The presidency? In spite of the best efforts of the parties to find a cross between Mary Robinson and Princess Di, we all know deep in our hearts that the office can be adequately filled by (a) an old Fianna Failer or (b) A.N. Other Woman. Liveline (RTE Radio 1, Monday to Friday), on the other hand, has had a sad succession of flailing trialists, from Des Cahill to Maire Geoghegan Quinn (who would both make fine presidents, as it happens). There is only one person to host the nation's daily phone-in - the woman who, as it were, defines the office. Happily, the Park has proven no more alluring to Marian Finucane than Radio Ireland was to Gerry Ryan, and RTE has again been spared the agonising quest for a replacement. An election is, by comparison, a dawdle.

If Marian has been troubled by the speculation of a move to the Northside, it hasn't been audible over the last couple of weeks. Mind you, much of Liveline has been given over to straightforward tribute material, with callers in praise of the three departed women of the year - two gone to their rest, one gone to Switzerland. Of controversy there has been little, and the famously impartial Finucane left little doubt about where she stood on, say, flags at half-mast (in favour, of course). She was also vigorous last week in defence of Mary McAleese against suggestions that she has been a mouthpiece for the Catholic church. Perhaps surprisingly, Liveline came closest - of the little radio monitored during my three-week break from this column - to airing the conspiracy theories about Diana's death I've heard buzzing around home, office, pubs, the Internet, etc. That happened in the first week after the accident, when a doctor voiced suspicions about the blood-test results on Henri Paul.

Since then, "responsible broadcasting" seems to have taken over everywhere, though the questions lurk unspoken in every report about, say, the driver's demeanour in his last hours. Last Tuesday's Chris Barry Show on FM104 did, however, provide my favourite demotic quote of the whole sad episode, as midnight caller after caller poured scorn on the Windsors. "I never liked the royal family," a woman said, "not even that queen's mother who's 97. I think they're too toffee."

Too toffee, indeed. Ideas above their station, if you ask me. Bertie Ahern came on Friday's News at One to pay tribute to Mary Robinson. In fairness, Bertie could have done a fine job paying tribute to the Irish performance in Lithuania. Instead, RTE's live coverage on Wednesday saw top-notch analyst, Jim Beglin, moved to television and Brian Kerr plunked in his radio seat.

Kerr, who managed the under20s to a stunning third place in the world championships this summer, is a highly respected soccer man, but his comments, while astute, were broad and repetitive compared to the lofty example of Beglin. However, I'm sure that's not why the line to Vilnius gave out - leaving Radio 1 listeners hooked up to the TV sound of Beglin and George Hamilton for much of the second half. I was lucky enough to have the telly on, though Lithuanian television provided risible camera-work, making a mess of Ireland's winning goal and featuring constant close-ups of Irish assistant manager Ian Evans, with a caption calling him Mick McCarthy. (No, I don't know how Lithuanian radio performed.)

While Mick and Mary and Adi and Avril and Albert keep their eyes on the prize, last week's main documentary came with its reward already in hand. Prix Italia winner Who is Izzy Baia? (RTE Radio 1, Thursday) is a fascinating evocation of the relationship between Brian, a Salthill lad who is autistic, and his 90-minutes-a-day carer, Kevin. Its name highlights its constant theme: the frustrating impenetrability of Brian's world. "Izzy Baia" is Kevin's transliteration of an unexplained utterance from Brian, whose other chat consists of echoing Kevin and identifying passing cars by make and model.

There is a definite, healthy trend in this sort of work away from sentimentality, towards a frank assessment of the problems faced by carers. Kevin, who speaks straight to mike in monologue for much of the programme, is pained by his meaninglessness for Brian. Sometimes he tells him he hates the job, in hope of some reaction; other times he is sarcastic, as when he praises Brian's performance at a video arcade, then adds: "I know how much my encouragement means to you here."