Ta poll i mo bhrístí...

I'd been watching a bit of TG4 in the run-up to my appearing on Ardán and it seems to me that they're getting it right. Anyone who knows me will probably know that I can speak Irish a bit and think - although I'm not one to get into a row over this unless provoked! - Irish people should all be able to speak it. By the time you get to your last year in primary school, there it is; you should be fluent. Peig and Scothscéalta and all that is a different debate entirely, but the ability to converse in Irish is, I think, something we should all have from a pretty early age. Whether you use it or not afterwards is up to you.

Anyway, the biggest problem was always that it was dead boring in school. It looks like TG4 is dealing with that problem head on with some pretty trendy and funny programming, not to mention some great sports coverage. So I wasn't completely shitting myself, I s'pose is what I'm saying, as I sat in the 'car' on the way to Donnybrook on Saturday afternoon - I didn't expect it to be all formal and serious and slaps on the wrist for wrong pronunciation in the genitive case, etc.

Incidentally, my 'car' turned out to be a taxi. But it was a nice big one and the driver gave me a handful of sucky sweets in case my mouth dried up later on in the studio, which I thought was very nice of him.

So I get there anyway, and a pretty red-haired girl with freckles was getting out of a taxi right in front of me. She was carrying a fiddle in a case and I thought that she was just about the Irish-est looking thing I'd seen in my three and a half weeks. Turns out that she was also going to be on Ardán and her name was Bernadette. She used to be one of the musicians on the Lord of the Dance show and was now a Rose, as in of Tralee. Wasn't feckin slumming it any more, was I?? She was absolutely lovely and dead relaxed about being on the telly, so I tried to play it cool and nonchalant but I doubt if I fooled anyone. I was pretty sure I could say whatever I wanted to say, albeit in baby Irish if it came to that, but I was getting worried that the presenter would ask me something and I'd miss it completely and end up doing an Aesop on it.

So then the floor manager came out to Bernadette and myself and invited us on through to what she called - and the word will forever after have happy associations for me - 'hospitality'. It's my new favourite word when used in the context she meant it, which is essentially 'where we keep the beer and vol au vents'.

Bernadette took a detour to wardrobe (it's a bit high maintenance being a Rose I'd say) and I was led through a door to find myself staring at a full bar and nosh spread in a well-appointed room of leather and velvet sofas, teak coffee tables and smiling wait people. I was first there.

"Can I help you sir?"

"You certainly can," I said, reversing my bum into an armchair that felt like it was waiting all its life to receive it. "I'll have a pint of Guinness."

Now THIS is being on the telly.

The previous day Rossa, one of the producers, had asked me on the phone who I'd be bringing with me to the studio. I didn't know I was to bring anyone, but he assured me that I could, nay should!, bring some mates. I'd mentioned it to some people the previous night in McDaids and got four takers. Eddie, Niall, Mairéad and Colm all arrived within ten minutes of me and were soon joining me with bevvies of their own, Eddie in particular eyeing up the smoked salmon and cream cheese crackers.

Next thing I'm filling out a kind of disclaimer form, as I had done the previous day for Network 2. I hand it back and the girl told me to fill in the other side. I turned it over.

"It's for your bank details."

"Huh?" I said, an old pro.

"That's how we pay you."

"Huh?"

"You don't want to be paid?"

This is all going on in Irish, and she's probably wondering if there's been some terrible mistake.

"I get paid?"

"Yeah, unless you'd rather not."

"No, no. That's okay."

I fill out the form, marvelling at how much I feel I should be paying them instead. And how much do I get? Not telling.

Soon we had Bernadette back and then the other guests and their mates and the presenter and the cameramen and the crew and make-up people and producers and everyone, basically, connected with the show. What we had, really, was a party - and a tres cool one at that. It was still over an hour before the show was going out (which was live at 10pm) and the result of all this chatting and drinking and making friends was that no one was nervous when, shortly before ten, the floor manager announced that we'd all have to be getting on out to the studio. Up we all get and into Studio 5 with us, taking up our positions and chatting away as if we were all old mates at a do and were just moving from the kitchen to the lounge cos the football was about to start. Very on the ball from TG4 - what a brilliant way to make people feel welcome and put them at ease.

I'd already been sorted by Make-Up. Didn't take long, although longer than the Network 2 job I'd had done the previous day. I got powder on the backs of my hands too this time, which kind of took me by surprise and had me wondering briefly if there was something wrong with them. Too hairy? Not hairy enough? I mean, you don't really check out the backs of your hands when you're getting ready to go out of a Saturday night or anything, do you? What were they looking for that they decided I needed a quick dab before they could let me on the telly with them? Whatever it was I didn't get a chance to ask because I noticed that one of the other guests was getting her face done behind me. The poor girl had come straight from the Kinsale Sevens rugby tournament that day, where someone had boxed the head off her in a ruck. She had a shiner you could have abseiled down and there was a team of make-up people trying to do a job on it. Under the circumstances I didn't feel like Steve wasn't getting enough attention, the head on her, and so I just went back down to the lads for one last glass of the very playful grenache before we got started.

Bernadette was on first and I was behind the scenes (and a thick black curtain) watching her on a small monitor with some of the crew. Her Irish seemed to be brilliant, although it was hard to hear her with the heart now thumping in me and the blood rushing through my head like it was looking for the way out. I was on next.

Big clap for Bernadette and then I'm walking out into the lights and sitting on the couch beside Páidí, the very cool and very nice presenter. I think the interview lasted about seven or eight minutes, but if I hadn't seen a video of it the next day I wouldn't be able to tell you what we talked about. All I can say is that it was like the first time on a rollercoaster or the first big YMAD gig or the first time a Formula One car sped past me or I heard a crowd of fifty thousand people roar when Ireland scored. Just an incredible buzz. After a little while I pretty much knew that Páidí wasn't going to say anything I couldn't handle (maith thú Páidí!) and then it was all plain sailing. Then it's over and we cut to a break and I get a massive cheer from the lads. By the time the ads are over I'm sitting in the audience with my mates, drinking a big fat glass of wine and feeling like a million quid.

And the really, really weird thing was - the whole evening happened almost exactly like I wrote in Superchick! It was uncanny. Even Páidí and Rossa were laughing at how true to life that bit of the book was.

After the show we all headed back to 'hospitality' (bless it) and partied on for another couple of hours. The coolest thing ever. All my new mates chatting in Irish or English, depending on who was there (not everyone had Irish by any means), lots of well-wishing and joking, everyone just having a really good evening. Then I had to head into town to meet some people and off I went, taxi voucher in my pocket courtesy of TG4. I know I'm harping on it now, but TG4 are the absolute dog's bollocks and my new favourite TV station in the world.

I had a quick look over my shoulder as I left to say goodbye to Páidí who was talking to a French lady.

"Call me Oisín," he said with a wink and got back to his conversation.

Brilliant.

Sla/n...