Mid-morning radio in Ireland has long been perceived as being a prime-time air slot. It's synonymous with the phrases and cadences of particular voices. But whose voices? That depends on where you live in the country and which radio station you tune in to.
According to the Independent Radio and Television Commission (IRTC), there are currently 34 independent radio stations on air in the Republic. Technically, local radio stations only have a licence for their county of origin, although their signals can be picked up beyond county borders. With virtually all their revenue coming from advertising, local radio stations - even more than the national stations - depend on the profile of certain shows to attract listeners. Unlike national radio, just one flagship show can define or carry the entire local radio station.
So what are people around the country with a choice of stations on their wavebands listening to at a time when the likes of Pat Kenny, Gay Byrne and Gerry Ryan - and their summer replacements - are on the national airwaves?
Billy McCarthy, Sue Nunn and Keith Finnegan all present shows Monday to Friday in the 10-12 a.m. slot. McCarthy is with Waterford Local Radio (WLR), Nunn with Radio Kilkenny, and Finnegan with Galway Bay FM. While all these shows describe themselves as current affairs programmes, all three presenters interpret this description in very different ways.
"We're local, but we're not parochial," stresses Billy McCarthy (44), who has been presenting Deise A.M. for WLR since 1989. "For example, local radio has made local politicians instantly accountable in a way they never were before. If a story breaks, they have to come on air and defend themselves."
The opening item looks at one of the national news stories of the day - Mary Harney's "work, or lose your social welfare" proposal. Discussing this with McCarthy are Waterford DL City Alderman, Pat Gallagher and Waterford FF Councillor, Ollie Jenkinson: putting the local spin on national issues.
The previous day, McCarthy had overheard three Waterford teenagers asking about summer jobs at the reception desk of WLR. There was no work on offer, but McCarthy seized the opportunity to ask if they would be willing to be interviewed by him about their search for casual employment.
This is classic on-the-ball stuff, and the resulting interview, which he plays after the discussion with Gallagher and Jenkinson, is outstanding. It is a straight-from-the-horse's-mouth story that the national media would love, illustrating how the cycle of exploitation of young, casual workers begins.
All three of the teenagers have peers who have been working - illegally - up to midnight in pubs and clubs round Waterford town and then going to school next day. "Everyone is breaking the law at the moment for money," says one girl matter-of-factly.
McCarthy asks all the right questions: how much was the going rate in town for casual workers (£2.50 an hour, was the consensus), is it difficult to find work even at this low rate (yes, "I'd take anything at this stage of the summer, no matter how awful it was," says one girl).
To one girl, who has been stacking shelves in a supermarket, he asked: "Do you think you'll get anything out of this work experience?" - that cliche of cant beloved of politicians.
"I'm getting bored," is the succinct reply.
A Waterford citizen, the actress Anna Managhan, has just won a Tony for her part in The Beauty Queen Of Leenane. The mayor of Waterford, Tom Cunningham, is in the studio to explain why she will not subsequently be getting the Freedom of the City: it's all protocol and very complicated. McCarthy does not allow him to waffle: he cuts through to the main questions and somehow manages to elicit straight answers in a remarkably short time. The mayor looks a bit shell-shocked as he leaves the studio.
The anticipated running story of the morning, the employment issue, is eclipsed by the emotion excited after an on-air interview with "Elizabeth", who is complaining about a spokesperson for the local branch of Tedcastle's Oil saying that Tedcastle's were "very happy to employ members of the GAA". Elizabeth took umbrage at what she perceived as "a jobs for the boys attitude".
The phone lines vibrate with incensed callers: some slagging off the GAA and others defending it. "That woman is a traitor," is one of the less incendiary comments. Justin McCarthy (no relation), the Tedcastle's executive who started the whole thing, comes on the line and takes the flak. "Sport might come into the equation when employing people, but that sort of competitive history is useful in the selling world," he says carefully. He does not sound as if he is particularly enjoying his appearance on WLR.
It all makes for great radio and added up to a hugely impressive show - sharp, topical, fresh, entertaining, and impartial. McCarthy has buckets of personality, which he exercises without overshadowing topics or guests. Deise AM undoubtedly has a star presenter. The obvious question has to be asked. Would he be interested in a move to the capital? McCarthy grins. "Let's just say, it's worth my while to remain where I am." His producer, Noel Gallagher, looks unspeakably relieved at this validation of loyalty.
Radio Kilkenny, same time, same week. Sue Nunn (46) presents The Kilkenny Agenda. "The obvious thing about local radio is that it is local," she says. "I can walk out the door of the studio and meet people that have been on the show. It means there's a tremendous sense of responsibility. With local radio, you're part of the dynamic of the county. People would see us as a way of publicising things they want addressed at a local level, such as getting roads fixed."
The show kicks off with an item continuing from the previous day: the unexpectedly thorny issue of whether or not priests get free cars. Sam Harper, a member of the Church of Ireland diocesan finance committee, comes on the line to give the low-down on what clergy in his church get paid (about £16,000 pa).
Then Dorothy, a member of the Methodist Church in Kilkenny, which numbers only about 15 families, calls in to tell people how they are funded (a tithe system is still quite strong). But do Catholic priests get free cars or not? The diocesan bishop eventually phones in to tell us that they do not.
No questions are asked as to how priests manage to buy and run cars on an official annual income of less than £11,000. A caller wants to know what happens to the money people give to priests for Mass cards. It's an intriguing question, but either nobody knows the answer to it or Nunn forgets about the query, because, maddeningly, we hear no more about it.
Another mayor, Margaret Tynan, appears in the studio: my second mayor in as many days. Tynan is ostensibly on the show to discuss the pros and cons of the £8 million allocation of funding for road development in Kilkenny, a current hard news story. However, Tynan sidesteps Nunn's questions about the road story and turns the airtime into a puff for her own agenda: her term of office is coming to an end and she has people she wants to thank, which she does at some considerable length. The road discussion goes down a cul de sac and dies.
When Limerick-born John Hourigan was a boy, he played cowboys and indians with a blunderbuss that had belonged to an ancestor of his, also called John Hourigan. "It was a rusty old thing. We played with it until it fell apart." In 1798, when Hourigan heard there was a rising in Wexford, "he saddled his horse and rode to Vinegar Hill". He survived to come home with his blunderbuss.
To commemorate the 1798 ride to Vinegar Hill, Hourigan is retracing his ancestor's route with members of his hunt, the Scarteen Hunt in East Limerick. They plan to break their journey to Wexford in Kells, where a barbecue is planned at Shirley's Bar. Hourigan tells the story well; it's a riveting piece of radio and just the sort of story that has the potential to be picked up further along the media line.
How did Nunn get the story? "I was rung up by someone in Kells, who's friends with them," she explains. It's the grapevine of the contact network, working at a local level, and paying fine dividends.
Galway, same time-slot, same week. It's The Keith Finnegan Show, on Galway Bay FM. Finnegan (37) has presented this programme since 1993. "Local radio is all about access," he maintains. "Joe Bloggs can pick up the phone and get through to me. It's all about giving people a voice. I try to keep things local and keep the show moving."
Unlike McCarthy and Nunn, Finnegan kicks off the show by giving a list of the items he'll be covering that day, so you know straightaway what you'll be hearing for the next couple of hours. It's a full programme and it's firmly local news. None of the national news stories of the day makes it into the programme, although Finnegan describes his show as "current affairs".
There's a chat with a Galwegian, Dr Lundon, whose son Tony stood in for Michael Flatley in earlier that week at a performance of Lord Of The Dance in Vienna before an audience of 6,000. "Keep the Galway flag flying," Finnegan says, as he wraps up the interview. He got the story from a colleague of Tony's father, who rang up and tipped him off. A caller has bats in her attic. This invasion theme runs through the programme. Another caller reports an ant colony. Further calls report more bats, more ants, and then someone calls to say she has a swarm of bees on her land, and what should she do?
Finnegan packs a lot into the show: short, snappy items. There's 100,000 people expected to attend the forthcoming airshow at Salthill; there's an item about alcoholism; news of a national student helpline which will be initiated in Galway in the autumn; a weekly item with a financial consultant, David McCarthy, about the state of the stockmarket.
Finnegan started off the show by saying he has "that Friday feeling". At some level, the show never ignited, although I have that tantalising feeling of having caught it on an off day. In this respect, local radio is like the national airwaves: an aural lottery.