There is, it seems, a cult afoot in Ireland, a group of men who under the cover of mysterious "projects", which last forever, escape from family and friends and seek therapeutic transcendence in each other's company.

Just listen to this participant, captured on radio: "The monthly meeting at Eamonn's, the cup of tea, the friendship, the shared ideas; this is perhaps one of the most important aspects of the society's operation. What I have found is that I can go absolutely browned-off, fed up, tired . . . suddenly you're chatting - it's inspiring, the juices start to flow again. "I can't explain it, but I can leave at night and be completely inflated again . . . the picture of life would have changed. I can't explain it; maybe the friendship bond, sharing a cup of tea - and nothing stronger ever appears - revives the spirit of more people than they would perhaps care to mention. "Personal life, of course, can interfere with lots of things, but two hours spent sharing a common idea - the same spirit drives them again; I'm not saying they leave better people, but more inspired people, feeling `yeah, life is worth living. So what, I have a dull job; so what, I have to do shift work - it doesn't matter, I can always come back here, fill up again and leave, renewed.' "

Then we heard the almost ritual sound of the "high tea" being poured among the men.

So who was celebrating these joyful mysteries? They were members of SAAC, the Society of Amateur Aircraft Constructors, and the stars of Home Grown Wings (RTE Radio 1, Wednesday, repeated Saturday). Making airplanes in the garden shed must be a natural topic for a documentary - on television. On radio, where we can't enjoy the sheer visual incogruity of a small plane sitting among the geranium pots, or being hoisted over the back wall on to a pick-up truck, it's a trickier proposition.

Producer/presenter Madeleine O'Rourke's solution, brilliantly effected, was to focus on the men and their feelings. Given that parents have brought children from conception to Leaving Cert in less time than some of these men have worked on their planes, the emotional possibilities are considerable.

Without their being too confessional, you did still get the feeling that for some of the fellas the "project" had become a bit of an albatross - only much less likely to actually fly.

The programme was also technically wonderful, delivering startling clarity and ambience for everything from group chat to the roar of an engine. Stereo was used to good effect: when a plane eventually crossed the sky, it was literally in one ear and out the other.

For the men who get airborne the mysterious transcedence is complete, and the satisfaction is understandable: "You're in such a different space when you're up in the air, and you look out at that wing and you imagine that it was on the floor of a hangar, and I was standing there with a spanner or a paintbrush or a screwdriver working on this wing, and then you look out the window and you're 2,000 feet up and there's the same wing, but you can't get at it any more because you're sitting in the plane and it's outside doing its job. "That's a funny sort of a feeling, somehow, that you've made this thing and it's taking you into a different realm."

Which, without forcing the link, really sounds like something Bruce Springsteen might say. New Jersey's finest could be heard for an hour on Bruce Springsteen: The Other Side of the Tracks (BBC Radio 2, Saturday), blatant plugola for his new boxed set of old rejects.

The format was familiar: bits of an interview intercut with frustratingly incomplete excerpts of songs from the new album. Some of his patter was even familiar to anyone who attended his last set of concerts, as he joked about how un-rock 'n' roll it is to write a song about his mother (The Wish, as perfectly sweet as can be) or talked about the effect of having kids on his work routines.

But it all sounded heartfelt, if not entirely spontaneous, and in total was a frighteningly mature reflection on where a musician's life and work fits into the real world outside - and how important it is to fit the real world outside into a musician's life and work.