It's usually a mistake to ask people in Irish comedy how they made it to whatever point they're at. On a bad day, you could get the tortured schooldays stuff, Ireland the farrow-eating sow exporting her comic geniuses, the interminable two-fingers-to-the-nation, stand-up routine on The Late Late . . . On a good one, you could get Pakie O'Callaghan, aka the garrulous, gap-toothed Charlie McCreevy (modelled, oddly, on the voice of an Athy farmer called Barry Fingleton).
So, Pakie, how does the standard, nettle-strewn path correspond with your progression towards Bull Island fame? "Well, I came third in the 1978 window-cleaning competition in the national exhibition centre in Birmingham," he says earnestly. "I run my own cleaning and hygiene company in Cork and Kerry." This, oddly, turns out to be true. O'Callaghan Cleaning and Hygiene employs 95 people.
And that fellow Frank Twomey, aka Celia Larkin and Mary O'Rourke? Yes, you could well remember him from such triumphs as Bosco. And Alan Shortt, who plays Churchill tomorrow night? He was the smallish but perfectly outstanding Rose of Tralee escort or yes, he could also have been that brutal little fecker you once came across, working in AIB. What the three have in common is that they worked on RTE Radio's comedy show, Short Circuit. Small world.
Anyway, it's Tuesday, day one of recording for the season's final Bull Island. And de move is on. For anyone fast losing the will to live with Brian "we-know-what-youwant-in-your-morning-newspaper-andhere's-what-we're-doing-about-it" Looney's relentless television assault, the antidote is on the way.
Cut to shot of Mr Looney (played by Michael Sheridan, written by Catherine Maher), stuffed with sourpuss gravitas, struggling manfully under tons of supplements, sections and guides, but still managing to hector away:
"I'm still Brian Looney - and we live in a high-tech-information-super-roadway-kind-of-world and that's why every week in the Irish Examiner you'll find `Feel 'n' Peel' - a guide to erotic exfoliation, `Cut & Paste' - cosmetic surgery without tears, and also `Scratch 'n' Sniff' - a virtual compendium of men's health . . . "
Cut to Brian, now barely visible above a mountain of this stuff: "But above all, the Irish Examiner is more than just Cork stories masquerading as national news . . . that's why each week our `Regional Supplement' covers the smaller stories that often don't get the coverage they deserve - news from Dublin, Belfast, London and Washington . . . "
Cut to Brian, still bullishly earnest though slowly collapsing under the weight: "The all-new Irish Examiner - are you strong enough to handle it?" Cut to Brian, finally collapsed. Very satisfying.
It's not entirely clear if this push for the southern vote is a Bull Island marketing strategy. If so, it's hardly necessary given the rumour, as reported by Power City Girl, Elva Crowley ("Dis mah-dness mosst end se-une!") that the show is huge in Macroom and all points west. There's even said to be a gang on Inishbofin who build their Friday nights around wine and Bull Island.
The Limerick jury is still out, but the constant harping on about the deluges there - originally evoked by Angela's Ashes - from the Bull Island Weather Room has probably sensitised some of the chippier locals. This week features the usual forecast of clear skies everywhere - except Limerick. Which has just been twinned with Venice. Click to scene of Frank McCourt in a gondola.
The sight of McCourt's big head imposed on a gondola is funny. So is "Felicia" (Crowley again), a cross between a new-agey Mary Coughlan, a Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill and a TG4 we're-from-the Wesht-we're-sexy-people-and-we're-different vibe. With her deep-throat, earthy, weshtern drawl, her stabs at the cupla focail, her flowery shawls and crushed velvets, Felicia delivers her "hints" in candlelight from the usual chaise- longue, amid references to Mars bars, knowing winks and the coy "tuigeann tu?"
Felicia has a growing following. We know this because she used to get only one camera for recording and now she gets three. In fact, by RTE standards, Bull Island is in resource heaven. It gets the most advanced recording studio (digital this, digital that), a team of 14 writers (doubled from the first series); the most astonishing real-hair wigs for "Michael D", "McCreevy" et al (custom-made at £1,000 sterling apiece; details for men with risible rugs from make-up guru, Evelyn Lunny); and the (very expensive) time to indulge itself with real-live Easter bunnies for Felicia's pleasure.
And why? Because RTE is still in shock that it has managed to air two series of a comedy/satire - and summoned the confidence to plan a third - that is not the butt of savagery around the globe. Even staffers without the remotest involvement in its production perceived Bull Island as one of the few beacons of hope when all around them were sinking in post-solstice, post-Millennium, wrist-slashing misery. It manages to draw in more than 400,000 viewers a week and hovers respectably in the top 20.
The end-of-term report would probably read: successful if not spectacular; mildly if not belly-achingly funny; cutting - and getting more so - without being libel-action-material dangerous. It makes its (prewatershed) points without frightening the horses or unsettling the politicians beyond some mild discomfort.