George Hook*

MONDAY: Good evening and welcome to The Right Hook. Har har! Did you hear what I just said? Well, of course you did, how could you miss it when I’m BELLOWING so loudly? I don’t even come to the studio to present my radio shows. I just lie in bed in Foxrock and BLARE through an open window, and they pick it up in Marconi House on special microphones.

This is the first day of my new lunchtime show, which is exactly the same as the old show, only now I get to go home earlier and avoid all the bloody cyclists breaking red lights in rush hour.

We’re calling it High Noon. Because it starts at noon. GEDDIT? I heard some people in the canteen saying we should have called it Money For Old Rope, but Hook didn’t like that, and men who refer to themselves in the third person always get things their own way.

I start the week by giving Minister of State John Halligan a PIECE OF HOOK’S MIND for daring to upset my beloved Blueshirts. The last thing this country needs is a man of a certain age shooting his mouth off about everything. Who does he think he is — me?

“How did it go?” I ask the team later. “George, you were fantastic,” they reply.

We go through the same routine each day. I need constant reassurance because being paid a FORTUNE for this hammy, cab-driver act is nowhere near enough to boost my fragile ego.

TUESDAY: Time for a new slot on the show offering financial advice to people who don’t earn as much as me. I don’t understand why anyone’s short of cash. If you need money, just get a gig like this haranguing the unholy alliance of communists, atheists and so-called feminists who are ruining this country, and Bob’s your uncle. Today, I turn my eye on Enda. MAN or MOUSE?

He should get in there and BANG some heads together. That’s what Hook’d do, lads. The Irish people want LEADERSHIP. Have I mentioned Winston Churchill yet? Yes, I know the old monster liked shooting natives in the name of Empire and thought white men had a divine right to rule the world; of course I do, there’s nothing Hook doesn’t know.

But Churchill got the job done is what I’m saying. In its hour of need, he saved his country. If Enda won’t do the same for Ireland, Hook will, and he’ll start by making sure you all stop whinging and pay your ruddy water bills. Hook’s had enough of skivers and freeloaders who think the country owes them a living.

The only thing this country owes is a debt of gratitude to me for TELLING IT LIKE IT IS. There’s nothing braver than someone with a Croagh Patrick-sized pile of loot in the bank telling immigrants fleeing war and poverty to TAKE A HIKE.

I’m only saying what you’re thinking. And if you’re not, you should be.

WEDNESDAY: It’s not only our useless political parties who are having a think-in. Hook’s having a thinkin, too. I need to come up with some new ideas to promote the show. I can’t bear the thought of being beaten by Ronan Collins in the lunchtime ratings.

I know, I’ll give some more media interviews. I just need to find a new gimmick to flog.

I’ve already sounded off about the time I was broke, and what a sh** I was to my elderly parents. I’ve confessed to wearing women’s knickers as a young shaver and about writing an erotic novel, and how I’ve been going to see a shrink. (Psychiatrists are great. Costs a bomb but the best thing is they have to listen to you, they can’t switch off or text in to say you’re a walking caricature).

I’ve even cried in interviews. I just need some new sensation to ROAR about and then I’ll ring up Tubridy, blag a slot on The Late Late Show again, and watch the free publicity pile up.

THURSDAY: I’m outraged. OUTRAGED, I tell ya. No surprise there. Every day ending in a Y finds me spitting blood about something. This time I’ve been told that Irish teachers are so lazy they sit the kids down in front of videos all day rather than making them recite the catechism, like we did at Presentation Brothers College in Cork in the good old days. Not that I go on about it more than eight or nine times a week.

Thankfully, Senator Ronan Mullen is on hand to help me put the country straight.

I ask him if he’s ever seen the porn film Debbie Does Dallas (he hasn’t). Then I talk about what a great song Summer Nights from Grease is. What makes me think anyone cares? I don’t, but I had a thought and it BLASTED right out of my mouth. That’s the way Hook rolls.

Only four days in and this show has become like some weird Joycean stream of consciousness. You could criticise it as one almighty MESS, but that would be political correctness GONE MAD and Hook doesn’t stand for that carry on.

FRIDAY: Pat Kenny suggests on air that I be sent to mediate in the Dublin Bus strike. He’s joking, but I’m not. Drivers? Don’t talk to me about bus drivers. Hook could do that job with his eyes closed and hands tied.

Sometimes I think I’m the last voice of common sense in this country. At other times, I know it.

I have a go at cyclists because it must have been all of five minutes since I last did that. I then have a manto-man chat with US shockjock Michael Graham about Donald Trump, before being joined by three gorgeous ladies for a new slot called ‘Here Come The Girls’.

I love women. I even have one at home. The lovely Ingrid has put up with me being right about everything for nearly 50 years. And you think you’ve got problems?

I immediately showcase my new feminist credentials by asking their opinions on the big issues of the day, such as high heels and burkinis. Next week I hope to get Angela Merkel on to talk about her nail care regime.

Some more BOOM and BLUSTER, and we’re done. One week down and every week until the end of time to come. Why did you ever believe I was going to retire?