Tubridy’s return sparks a new outlook on life

SOMETHING very strange is happening to me. It’s coronavirus- related, but it has nothing to do with my health, at least not my physical health. I first noticed it last week, last Tuesday morning to be precise. Having completed my morning commute from the bedroom to the kitchen, put on the kettle and began making the porridge, I instructed Alexa to play RTÉ Radio 1.

I do this every morning. Usually the voice of Bryan Dobson follows; stern, familiar, reassuring. But I’m getting up a little later since I started working from home. These days Bryan is probably in his car by the time I shuffle into the kitchen.

And so, for a while, it was Oliver Callan who welcomed me into the world; a little too upbeat, a bit peppy; but not a bad person to usher in a new day.

I knew he was only holding the fort for the main man, for Mr Tubridy, but I was happy with that arrangement. Because, you see, I can’t abide Ryan Tubridy. For reasons which will soon become clear I won’t outline the character traits which turn me off our most high-profile presenter.

What I will say is that I haven’t watched The Late Late Show in about five years, and whenever I do take a look I last no more than a few minutes before taking my viewing elsewhere.

This extends to Tubridy’s morning show. The sound of his voice has me instructing Alexa to go elsewhere, to whatever station she sees fit.

However, when his slightly beaten, post- Covid tones met me last Tuesday morning I didn’t bark fresh orders at Alexa,

I didn’t shout ‘Newstalk, Alexa, Newstalk!’ like I normally would.

I admit, it was just curiosity at first. How had he coped with the virus? Was he alright? Had he decided to retire from the Late Late and give Miriam a proper run at it?

But as the show continued and I established that, not only was he fit and well, but that he’d be back in the hotseat that coming Friday evening, the strangeness began.

He was talking about the joy of being outdoors again, of breathing in the fresh air, of doing the simple things; buying a newspaper, some chocolate for his mother, listening to the birds sing.

I began to feel a kinship with this man, a person who, up until a few weeks ago, had filled me with unfathomable rage.

He continued his stories, talked about the films he’d watched with his daughter while he convalesced, the old classics, films I’d someday like to watch with my as yet unborn children.

And as the porridge thickened and I chopped up the strawberries and mangos to go in it, I thought to myself, ‘ this Tubridy isn’t a bad fella really, is he?’

The next morning I approached Alexa with a degree of caution. Would I just go with Newstalk? Pat Kenny would be on there, good ol’ Pat. I knew where I stood with Pat.

But I thought, no, I’ll stick with Tubs, maybe he’ll discuss some old films again. He didn’t. But I still enjoyed his show. And I enjoyed it every morning for the rest of the week.

I didn’t manage to watch The Late Late Show last Friday, but one step at a time and all that.

Liking Ryan Tubridy is not the strange thing that happened to me, not really. It was just a by-product, an example of how mellow I’ve grown since this virus began tearing our lives apart.

Out on my evening strolls, instead of putting the head down and immersing myself in a podcast, I’m now sharing smiles with passers-by, sometimes even saying hello, to strangers. I usually hate strangers.

And this theme has continued throughout my life.

When the person in the queue outside Tesco doesn’t move to the next spot within .5 of a second I don’t curse under my breath like the old me would have done. I wait patiently for them to stop staring at their phone, breathe deeply and think of the 2008 All-Ireland Final.

I’m not saying I’m a changed man, or that I won’t revert to type once this is all over. But being bombarded with sadness and despair all day, every day, has had an impact. It’s provided a little perspective, reminded me of my own insignificance, and how kindness doesn’t cost a thing.