nod to the former Dublin football manager Jim Gavin, “who saved the endangered species called the inside forward”, drawing surprise from Ó hEadhra for his cross-county sympathies.
Ferghal wants Brendan Gleeson; Noel, the former archbishop of Dublin Diarmuid Martin; Veronica, the historian Diarmaid Ferriter.
This is after Rita returns from a dropped line to clarify that, if O’Toole were not available, she’d go for Michael McDowell, Simon Coveney or, if she were still in the race, Mairead McGuinness, proving that at least some politicians are in consideration for this oddest of political positions.
James offers Senator Aubrey McCarthy, who he calls “a living saint” for his work with the charity Tiglin, “a good and kind man, who has empathy for those in difficulties, whether with addiction or homelessness or life-controlling problems”.
Catherine throws in another vote for Coveney, whose “great people skills” and diplomatic experience she praises while adding, somewhat cryptically, that he’s “very presentable”. “But he’s left politics,” Ó hEadhra remarks. Catherine replies, “You never know, if you put it out there.”
One wonders, if the presentable former tánaiste and minister for foreign affairs is listening, whether he might be moved by such kind words to give high office another spin.
“Before I clarify why I think he should be president,” Anne from Co Mayo begins, prompting detectable nerves from our host as he considers just how long this detour may take. His fears seem well founded when she continues with a phrase that must freeze the blood of any Liveline host: “About a month ago on this programme ...”
Eventually, however, she sticks another hat in the ring for McDowell, as someone “so au fait with the law he would know when to open his mouth and when not to”.
She dismisses “the Johnny-come-latelies” being bandied about for nominations and the sheer number of candidates being mentioned in the press each day. “I’m almost going down the street in Castlebar and saying to people, ‘Are you going for the president next week?’” she says.
Such an approach would, perhaps, be no less efficient than Liveline’s own, which amounts to simply asking every single Irish citizen, one by one, who they’d prefer – but the show is all the more entertaining for it.
Wednesday’s Morning Ireland (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) is similarly invested in the great offices of state, as Cian McCormack interviews the winner of the Rose of Tralee, Katelyn Cummins, from Co Laois.
“To be honest I had my legs crossed, because I thought I was going to fall over,” she says, over the phone, before giving her account of the big night, her shock at winning and the euphoria she felt celebrating it with her parents and granny.
[ Rose of Tralee finale: An occasionally entertaining, sometimes gruelling watchOpens in new window ]
Cummins is instantly likable, an able and relaxed interviewee who hits all the usual notes – watched the show as a child; it’s every girl’s dream; the other roses are like family to her now – but with a level-headed grace that renders her sincerity in little doubt.
She also confirms that her focus is still very much on continuing her electrician’s apprenticeship, en route to the degree in engineering she has been working towards for two years, and bats away any suggestion it will require a pause to fit in her rose commitments.
“I’m actually raring to go back to work now,” she says.
“How does that work?” McCormack asks, “if you have to travel the world as an ambassador for the festival across the globe?”
“I’ll stay going the way I have,” she replies, with a winning blend of pugnacity and charm.
What marks the chat as noteworthy, perhaps, is that McCormack maintains an oddly detached air throughout, conducting the entire exchange with the kind of parodically dry monotone that might be more appropriate for questions put to the head of a financial regulator.
At times the results are somewhat comical, as when he remarks that “the reaction from your mum and dad must have been lovely” with all the emotional flourish of a man informing a child that the family cat has been found dead.
Cummins is unflappable, however, rolling with the inquisition and responding with zest and candour. If they’re still taking nominations, and if Anne in Mayo would ever allow it, Áras an Uachtaráin could do much worse.
Moment of the week
“How do I tell my Lafufu from my Labubu?” Kieran Cuddihy asks on Tuesday’s edition of The Hard Shoulder (Newstalk, weekdays). He’s taking a break from discussing the wranglings of the Russia-Ukraine peace summit in Washington to quiz Jodie McCormack of the Sun newspaper about the toy craze sweeping the planet: Labubus, the fluffy, sharp-toothed dolls that have become the must-have accessory for any self-respecting trendspotter.
McCormack attempts to explain the appeal of the dolls, which she admits look “slightly demonic”, to an audibly unimpressed Cuddihy, who baulks at the €30 cost of what is, essentially, a glorified keyring.
She describes their genesis from a book series in 2015 all the way to their rebirth as a toy beloved of K-pop stars and TikTok influencers, and sheds a fascinating light on their voyage to memetic fame. It’s an ascent that has also led to the success of Lafufus, their knock-off equivalent – now sold at the same price, and just as greedily coveted.
Cuddihy attempts, gamely, to contextualise their appeal by wondering if they combine for children the attractions of Troll dolls with the mystery of Premier League stickers.
He comes unstuck, however, once their target market is revealed to be not children but grown-ups, including Paris Hilton and David Beckham.
“There’s not adults buying these, is there?” he says, with something like desolation, before dropping his voice a further octave to interrogate his guest. “Ah, Jodie, you’re not one of them, are you?”
A silence falls.
“Well, I don’t have to tell you,” she eventually replies.
“You know we’re live on the radio,” Cuddihy declares with avuncular disapproval. “I hope your mortgage broker isn’t listening.”
