You have to give it to Brendan O’Connor (RTÉ Radio 1, Saturday and Sunday), he’s a stickler for decorum. Opening his interview with the Duchess of York, Sarah Ferguson on Saturday, the host respectfully inquires about the correct form of address for his guest: “Duchess, Sarah, Fergie, how will I call you?” After some back and forth, O’Connor plumps for Fergie, reasoning that with his wife also being named Sarah, “There’s a danger I’ll get overfamiliar”. Debrett’s Etiquette couldn’t have put it better.
The jolly conversation that follows may be a disappointment to listeners expecting a rigorous investigation into the loaded symbolism of the crown in Irish history or the relevance of the monarchy in modern Britain, but will hardly come as a surprise to anyone even vaguely au fait with Ferguson’s public image. “I think you were the favourite royal in Ireland, a bit messier and a bit more craic,” O’Connor says, in a tone best described as familiar.
His guest reciprocates in kind. She affectionately invokes her host’s name more often than a sales rep pitching to a hesitant client, and guffaws so fulsomely at his irreverent manner that he cheekily remarks: “You’ve such a dirty laugh, you know that?” If this is O’Connor’s idea of being formal, one shudders to think what he’s like when he lets it all hang out.
As an Irish presenter who’s just spent a morning swapping saucy familiarities with a British royal, O’Connor knows what he’s talking about
For all that, it’s probably the most appropriate tenor for the interview. After all, Ferguson isn’t on the show as a foreign dignitary, but rather as the exuberantly talkative author of a racy Mills & Boon novel. (“You’ve signed a 22-book deal, it’ll be pure filth by the end,” comments O’Connor, restrained as ever.) Moreover, Ferguson’s good value for a weekend chatshow. As well as being genuinely famous – whatever else about the royal family, they have formidable brand recognition – Ferguson opens up about her lonely childhood and her “diabolical” treatment at the hands of the tabloid press. “I’m stratospherically sensitive,” she says.
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When the conversation turns to more sensitive areas, however, she is conspicuously cagier. Asked about royal outcasts Harry and Meghan, her answer is lethally ambivalent: “We wish them well.” Ouch. And she’s particularly considered, if loyal, on the matter of her ex-husband Prince Andrew’s connections to the late billionaire sex offender Jeffrey Epstein: “He stood by me and I’ll stand by him.” O’Connor, not normally one easily satisfied by platitudes, leaves it at that: he may be no respecter of titles, but he’s more deferent than his naughty banter suggests.
The host’s outspoken side is more in evidence during Sunday’s newspaper panel. Discussing the damning findings of the independent report on bullying and sexual abuse in the Defence Forces, O’Connor is blunt in his characterisation of military culture. “This is an institution that is fundamentally built on brutalising and dehumanising human beings, to the point that they will brutalise and dehumanise other human beings,” he says, adding, “I’m not being judgmental about it.” Facetious as that last clause may sound, the host is genuinely seeking reasons for the endemic harassment rather than merely crafting snappy soundbites. His observations keep security analyst and former soldier Declan Power on his toes during their conversation on the issue.
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When O’Connor is in this kind of punchy form, the newspaper round-table is both animated and instructive. One may disagree with financial adviser Peter Brown’s opinion that current spiralling costs will only be stopped by a “credit event” that will hurt everyone, but it is bracing in its frankness. “There’s no good way out of this,” muses the chastened presenter. Similarly glum assessments of the housing crisis follow, but while aware of the gravity of the situation, O’Connor seems conscious of not completely ruining his audience’s morning, offering a small glimmer of hope. “Listen, we have to be ambitious,” he says of seemingly unattainable housing goals, “Look at the extraordinary lengths we’ve come.”
As an Irish presenter who’s just spent a morning swapping saucy familiarities with a British royal, O’Connor knows what he’s talking about.
Listening to the news is tough business these days, so any lift in the mood is welcome: the Drivetime team may be kinder than they know
So often an arena of fractious argument, Drivetime (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) takes on a kinder, gentler mood on Monday, as presenters Cormac Ó hEadhra and Sarah McInerney hear about the psychological benefits of selflessness. Professor Ian Robertson of Trinity College tells the presenters how performing generous acts sparks positive neurological reaction. “Kindness is actually rewarding for the human brain,” Prof Robertson says. It’s something that McInerney attests to, recounting how she still feels good about paying a stranger’s parking fees nine months later.
If that seems a fair spell between good deeds, Ó hEadhra struggles to recall any random act of kindness on his part. Eventually, he remembers getting three rounds of drinks at a wedding a decade ago – at a free bar, he adds, chortling mightily at his own roguishness. “It took him the whole show to come up with that,” McInerney sighs indulgently, “He’s cracking himself up there.”
Whatever about their altruism, the Drivetime duo’s propensity for sudden giddiness is one of their key on-air assets. The pair remain formidable interrogators: McInerney is audibly incredulous at the suggestion by Pat Davitt of the Institute of Professional Auctioneers and Valuers that tenants in rent pressure zones are “happy” to pay more if allowed, while her co-host scathingly doubts the housing targets of Labour leader Ivana Bacik.
If this dogged commitment to ferreting out facts provides the show’s engine, the co-presenters’ freebooting style helps it glide more smoothly. Admittedly, Ó hEadhra steers the show solo for much of the week, allowing him to over-egg his own mirth unimpeded, but it’s still enjoyable to hear him injudiciously ponder topics such as the best way to call off a wedding. Listening to the news is tough business these days, so any lift in the mood is welcome: the Drivetime team may be kinder than they know.
