It's 4.55 p.m. and I'm heading for Dublin's West-Link toll bridge, very, very slowly. The traffic is almost gridlocked, writes Joe Kelly
But I don't mind too much. I'm travelling alone but I have the radio on. Very shortly, literally at my fingertips, I will have three versions of the news: 5-7 Live on RTE 1; 106 News Talk; and The Last Word on Today FM. All three news programmes, for two salivating, wonderful hours - if the traffic chaos holds up, that is. It's a newsaholic's/current affairs addict's "drive time" dream: flitting from one station, from one story, from one item to the other, with the flick of a sensitive switch, in the company of Rachael, George, Matt and a cast of thousands, with ab-so-lut-ely no interruptions.
The mobile phone is switched off (I have it handy, though, just in case I feel the need to ring in to one of the stations!) I'm my own news editor in my very own travelling newsroom. I'm in charge. I have total control of what I hear.
Ruthlessly, unapologetically, without as much as a "by your leave", I cut short in mid-sentence anything or anybody that does not appeal to me. It may not be your idea of heaven, but it's certainly mine.
In less time than it takes to traverse the M50 I am transported all over the globe: from Washington to Walkinstown, from Bray to Balbriggan, from Uruguay to Urlingford, from the steps of Leinster House to the steppes of the USSR.
I meet world leaders and world unknowns. I hear Pilger, Fisk, Chomsky, democrats, plutocrats, aristocrats, tyrants, despots, freedom-fighters, terrorists, right-wingers, left-wingers, feminists, writers, poets, bores, intellectuals, academics, all sorts of politicos from all sorts of political persuasions.
And sometimes I even get a mention myself! When the woman from the Automobile Association tells us that there is a mile-long tailback approaching the West Link from the Navan turn-off, I just know she is talking about me and directly to me and my fellow charioteers on the M50 super highway. I pump the air, let out a controlled, smug, satisfying "Ya-hoo!" (with a lot of emphasis on that "hoo") and with great difficulty I fight the temptation to leap out and do a lap of honour around the car. I look around for the expected nods and smiles of confirmation and recognition. I don't often get one. As a matter of fact, I have to admit that I've never got one. But I am convinced that one day it will happen. And then it'll be my turn to be in the studio talking the talk.
Of course, there are intrusions into my current affairs/news bulletin world: advertisements, sports items, something that is euphemistically called "business news" and one telling, regular-as-clockwork, religious "experience".
Nevertheless, these appalling ads, daft horse-racing results, inane commercial gobbledygook and the Angelus bell can, with careful planning and split-second timing, be avoided. Whenever I sense that an ad is looming or an Angelus bell is about to boom in my "room", I flick over to one of the other stations. Sometimes I may walk slap-bang into an ambush on another wavelength in the shape of a weather forecast or the result of the 4.30 at Doncaster. Evasive action is called for.In a real emergency (when "intrusions" are running simultaneously on the three home-grown stations) there is a perfect fall-back position: PM on BBC Radio 4, which also starts at vie o'clock. No ads at all; just news, news and more news. However, this doesn't always work. With an unfortunate slice of dreadful timing and downright bad luck, I could arrive slap-bang in the middle of the shipping forecast. Such a disaster can only be put down to an act of God; one would have thought that he or she had more of an interest in current affairs. There is nothing to do then but concentrate, in sulkily stony silence, on my driving. It's only for a few minutes anyway.
Sometimes the traffic is not so heavy, or the toll bridge operates less inefficiently than usual, and I find myself arriving home with five or 10 minutes to go - and worse still, in the middle of a rancorous debate on the Middle East. There is nothing for it but to circle the block at least twice. I finally swing into the driveway just as Matt, Rachael and George give their farewells and tell us that they'll be back tomorrow at the same time.
But that's too long to wait. A quick bite and I'm ready for John Snow on Channel 4 at 7 p.m.