KEEPING A MEMORY ALIVE. . .

I am asked to recreate a John Hinde picture postcard of my late father, an elephant keeper in Dublin Zoo, which was taken in the late 1960s or early 1970s.

I dress in the uniform and cap and get the elephant to salute with her trunk. For my dad it was Sarah, for me it is Yasmin. The result will be seen on TG4 in a few weeks’ time on a programme called Cartai Poist.

It turns out to be an afternoon full of memories because, in my childhood, Dublin Zoo was virtually a second home.

I meet Gerry Creighton, the only man remaining who overlaps with my father’s time, and he is soon to retire after 50 years at the zoo.

Next morning, a quick trot up Killiney Hill with the dogs. It’s like a club where membership only requires a canine. The dogs and their owners are sometimes the only souls you see on the miserable days, and they help keep the lonelier spots safe for everyone.

I return to the house and I’m looking at the job jar, which is still alarmingly full. Once I’m back working at full tilt, there’ll be little time for chores. So the afternoon is spent re-varnishing the garden furniture, which has taken a beating from the Irish summer. It should be sun-bleached, instead it’s sad.

On my last Friday night at liberty until Christmas, Kathy and I head for Ragazzi in Dalkey. Just as well it’s only a short walk; there’s never any question of driving home.

GOODBYE ‘SUMMER’

On foot of an invitation from John and Marie Hughes, we head for what is billed as the last garden party of the summer. We’ve known John ever since that first precocious appearance of The Corrs on Kenny Live. His belief in their talent was unwavering, and he risked all to make it happen for them.

His garden is one of the nicest in the city, the trees heavy with fruit, the flowering shrubs a triumph. The lawns are bedecked with marquees to keep us dry but the day holds. It’s like the AGM of the old friends’ club — Paul Brady, Shay Healy, Diarmuid Gavin, Anita Notaro, Gerry Ryan, Tara Blaise, assorted Corrs. Home to feed the girls, feed the dogs, and watch a movie.

I return to RTE Radio on Monday, and today is going to be typical of Sundays for the rest of the year. Read the papers cover to cover, listen to This Week, catch as much sport on radio and TV as I can. I visit my elderly mother who is in a nursing home. I like to think that she still knows who I am, and that my clowning around entertains her a little.

Then onto the internet to download the briefs prepared by the researchers for Monday morning’s Today show. I spend an hour or two getting up to speed.

BACK TO WORK

Monday is groundhog day. I take the motorbike to work; it takes 20 minutes. On a bad day it could be an hour and 20 in the car. Back on radio until 12, a quick look at Tuesday’s running order (the briefs will follow by e-mail), a 12.30pm planning meeting with the Late Late team, followed by a canteen lunch. I feel I’ve never been gone. Dog-walking, dinner, Kathy to a PTA meeting and the second part of Whistleblower complete the day.

Tuesday is Monday all over again. Kathy, the demon gardener, has crocked her neck and shoulder again, which leads to dizzy spells and migraine, so off to her chiropractor in Clontarf, without whom her life would be a misery.

The first drafts of the Wexford Late Late briefs arrive by e-mail. The rehearsal schedule is tight: my bit’s on Thursday night, but the musical acts will practise all day Friday until just 50 minutes before transmission.

After the radio show on Wednesday, a visit to Tony in the wardrobe department to sort out a suit for Friday. Paul Hession, who happens to be in the building, cuts my hair. My mop had begun to look a bit like Radovan Karadzic’s.

After the radio show on Thursday, I drive to Wexford for a photocall at 4pm. Check into White’s Hotel, rehearse, have a pint with the gang and get to bed because I’ve got to drive early in the morning to Waterford for my Friday radio show. Then it’s back to Wexford for the gala night. What a start to the new season.

Pat Kenny presents the Late Late Show

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