Ray D’Arcy offers an intriguing glimpse into a dirty industry

Ray D’Arcy (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) has hosted his share of forgettable filler down the years, but it’s still something of a jolt to hear him talking genuine rubbish. However, that’s the case on Tuesday’s show, when D’Arcy is so transparent about the nature of the subject he’s covering that he describes it with unabashed candour. “That’s a lot of sh*te,” he says gleefully.
It’s a sentiment that has surely been hissed in exasperation by listeners down the years, but D’Arcy isn’t dismissing the quality of his material: he’s expressing wonder at the positively Augean quantity of faecal matter left by animals at Dublin Zoo, and later cleared up by professional cleaners Pat and Aisling Ryan. “If you’ve been to the zoo, a panto, a concert or a festival, it’s probably the case that our next guests have cleaned up after you,” D’Arcy says. Lest there be any veiled suggestion that audience members have been taking part in some class of dirty protest, he hastily adds, “I know, that sounds a bit odd”.
He hears from the father and daughter whose Thurles-based company has grown from humble family origins – Pat’s grandmother and mother were both cleaners – into a nationwide operation. D’Arcy characterises this as an “amazing story”, which might seem a bit of a stretch. Indeed, he initially seems unsure if it’s enough of a story to fill 15 minutes. When Pat speedily outlines the evolution of his company, he’s reined in by D’Arcy: “Don’t skip on there, we’ve a bit of time.”
But as Pat and Aisling amiably talk about their profession, they deliver an intriguing glimpse into an unseen and unglamorous yet vital industry, without which most events couldn’t function. Aisling recounts how she oversaw 200 people cleaning up a quarter-tonne of confetti left after each of the four Coldplay concerts at Croke Park this summer. It’s also an alternative history of Irish music festivals, with Pat recalling how his family firm went from cleaning toilets at the Féile festivals in Thurles to clearing up after concerts in Slane, something revellers likely didn’t think about while attending such open-air shows during the 1990s. (I didn’t anyway.)
Not that D’Arcy makes any of these themes explicit. He’s more interested in the amount of “elephant poo” that the Ryans’ company clears up at the zoo: 50 tonnes of animal waste weekly, apparently, leading to the host’s mildly profane outburst. That aside, it’s an unexpectedly engaging piece.
Overall, while the host’s output sticks firmly to the lifestyle and human-interest format, this week’s items are a cut above generic fare. He conjures up the chatshow equivalent of a royal flush by combining Warholesque celebrity with true-life drama when he talks to Daisy Kelliher, star of yacht-bound reality show Below Deck, and her sister Bonnie, who survived a catastrophic accident in Thailand earlier this year. Considering the circumstances, it’s a surprisingly chipper conversation.
But his most absorbing encounter comes with the comedian, actor and author Ardal O’Hanlon, who appears on Wednesday’s show to talk about his enduring love for stand-up. D’Arcy, whose studied Everyman mien goes hand in hand with a yen for forays into psychology, asks O’Hanlon if he has analysed this aspect of his personality. “I think it’s a sensible way to live your life, through the medium of comedy,” comes the reply. “Because life can be really absurd.”
As if to underscore this, talk turns to O’Hanlon’s recent meeting, alongside other Irish comics, with Pope Francis. “I was perplexed that you accepted the invitation,” D’Arcy remarks, more in bemusement than in reprimand. O’Hanlon, for his part, is in mischievously consolatory form about his papal audience. “I’m sure they’ve one for radio presenters,” he says, chuckling. The exchanges continue in this good-natured but sparky vein, making for an enjoyable rebuttal to those who would poo-poo D’Arcy’s afternoon show.
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Time was that comparing Ireland to Switzerland would have been a compliment: who wouldn’t want to live in a wealthy country where things apparently run like clockwork? But, as Cormac Ó hEadhra discovers on Drivetime (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays), the comparison made by the west Cork hotelier Des O’Dowd is less flattering in nature, referring as it does to Swiss-style high prices here.
O’Dowd thinks Ireland is ceding competitive advantage when it comes to hospitality, pointing to increased VAT rates, high payroll and crippling energy costs. “Irish people are going abroad because they’re getting better value,” he says, pleading with politicians to do “the long, hard work of tackling why things are so expensive in Ireland”. (Good luck with that.)
Ó hEadhra, never one to pass up an opportunity to discomfit a guest, wonders how much the hospitality sector is to blame. “How is it when people look to book a hotel anywhere in Ireland they see sky-high prices?” he asks while noting that some hoteliers failed to pass previous VAT cuts on to consumers. Greg Ennis of Siptu goes further, complaining that the hospitality business has received support grants while “people are being ripped off”.
Though both guests agree on the outrageous cost of energy here, it’s a tetchy discussion. But, amid the sniping, a kind of implicit angry consensus can be detected, one of deep dissatisfaction with the cost of living’s effects on people’s lives despite all the money sloshing around the country. One must hope that such discontent doesn’t give way to darker impulses, or we could be in deep doo-doo.
Amid the widespread praise for Say Nothing, the television adaptation of Patrick Radden Keefe’s book about the IRA’s kidnapping and murder of the Belfast mother Jean McConville, one critical voice stands out starkly on Tuesday’s Newstalk Breakfast (weekdays), when the presenter Shane Coleman talks to Jean’s son Michael McConville.
“I will not watch it,” says Michael, who was 11 when his mother was “disappeared” in 1972. “The way I look at it, my mother’s disappearance and death caused a lot of trauma,” he continues. “They’re showing this to entertain people. Is that all my mother is worth?”
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As McConville describes how he and his family have been afflicted with mental-health issues since Jean’s death, Coleman delicately suggests that the drama shines a light on a period forgotten or glorified as memories fade. But McConville returns to the abuse that his family continue to receive. “I thought when we found our mother’s body, in 2003, that it was the end of the nightmare,” he says. “That was only the beginning of it.”
Sounding more distressed than angry, McConville now hopes people will stop bringing up his mother’s story. “I would love for everyone to leave us alone. My mother’s dead. Let her rest in peace.” It’s an uncomfortable conversation, sympathetically handled by Coleman, but also a reminder that the trauma of the Troubles resonates to this day.