Niall Boylan is probably the hardest working DJ in Ireland – he’s certainly the only broadcaster who hosts two chat shows every weekday. The Dubliner has a daytime slot on 4FM at 12-2pm and is back on at night, from 9pm to 1am. It’s a gruelling schedule that has him knackered a lot of the time.

All the hard work paid off, however, when the Niall Boylan Show scooped the Best Scheduled Talk Show in the world at the New York Radio Awards in 2017. In the process, he beat his idol Howard Stern, who was also shortlisted for the award.

“Any radio shows that tell you they didn’t put an entry in is a liar!” Niall laughs. “They’re just saying that because they didn’t win!”

Boylan confesses that he still can’t believe what happened.

“To be picked out of 32 countries as the best scheduled talk show in the world – in the same category as Howard Stern was just amazing,” he reflects. “My inspiration was Howard Stern. He doesn’t care what he says: he has an opinion and he’s not stifled.”

Boylan refuses, however, to be defined as a ‘shock jock’.

“When people describe me as a shock jock, or say ‘You do it just to be controversial’, I find that a bit insulting. I only say things I believe in,” he insists.

He may have been a shit-stirrer, but not anymore. “The show has changed,” he says. “I think I’ve changed. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become a bit more conservative and more mature about subjects.” He’s a big fan of the Hot Press Interview.“I like the style,” he offers. “The way you actually pose the questions. Normally, in interviews you don’t see the actual question: you’re trying to put things into context. It’s more like radio on paper.”

There is a commitment that people won’t be shafted – as they too often are in the media.

“I’ve been shafted many a time. I’m well used to that,” Niall says, laughing. “But do you know what? It doesn’t really bother me anymore. You have to have a thick skin when you’re doing what I’m doing every day.”

Jason O’Toole: What type of character where you growing up?

Niall Boylan: I was extremely shy. I was nervous because I was bullied a lot in school. I used to hide behind the bike sheds in primary school and have my lunch there, because one guy used to take my lunch off me. I became very introverted.

Did that have an effect on you?

I ended up getting alopecia when I was eight. At nine, I lost all my hair. And that made the bullying even worse. Kids used to call me ‘patch head’, ‘baldy’, all sort of names. It wasn’t just the kids – the teachers as well! I remember one teacher saying – if I didn’t shut up, he’d pull the rest of my hair out! We weren’t living in a very politically correct world in those days.

How did you handle the bullying?

I wasn’t very social. You felt you were safe once you came home – unlike the kids nowadays who bring the bullying home in their pocket with their smart phones. I became a ‘house hatcher’. I’d sit in my bedroom, listening to music, radio, practising being a DJ on my little turntables – with flashing lights. My father used to go bonkers because I ran up the electricity bill. Also, much to the upset of the ESB, I blew the fuse for the whole road one day because I had so many lights plugged in.

The alopecia must have had an impact on you…

It has a huge effect on your self-confidence and self-esteem. You’re afraid to go out because everywhere you went, people were looking at you as if there was something wrong with you. I had a phobia of mirrors – I wouldn’t look in a mirror. At weddings, I wouldn’t get into a group photograph. I still have a huge problem like that. I always felt my life was full of bullying: people staring, people pointing. I think a lot of why I work on radio, rather than television, is to do with that. When you’re in a studio there’s no one looking at you, no one judging you.

When was the last time your hair fell out?

I don’t have any hair! Once you have it, alopecia keeps coming back. There’s no cure.

It looks like you’ve a fine head of hair…

That’s hair replacement. It looks real enough. I can’t get plugs. If you put plugs in they fall out again, because my scalp won’t retain hair. Because alopecia is basically white blood cells attacking your own hair follicles. This is like a very fine mesh that’s surgically bonded to your scalp, and then the hair is put into that, rather than into your scalp. It’s not like a wig. I don’t have to hang it up at night (laughs). I can go swimming or dive out of a plane – it’s not going to come off. But it does require maintenance. If I had male pattern baldness, it wouldn’t bother me. But alopecia is different: your skin is white because you don’t have a shadow on your skin from where you used to have hair. You don’t have the Phil Collins look. Alopecia looks like you have cancer.

What type of music were you into growing up?

I’m an old school rocker. Pink Floyd, Queen, AC/DC, Tangerine Dream. I was a Hot Press reader. I was never into pop music – although I became a nightclub DJ. I’ve worked in all the biggest nightclubs in the country – Club M and Tamango – for 26 years.

I’m sure you experimented with drugs.

When I was about 18, I got my first real job. I used to go on the train every morning with this guy who turned out to be a drug dealer! He was a nice drug dealer, but he was a drug dealer (laughs). Every morning he’d be getting me to try stuff. I was his guinea pig. I started off by smoking hash. I tried speed, LSD. We used to go out to Howth, picking mushrooms. It was a crazy time (laughs). When I got to about 22, I noticed that the smoking was making me a bit stupid. I was becoming lethargic on it. So, I stopped and I haven’t taken anything since. It was probably a two or three-year phase where I tried pretty much everything – except cocaine or heroin. I never did ecstasy. This was ’79. I don’t drink either. I might take a glass of Tia Maria at Christmas.

Which drug did you enjoy the most?

When you say ‘enjoy’, in hindsight I didn’t enjoy any of them really. But at the time, probably mushrooms. We used to pick them ourselves in Deer Park Golf Club. We’d be chased off the green by golfers (laughs). You know, six o’clock in the morning looking for mushrooms. I remember taking 30 mushrooms and going to see Billy Connolly live in the Olympia. And all the man had to do was look out at the audience and it was the funniest thing in the world (laughs).

What was your worst experience?

Probably LSD. I did it two or three times. But it scared me because you were genuinely hallucinating. We were in Saint Anne’s Park and I was after taking this LSD called Red Star, and some guy told me that the Germans had invaded the beach! I believed him, because there were track marks on the ground from a JCB! He was telling us all to hide in trenches. It was the maddest thing in the world. But it did frighten the life out of me. I never did it again (laughs).

Growing up, how important was sex for you?

I was sheltered because I was introverted. I had only about five girlfriends before I got married. I wasn’t really the player type. I wasn’t having one-night stands. I lost my virginity at about 17, which was the most disappointing day in my life.

Why?

I didn’t know what to do (laughs). I could be rude and say I couldn’t find it! It was all over in five minutes. I was going, ‘This is an anti-climax!’ Or maybe I climaxed too quickly! I then got going with a steady girlfriend and it was a lot better, because you were taking your time. I think sex is better when you’re in love. I’m not a one night-stand-er.

George Hook once said he loved wearing women’s knickers…

None of that shit appeals to me. I wouldn’t be into wearing knickers. But I’ve an adventurous sex life. I’d say no to practically nothing. I’d try anything once. When I’m having sex, my goal is to make sure that my partner is happy. And once she’s happy, I’m grand. I don’t enjoy sex unless I genuinely believe that my partner is happy. I’m not one of these guys who’s just bang bang, roll over, have a smoke and go to sleep. I couldn’t do that. I’d feel guilty. So, lots of foreplay: lots of touching; lots of massage.

Did you ever question your sexuality?

No. I was always only attracted to women. Even now – and don’t get me wrong; I’ve loads of gay friends – I’m uncomfortable looking at two guys kissing in front of me! Just like two gay guys might be uncomfortable looking at me, heterosexually, kissing somebody. When I say uncomfortable, I’m not going to run off or tell them to go away. But, to me, the word ‘normal’ has always been used in this debate about homosexuality and heterosexuality, and I believe the word ‘normal’ is part of the English language: it is subjective. To me, two guys being together is not ‘normal’! To them, it’s perfectly normal. To them, looking at a man and a woman is not normal. So, I think it’s a subjective word. I don’t understand homosexuality because I’m not homosexual.

Where’s the most unusual place you’ve ever had sex?

On a beach in Marbella, in the middle of the day.

That takes a bit of neck…

I know. There was nobody around. It was alright (laughs).

Did the thought of getting caught make it more exciting?

Yeah, I think it does. There’s always that fear: you’re all over the newspapers if you’re caught, aren’t you (laughs)? That was probably the most exciting place.

Have you ever been with a prostitute?

No. I’d rather stay at home and play with myself (laughs) if I was that desperate. I wouldn’t want to pay for it.

But do you think prostitution should be legalised?

Absolutely, yes. Recently, we were talking about a woman’s rights and autonomy. Well, those same women should be out on the street fighting for the rights of prostitution. Because, unfortunately, we criminalised prostitution (by criminalising the client – JOT) last year in this country, which is outrageous. I understand that there are women being trafficked and that should always be illegal. Any man or woman who’s responsible for trafficking should be buried in jail. But if a woman chooses to do it, for whatever reason, even out of necessity, it’s her body, her choice.

There’s strong evidence that the so-called Swedish model, introduced here last year, results in driving prostitution underground and makes it more dangerous…

Absolutely. I’m sure many of those women now are more worried. A lot of women used to work together in twos in apartments where they could keep an eye on each other. Realistically, how are the Guards going to catch people? Are they going to be lying under the bed waiting for the money to change hands?

You’ve talked in the past about how you were adopted. How did you discover this?

My father drank a lot. He was an alcoholic. It was New Year’s Eve and I’d gone to bed. I could hear my father and mother arguing downstairs. She was saying, ‘Please don’t tell him’. I could hear him roaring: ‘Niall, come down. I want to talk to you’. I was only 12. He said, ‘I want to let you know that you’re adopted. You’re not mine’. I went, ‘What?’ At 12-years-of-age it doesn’t sink in very quickly when you’ve just been woken up. I was sitting there going, ‘What does it even mean?’ And he said, ‘Yeah, you’re adopted, right. You can go on back up to bed’. My mother was in tears. She said, ‘I’ll talk to you in a few minutes’. I went back to bed and went to sleep.

Did you have that conversation with your mother?

My mother never mentioned it again for the rest of her life, until the day before she died. It was the weirdest thing. When I was 18, I became a little bit obsessive about it for six or seven years. I’d go into town and go through the registered births. There were times you started looking, and then you’d put it in the back of your mind for two or three years, and then come back to it again. I did that a few times.

How did it affect you?

I was adopted at 18 months. I think it’s a factor in a lot of my problems. I’m deeply insecure in every shape and form. I panic. I’m paranoid. I always think of worst case scenarios. In my relationship now, even Karen, she talks about the fact that I’m constantly hugging and holding onto her. She loves it. I’m deeply insecure because of the fact that I was in a home for 18 months in a cot in a room with 30 other cots as a baby. You don’t get held – maybe there’s some psychological effect there.

How old were you when you tracked down your biological mother?

I was in my early 30s. I was getting married and I needed my birth cert – because if you’re adopted, you don’t have your original birth certificate; you have a baptismal certificate or an adoption certificate. So, I got a hankering and started searching again and I found out.

What was the first meeting like?

After all the years of searching, it was an anti-climax. I don’t know what anybody’s expecting from it, because you can’t force a relationship with a person. It doesn’t feel like she’s my mother. To me, my mother was the woman who raised me. This person was important because without her, I wouldn’t be on this planet. You think, ‘I should be feeling something here. I should be feeling a chemistry’. But I didn’t. I felt nothing. I felt sorry for her. She was upset. She said she was sorry. She was a lovely woman.

How many times did you see her?

About four times. Every now and then I went back to her out of guilt.

Why did you stop seeing her?

The last time – about five years ago – I brought her up a present for Christmas. As I was going, she said, ‘You know you can call me Mam, if you want’. And that really upset me. It made me feel really weird. I’m not blaming her. I felt sorry for her. But it stopped me going back.

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So you never called her Mam?

No. It was disrespectful to the woman that raised me. My mother and father are both dead. It would be disrespectful to her memory to call somebody else Mam.

Did you find out who your father is?

She used to clean the church. She said, ‘He worked in the Church. I didn’t want to have another baby. I didn’t want to have sex’. She comes across as a very vulnerable type of person. So, from that, I gather that she was raped or sexually assaulted. I just know that he worked in the Church and lived on Ormond Quay.

It sounds like he was a priest!

Well, to me, it could only mean a priest. She started saying something about ‘a man of the cloth’. And I’m going, ‘Are you telling me that my father’s a priest?’ She said, ‘Can we talk about something else’. I didn’t push her because it was upsetting her. I would be 100 percent sure that she was taken advantage of, probably by a priest.

You were told by the authorities that you had a younger sister. Were you angry with your biological mother for not telling you?

Maybe she was told by the adoption society not to tell me. I don’t know. But, yeah, I was pissed off. It was the weirdest thing. It was quite shocking when I found out later on that my sister had requested information as well, ten years previously. So, they should’ve looked at the files and said, ‘The sister wants to know if she has any siblings, so we should’ve just told the both of them’. But they didn’t. And they still wouldn’t tell me. I said, ‘You just told me I have a sister and now you’re not going to tell me who it is!’ (They said), ‘We probably have to contact her ourselves. We don’t know where she is. We believe she’s in England somewhere’. I said, ‘You might never be able to contact her’. ‘We know, yeah. But we can’t give you that information’.

You hit the front pages in 2014 when you talked on the radio about the shock of discovering you had a sister.

And I then got a phone call from the radio station that a woman had rung from the UK. She said she had read the story online –and that she was my sister! I was very lucky. I rang her. We chatted for about two hours. We talked about the fact that – growing up – we lived literally about 500 yards from each other. We were raised 500 yards away from each other! I knew a lot of her friends. She knew a lot of my friends. I could’ve ended up dating the bloody girl, because we were only a year apart in age.

Do you keep in touch with her?

We’ve met a few times. We stay in touch on Facebook. Again, similar to my mother, you can’t force a relationship. So, we do talk to each other now and again – Christmas, parties, and stuff like that.

Your mother told you, ‘I didn’t want to have another baby’. You could have an older sibling too?

I could have another brother or sister out there, probably about two years older. This is what I was told. Maybe her memory has faded; maybe she wasn’t pregnant before that. She’s 85 now, so her memory isn’t the best. She’s very confused.

Have you suffered from depression?

I went through some of the worst days of my life last year. My marriage broke up after 25 years. For legal reasons – because there’s an in-camera rule and I’m going through a separation/divorce – I can’t talk about why we broke up. But, believe me, it’s not something I expected or wanted. It was a tough time for about four months, taking it all in.

How low did you get?

For about four months, I was so depressed. There was one night I genuinely felt like there was no way out. I was up on Howth Head, five hours sitting in the car. And if it wasn’t for a good friend of mine on the phone, I don’t know what I would’ve done.

You seriously contemplated ending it all?

Yes, absolutely. I always thought I was stronger than that. I seem to have some built-in mechanism that stops me from feeling like that. I listen to other people’s stories about suicide all the time on the radio and I always go, ‘That wouldn’t be me’. You never realise what it’s like to be in that place until you’re there. You feel there is absolutely no way out. Where you’ve tried everything. You’ve given it everything. You’ve surrendered everything. And still can’t get back what you want.

What did you want?

I didn’t want my wife back: I wanted the family back. I wanted that unit back. Because I’m a real family person. I’ve three kids: 22, 17, and the youngest is 16. And, thankfully, I did a good job. They were always well looked after, never wanted for anything. I felt that my duty in life is to provide for them and to make sure they had stability. And when a marriage breaks down, you lose that stability. It’s like somebody takes the foundations from under the house. And that really upset me. I was desperate to hang onto it, no matter what happened, for the sake of them. But, unfortunately, I couldn’t do it. It was probably the only time in my life that I felt I’d really failed.

It must’ve been tough going on air throughout this crisis…

Helena O’Toole, my producer, said, ‘How can you do this under the circumstances?’ Helena became not just my producer at the time, but one of my best friends because she was so supportive and was great for advice. I’d tell her everything and we talked for hours. She’s one of the most amazing people I’ve ever worked with. She’s half the show. She took into consideration that I couldn’t work at 100 percent, but I could still do the show. The prep part, the research – I couldn’t focus. But I could concentrate on the show. When I walked into that studio I felt it was a safe place and my mood changed just for that two hours. And then I’d come back out and I was depressed again.

Did you find yourself crying a lot?

Yeah, I did. Like a baby. I don’t think Helena had ever seen a grown man cry until that particular point in life. She’s only 26.

Time is a great healer.

Thankfully, I learnt to accept it. I then met the most wonderful person I’ve ever met: Karen whom I’m still with today. She’s amazing. That helps you to move on as well. I fell in love again.

What made you fall in love with Karen?

She’s just such a gentle, supportive, affectionate, beautiful and amazing person. It was probably the best thing to ever happen to me. The best things ever to happen to me in life – in order – are my children, Karen and winning the World Radio Award.

It sounds like you’ve bounced back.

Absolutely. I’m fine. The situation now just makes me angry, more than sad. I’m still a father, but I’m not a husband anymore. You go from being a husband and part of a family to being somebody’s who’s only there to provide money. Now, I’m still there to provide love for the children.

It has been said that men are often badly treated by the legal system – especially in relation to family law cases.

Absolutely. I think that’s starting to change a little bit. But not quick enough, unfortunately. It doesn’t matter what type of a woman is involved, she’s always considered the primary carer and men always get the wrong end of the stick. Say, for example, if a guy cheats on his wife, he’s immediately asked to leave the family home. And usually he’ll walk away. And then he’s screwed for every penny you can get for maintenance, and he’ll continue to pay the mortgage. Whereas if a woman does it, it’s the opposite – the man is still fucked out of the family home and has to pay the mortgage and the maintenance. Women are never seen to do anything wrong when it comes to family law.

I’e seen the complaint that some women are prepared to paint the father in a horribly negative light, to try and deny access, as a form of punishment or revenge…

Absolutely. The line that really gets me, it comes from many women’s organisations, is this: women should be believed. Absolutely not. That’s the most egotistical statement I’ve ever heard. Women should not be believed – women should be listened to and supported in every way. But the person accused should also be listened to and supported in any way until we find out the truth. We should never just believe somebody because an organisation says we should.

What’s your take on the whole #MeToo movement?

I’m all for women being empowered. I think the idea of posting people’s names or calling people out without due process is outrageous. If there is due process, absolutely. If a person is convicted of a wrongdoing and illegal – absolutely lock him up. I have no question about that. I empathise with any woman who has been sexually assaulted. The whole #MeToo thing, if anybody’s a scumbag they should be called out to be a scumbag – but through a court of law. The court of law will decide if they’re a scumbag or not. And until then, we shouldn’t be entitled to know their name. I have faith in the justice system. And if we start to abandon that because of social media, and we all of a sudden believe that social media is the judge and jury of the year 2018, I think we’ve lost ourselves and we’re in deep trouble.

A lot of men – and indeed women – seem to be coming to the view that there really is a new sexism – and it is among women, who say insulting things about men in general and no one seems to mind...

Absolutely, yeah. There’s a huge double standard in society. I agree with equal rights for women. I agree with equal opportunities for women. Look, there’s a limit to how equal we can be as men and women because we’re not equal – we’re different. We obviously have to try to make the same opportunities for everybody – and I agree with that. But I think the new wave of feminism has turned into some sort of man hating device. And it upsets me. It really does upset me to see how women’s groups and organisations speak about men and they’re never pulled up on it. And if any man dared pull them up on it, all of a sudden, he’s a misogynist. If any man even tries to defend men they’re misogynists.

You seem to be suggesting that men need more support groups.

Men are under-represented. We don’t have enough men’s organisations. When I went through the demons, the darkest moments in my life, if I was a woman I would have a lot more support, and governmental support, and funding support. But, as a man, you don’t have the same support. We’ve one organisation in this country for support for men. The same thing when we talk about domestic violence: it’s always about women. Four in every nine cases, according to the UK, it’s actually men who suffer. When asked in the Dáil, I think Gerry Adams stood up and said, ‘We don’t have the statistics because nobody even bothered to research it’. Maybe that’s men’s fault as well for not coming forward. I believe men and women are equally important and should be treated as equally important.

You had a reputation, at one stage, for being a bit of a shit-stirrer on radio, encouraging racists and bigots to spout provocative shit – is that accurate?

Yeah, you’re right. It’s changed a lot now. This was what good radio is – it was controversial radio. I always believed it was important to hear a racist or a bigot or a homophobe, or whatever, because if we didn’t hear them we would never discuss it. I know you can say it’s hate speech – and, yeah, it is. And I always challenged it. I always believed that it was important that people heard these things: like, here’s the head of the KKK or some Baptist nutjob spouting bigoted nonsense. I’ve interviewed a paedophile. People said there was no need – I absolutely believe there is, because if we don’t understand why these sick, depraved individuals want to do this, we’ll never be able to tackle it. It’s important we find out why. I’ve interviewed guys who were in love with their dogs: bestiality. It was the most uncomfortable interview I’ve ever done. It was bizarre – a guy that was in love with his Alsatian, and having sex with it on a nightly basis. That was a really uncomfortable conversation. I don’t do as much of that now.

Have you received any death threats?

I’ve gone to the police three times. Not so much now, as my style has changed. But, in my early days, in 98FM and FM104, we didn’t have social media at the time – so people didn’t have a way to express their opinions apart from talk shows on radio. I’d have came across as a lot more opinionated. Yeah, we got a lot of death threats. We had drug dealers on air. We had prisoners on air. We had people who weren’t nice people on air, generally. The regulations weren’t as tight. We got away with a lot more because the world wasn’t as politically correct as now. You just got mixed up with the wrong people on air where you pissed a lot of people off. And the following day you’d come in and there would be a message on the answering machine with somebody saying they’re going to kill you: watch your back! I got beaten up once in 1999. This gang stole my car while I was doing the interview! I was rolled up on the ground and they were kicking. It’s over, I thought. I ended up with three cracked ribs; I had a patch on my eye for fours months where one of them kicked me in the eye, and a concussion. But it made good radio (laughs).

Who do you admire on Irish radio?

I would put Pat Kenny up there. I know he’s not like me and he doesn’t give his opinion. But from a news and current affairs point of view, and from an interviewing perspective, he’s the best we’ve got. Ivan Yates is also exceptional.

Who do you feel is the most overrated presenter?

Ray D’Arcy. I don’t think he’s good. I don’t think he’s worth the money RTÉ are paying him. I’m sure he’s a nice guy; I don’t know him. I just never rated the guy. I always felt he sounds like he’s nervous. I don’t listen to Joe Duffy. I can’t listen to it. I understand the rules of the broadcasting authority; I understand the rules of impartiality, but the Joe Duffy show just takes that to a whole new level. It’s impartiality taken to an extreme. The BAI are quite lenient, they’re not as strict as people think they are. Joe Duffy does what he does. It’s not my type of radio. He’s basically a referee. What’s he on for? An hour-and-a-quarter – and he’s getting, whatever, €400,000 a year! Don’t get me wrong: I wouldn’t turn it down. But taxpayers’ money could be put to better use. We can put together two shows in a day for probably less than a quarter of the price.

Do you think the guys in RTÉ look down at the likes of you?

Oh, yeah. Absolutely. National radio has always looked down at independent radio stations. They think they’re John Wayne in the big picture. RTÉ needs people like me. They need people who are honest. They need people who will actually talk to people on the air properly. I can be angry; I can be sad, I can be having the craic; I can be empathetic; I can be compassionate. Whereas RTÉ comes across as very monotone sometimes. I’d work in RTÉ tomorrow if I was offered a huge amount of money (laughs).

I’m sure the Pope’s visit will be discussed on air by your listeners.

Do you really think he’s going to come after the referendum? I think might just pull a sickie on this one. Ireland is not the wonderful, conservative, religious country he once thought it was, if you look at 66% of people voting in favour of abortion.

What would you like to say to the Pope if you met him?

I’d say, ‘Do you really believe all this? Do you believe it’s possible?’ I’m an atheist – so I don’t believe in fairytales. The Vatican is just a marketing organisation for what is essentially the largest cult in the world. I don’t believe in some higher power. People often say to me, ‘What happens after you die?’ And I say, ‘What happened to you before you were born? Do you remember that? I don’t remember it’ (laughs). I think we find it very difficult to understand that when you close your eyes for the last time, you’re never going to see anything again. I don’t hate religious people. They’re delusional, but I don’t hate them.

Would you consider running for the Dáil?

Yeah. I wouldn’t rule out politics. I have a huge interest in it. But I don’t think people would like me (laughs). The problem is: I wouldn’t agree with all the lefties – I’d have to kick them all out first. I’d ban every single one of them from the Dáil because they’re all mental. They’re all into a free-for-all. You know, this whole idea of robbing from the rich and giving to the poor, and having a go at Apple and multinationals all the time – they don’t really know the hand that’s feeding them! We’ve one of the most generous social welfare states in the world. We’re almost encouraging people to do nothing. And the lefties are all for it. According to them, we should all just sit on our holes all day and do nothing and claim the welfare, and sure we’ll get a free gaff. They wanted to put it in the Constitution that everybody should be entitled to a free home. Sure, why would we bother working? So, I don’t think the people would like me. Well, the lefties wouldn’t.

The Niall Boylan Show is on Classic Hits 4FM, Monday to Friday at 12-2pm, and at night from 9pm-1am.