"THE intention was to say a Rosary of Thanksgiving - or perhaps it was a Rosary of Pure Shock."

It wasn't the sort of language you'd expect from a man who is testifying to a miracle. (Then again, to be honest, I've no idea what sort of language you should expect, having never met such a creature.)

However, this line, Dublin taxi man Peadar Clarke's description of what he, his wife and his mother in law got up to immediately after Our Lady of Lourdes knocked the multiple sclerosis out of him, typified Back from the Edge (RTE Radio 1, Tuesday), the first programme in what must now be described as a highly promising series from Michael Cleere.

This was a one voice documentary, a monologue, and as such could only be as interesting as the fella doing the talking (he was). But Cleere gave himself some distinct advantages: principally, by conducting the interview in the very Lourdes hotel room where Peadar rose from his bed and walked - "died and was reborn" in his own words.

It made for tremendously vivid word pictures. "You see that towel, that's white - well, the whole room turned whiter than white." Or: "There was more room here, where I fell, at the time, because those two beds were together."

Or, most startling of all: "Our Blessed Mother was standing just there, under the crucifix."

Now, regular readers will have me marked down as a sceptic, but if lit's a sneer you're looking for you may go read another newspaper (you know the one). Part of me hopes that programme maker Michael Cleere tried to authenticate the medical details of Peadar's complete cure, but most of me is glad that we heard nothing of that - just an utterly subjective tale of the supernatural.

You wouldn't see such drama in The X Files. According to himself, Peadar's condition prior to the Lourdes pilgrimage was such that his family didn't know if he'd be coming back. And while, he says, he was filled with a wondrous warmth when he collapsed from his wheelchair in front of the grotto, by the time he was back in his room (on his last scheduled night there, of course) he was certain, in his mental confusion, that he was dying. He even sent his family out of the room, in tears, so that he might be left in peace. Imagine their Pure Shock when he walked down the corridor to see them.

In his straightforward way, Peadar Clarke says he loves life. Rarely was a banality uttered with such conviction.

While Back from the Edge was an example of Irish radio at its specific, intimate and personal best, The Chocolate Kiddies (BBC Radio 4, Friday), a Kaleidoscope feature, typified what the Beeb does better - it was a sophisticated arts documentary that would have been highly intriguing to specialist listeners, yet maintained enough interest to keep the more casual punter on board.

That ridiculous title was, as you might imagine, drawn from the historical source material: the "Chocolate Kiddies" was the name of a jazz revue, featuring 40 odd African American musicians and dancers, that arrived in Hamburg in 1925 and changed the course of German popular music. (Until 1933, anyway, after which jazz, and such tours, were verhoten.)

Happily, there are recordings of the group in action: on their first visit to a German recording studio, the overwhelmed engineers complained that they played too loud - so the musicians moved into the hall and let their music waft through an open door to the microphones.

This documentary featured the jazz aficionado's usual fascination with the specifics of personnel humanised by old interviews with musicians about the revue and their impressions of Germany. There is particularly good reason for such detail, it seems, when discussing the rapidly changing jazz world of the 1920s, when a couple of years away from New York could leave you with a thoroughly stale sound.

What a shame that radio discussion of other 20th century popular music is more likely to focus on chart positions than musical content (with rare exceptions like Joe Jackson). Lucky jazz.

It's just two months until Radio Ireland joins the fray, so the speculation about programmes, presenters and journalists who will be in its ranks hasn't arrived a moment too soon. The desirable prospect of a return for Scrap Saturday earns low marks for creativity and a raised eyebrow for plausibility: would Dermot Morgan and Gerry Stembridge really be lured from their present heights back to the cliff face of a weekly radio show?

Yesterday's other main flyer, about an evening two hander for Enmon Dunphy and Anne Marie Hourihane, is more credible - and appealing to anyone who heard Dunphy's declarations of "free speech radio!" during frequent, provocative contributions to the old Vincent Browne Tonight programme on 98FM. Now there's a talk radio host with a proven ability to light up the switchboard.