Radio Review:I missed Marian Finucane last weekend. Penance for rolling out of the bed at lunchtime. On a cold winter's morning, her voice is like a mug of hot chocolate with a dash of whiskey: rich and warm, but it's the kick during those in-depth Saturday interviews that does it - just when you least expect it.
Still, the last of Balfe B@RTÉ (RTÉ Radio 1, Saturday), Brendan Balfe's comedy tracks, was worth getting up for.
It was a Mickey Spillane take on the murder of Julius Caesar, Rinse the Blood off My Toga, from 1954, by the late Canadian comedy duo Johnny Wayne and Frank Shuster. One line - "That's a funny way to carry a knife . . . in your back!" - hit home. I wonder if the RTÉ radio producer whose Christmas party I crashed is feeling that twitch between her shoulder blades at seeing the new radio reviewer this morning. I too like my carving knives in hand, in the cutlery drawer or stuck into the rump-end of a turkey where they belong.
Turns out Finucane was off last weekend. Instead, Rachael English (RTÉ Radio 1, Sunday), was discussing Benazir Bhutto. One of the most curious questions (for me at least) about Bhutto's murder - or "sacrifice" to quote a strange headline in the Guardian - was why, having shown showed such incompetence and cowardice during her two spells as Pakistani prime minister, Bhutto took such chances with her personal security. English had Christina Lamb of the Sunday Times on the blower. Lamb met Bhutto 20 years ago and attended her wedding, but was critical of her time in power. As the first female leader of a Muslim country, Bhutto did not repeal the Hudood Ordinance, under which women who were raped were jailed for adultery. It would take another 20 years for that.
According to Lamb, after the bomb attack on her motorcade on October 18th, Bhutto said, "Oh, my God! They've actually done it." That is, she realised the threat, but didn't appear to believe in her heart that it would actually happen. "I believe I will go when God believes the time is right," Bhutto reportedly told Lamb. She was either brave, foolhardy or, more likely, had an unassailable belief in her own divine destiny.
Harlan Ullman of the Washington Times gave Sean Moncrieff (Moncrieff, Newstalk 106, Wednesday) a more practical reason. Bhutto, he said, didn't believe Muslims would kill a woman. It was an interesting perspective. But, while English was a cool, impartial inquisitor, Moncrieff - in awe of his guest - hung on Ullman's every word. In a podcast for the New York Times, Getty Images photographer John Moore said both Bhutto and the crowd were unusually emotional that day, which is why he believes she stood up through the sun roof of her car despite the clear and present danger. It was not the only factor: her rallies were usually small, spontaneous affairs to confuse potential attackers, but that fateful Rawalpindi rally was announced a full week in advance.
During his general knowledge quiz with musical interludes at the Tivoli Theatre, Derek Mooney (Mooney, RTÉ Radio 1, Tuesday) did not ask "Who is Benazir Bhutto": last year he had asked Mary Wilson, "Who is Ségolène Royal?" These kinds of live shows are the ultimate stocking-filler for radio presenters who need a bit of end-of-year ego-stroking from their "fans", with declarations such as, "We love ya Derek! We listen to you every day." Joe Duffy would have got his "hit" when he soaked up the intoxicating adulation of his listeners in Grafton Street on Christmas Eve.
Mooney's New Year's Day show was a low-rent music-hall chuckle-fest of prattling inanity. At one point, he said he thought the Canary Islands were named after canaries. Who'd-a-thunk? "I've only been working in wildlife for the last 17 years," he laughed, embracing his twisted Socratic philosophy that being and/or playing dumb gives you an air of clever curiosity. It doesn't.
Mooney is smart to surround himself with the Mooney Goes Wild team of Éanna ní Lamhna and Richard Collins on Fridays. But his pairing with former producer Aenghus McAnally was less successful. Mooney was Aladdin to McAnally's Widow Twanky. They exhibited a fascination with the basic tools of modern life, such as how Irish emigrants could be close to family back home with an incredible invention called a webcam.
Anyway, back at the Tivoli, Mooney yelled, "Yeay-hay!" and "Woo-hoo!" to show that everyone was having a jolly old time. "We're going to take a break!" he said. "Hurray!" I'll second that.
Nicholas Parsons gave a mere taste of Just a Minute (BBC Radio 4, Monday) for the 40th anniversary of the quiz in which contestants must speak on a subject for 60 seconds without hesitation, repetition or deviation. Parsons could teach Mooney a trick or two. He played clips of Paul Merton, Derek Nimmo, Linda Smith, Kenneth Williams, Sheila Hancock, Clement Freud (the only original cast member) and Kenny Everett's famously flawed monologue on marbles. Panelists gave reasons why it's lasted since 1967, during which time Parsons never missed a show. Like draughts, said Merton, it is deceptively simple. However, Freud delivered the most delicious explanation. "It just seems long," he said.