Writing for life

Published in the WOW! supplement of the Evening Echo 05/12/2007

Friday night television on RTÉ is generally a pretty excruciating affair. Heading the line-up is the Late Late Show, and of course the inimitable Pat Kenny. Can you think of a better argument for getting a pre-Christmas subscription to Sky?

The Late Late may well be the longest running television talk show in the world – but that longevity is, unfortunately, its only distinction. I’m all for promoting home grown talent – but it’s the dearth of talent on this, Ireland’s flagship Friday night televisual experience, that’s disturbing. The interview style – or should that be lack of style – is woeful. It consistently makes me cringe!

I usually make a conscious effort to avoid watching on principal, but occasionally the urge to channel-flick gets the better of me, and as RTÉ1 spins up I spot a guest who I think might prove interesting. So I pause, hoping against hope that on of Ireland’s highest paid broadcasters will engage with them and, for once, deliver an interesting and worthwhile discussion. Invariably I’m disappointed as the poor guests squirm under a barrage of inept and inappropriate questions, or, as so often happens, a guest with half a brain ties our hapless host in intellectual knots.

It leaves me wondering whether I should laugh or cry at the state of Irish telly – so I do neither, and instead turn over to BBC, where Jonathan Ross demonstrates how an interview should be conducted. The contrast between Mr Ross and Mr Kenny is a stark one. Perhaps the only things they have in Common are a somewhat dubious dress-sense and the fact that they’re both paid far too much. Love him or loathe him, Jonathan Ross certainly knows how to engage with his guests to deliver infinitely more diverting television.

It makes you want to ring up and ask for a refund of your TV licence. I’d hate to be that guy on the adverts, you know, the one going around to people’s houses trying to catch those who haven’t paid their TV dues. Never mind the “medicine for sick puppies”, and all the other excuses trotted out in the ads – how about “put something worth watching on, and then I’ll pay your <insert favourite expletive here> license fee”.

That said, there is one Friday night a year that I set aside especially to sit down in front of the fire and endure Pat Kenny at his worst. I’m talking, of course, about the Late Late Toy Show. When you have kids you simply can’t avoid it, no matter how hard you try. And you have to actually watch it too… you can’t get away with tapping away on the laptop or listening to your MP3 player. You need to pay attention, because the kids will be asking questions… lots of questions.

This year’s affair was full of the usual assortment plastic rubbish: things that look cheap and nasty and cost a small fortune. Is it just the cynic in me, or are toys today designed to fall apart within a year, presumably so that kids will be clamouring for replacements the following Christmas?

Maybe it’s just a sign that I’m getting old(er), but I seem to remember toys being a bit more robust when I was young. Last year we got the twins the enduringly popular game “Guess Who” – which I remember playing as a child – and the new version seems way flimsier than the chunky affair I remember from my childhood. Likewise favourites like “Operation” and “Buckaroo” – all flimsy parodies of their former selves.

On screen, Pat Kenny, despite bringing all his charm to bear, was being outwitted by Dustin the turkey, a six year old from County Louth and a trio of animatronic parrots. I suppressed a groan and asked the twin sitting next to me what she thought of the show.

“The toys are great Dad,” she said, “but what’s that man doing? He’s a bit annoying, isn’t he?”