This Disarming Man

Bicycle safety helmet lying on the table in front of him, journalist and broadcaster John Murray is already waiting when Hot Press arrives into the Burlington Hotel lobby on a cold Tuesday morning in Dublin. Although he offers a firm, friendly handshake, the bald-headed 49-year-old doesn’t look especially enthusiastic about the prospect of the hour ahead.
He has agreed to do this interview in order to promote the new charity CD, A Murray Christmas. Featuring seasonal songs and inspirational readings originally broadcast on RTÉ Radio 1’s The John Murray Show (the hour-long lifestyle and entertainment programme he presents weekdays from 9am, filling Ryan Tubridy’s old slot), contributors include Jack L, Sinéad O’Connor, Declan O’Rourke, Wallis Bird, Sharon Shannon, The Coronas, John Spillane, Luan Parle, and others. A percentage of each album sale will go to Aware, the Irish organisation which offers support to people suffering from depression.
“Is this interview just about the CD?” he asks, warily. He sighs and mock-shudders when informed that it’s to be a little more in-depth than that. “To be perfectly honest, I usually prefer to be the one asking the questions...”
OLAF TYARANSEN: What’s your earliest memory?
JOHN MURRAY: My first day of school, at St. Mary’s National School in Tallaght. After a few days they thought I had a good singing voice so they used to get me up in front of the class to entertain them. I can recall one particular day sitting on the school desk in my short pants giving it a few bars of ‘This Old Man’. Then I had this habit, which my four sisters and brother found hilarious, of breaking into jokes that didn’t have a punchline. This was part of my act, so maybe it was the first sign that I might turn out to be a broadcaster.
I presume the Tallaght you grew up in was more like a village?
Yeah. It’s interesting because my folks first moved to Bancroft, in Tallaght, in 1963. At the time, there were big ads in the Sunday Press for this wonderful new housing development at the foothills of the Dublin mountains and the advertising sales pitch was, “Come live in the new Foxrock”.
Where do you live now?
Rathfarnham. My mother is still in the same house that we moved into in ’63. But yeah, growing up in Tallaght, it was only really in the early ‘70s that the building began. It was extraordinary, because my first job in journalism was as a 15-year-old working for the Tallaght Echo. In fifth year in school, I used to do match reports, but I’d be in parts of Tallaght that I never knew existed, covering teams I never knew existed. The population went from 5,000 to 50,000 almost overnight.
Where did you come in your family?
I’m the second youngest of six. Four girls, two boys. I was born in 1963, shortly before my folks moved to Tallaght.
Your father, Vivian Murray, was a successful businessman...
Public servant would more accurately describe him. He would have started in the Post Office, and then gone into some jobs in the private sector. He moved into work with what was then the National Development Association, which brought about the ‘Buy Irish’ and ‘Guaranteed Irish’ campaigns. Back in the ‘70s, he had a very high profile, explaining mean. When he took over that role, it became the
Irish Goods Council. He was Chief Executive. He was also chairman of BIM, and later chairman of An Post.
He gave his life and soul to that campaign throughout his life, in the promotion of Irish goods. So I see him more as a public servant.
Was he a big influence on you?
Huge. One of my big regrets is that he wasn’t alive to see me get this job. In a way, his death and the experience of it changed me – he died of lung cancer, and some people with cancer can have an easier time than others, but he had probably everything you could throw at him.
Was he a smoker?
Yeah. Cigars. His cancer never let up. It was a pretty excruciating experience for him, but for all of the family it was an enriching experience. Perhaps, in the way things happen, it was meant to be that he went when he did, but in a way, without the experience of his illness and what it teaches you about bereavement – he was the first person really close to me to die, apart from a couple of friends when I was growing up – you learn an awful lot about life and it makes the job I have now... I won’t say ‘easier’. It helps in terms of your life experience. So many of the people I deal with are people who have trauma in their lives.
So you have more empathy.
Yeah, I do. I’m not saying that I couldn’t do the job that I’m doing if I was 10 years younger. But I feel sometimes that what you experience yourself helps you a lot. All my siblings would agree, and even my mother, that even though we were watching our father die, the 18 months of the illness was very enriching for us all, and we grew even closer together. There isn’t a day that I don’t think of Dad
and that experience.
Was it an affluent upbringing?
My mother was a schoolteacher and my father was a public servant. We didn’t want for anything. We had regular holidays. I think very early on, the two of them instilled in us the importance of a work ethic. You get nothing for nothing. I recall myself and my sister wanted bikes when we were teenagers and they said, “Well, if you want bikes, paint the house.” So we painted the house.
Was it a religious household?
I remember having the head buried in the chair, reciting the Rosary. I think it was only weekends. They were not overtly religious, but like many church-goers. The Dominicans just up the road would have been regular visitors to the house to watch
Match Of The Day back in the day. I was an altar boy for the five-year compulsory service, aged eight to 13.
So yeah, a standard Catholic upbringing. I’m still a practicing Catholic.
So you believe in God?
I do (nods). I go to mass most Sundays at the local church in Rathfarnam.
Was your faith not shaken by all the Church scandals?
Yeah, I suppose. But in a way, I think your faith is something very personal and if you believe in something, if you believe in God, you strip it away. And I’m thinking of all that’s happened and all that’s been revealed; it’s horrendous and no one can take away from that. I regard my faith as a separate thing. I reckon also that, unfortunately, a lot of good priests have been tarred with the same brush. There have been times when I haven’t been a frequent mass-goer. Maybe as I grow older I’m a little bit more firm in my faith than I was 10 or 15 years ago. I pray quite often. I pray daily.
Do you pray before doing your show?
Quite often. Cycling on the bike I might say a few prayers or pray to Dad. Sometimes I might pray a bit more in times of great need. It’s an important part of
my life.
Have you been following the Savita Halappanavar story?
Of course. I think it’s heartbreaking, especially when you hear the husband speak about what happened. And now there’s a public groundswell, even though it will be divisive and it will be contentious, I do think there’s an onus on the politicians to deal with it and to legislate based on the reports they’ll get.
Have you covered it on the show?
No. We’ve dealt with a lot of human interest stories. We’ve dealt with pregnancy, with childbirth, with mothers… but more on an individual basis. I’m not saying we wouldn’t, but I suppose the debate has been so strictly about the political, medical and legal ramifications that we’re encouraged to leave it to Morning Ireland and Pat Kenny.
Would you be pro-choice yourself?
Yeah, pro-choice, yeah. Given the statement they released, the Irish
bishops have dug their heels in… Yeah, but they come from a position where they are espousing the Catholic Church view. I think in this instance... Well, I hope we’re mature enough as a country that if it does arise and if efforts are made to legislate that people realise that we have to. We can’t have a repeat of what happened in Galway.
Were you popular in school?
I was a bit of a showman. In primary school you don’t really think about it that much. We’d a great old band of guys who grew up on the same road and went to the same school and played sports. I found it easy to make friends. Secondary school, I found tough because most of the kids went to Tallaght Community
School, whereas I ended up going to Synge St. The first few years I found tough and I would have considered myself quite a loner initially. Whatever happened, I got the hang of it to the extent that I would have been, by Inter Cert, part of the set-up. I suffered the ignominy, though, of getting thrown out after my Inter. I was expelled.
Why were you expelled?
Looking back now, it was a remarkable event because the idea was that, after the Inter, we’d all go off and get summer jobs, so we’d go into the school office and be given a standard letter saying ‘John Murray is of good standing’, or whatever. But I was given two letters – the first one a letter of reference for potential employers, and the second one saying, ‘Due to repeated disruption of classes over the last term, unfortunately we can’t find a place for you in the senior grade at our school.’
How did your parents react?
Well, I was absolutely astounded because I had done nothing violent or untoward. I had admittedly spent a lot of time outside the classroom door for acting the maggot. My parents and siblings would have had no idea. They would have thought I was St. John (laughs). So suddenly I was left with the task of going home and explaining to the parents. I have a distinct memory of my brother, who was a
lot wilder, laughing at the idea that I was thrown out for disrupting class. Actually, by the end of the night we were all joking and laughing because my parents were still convinced there was something I wasn’t telling them. In the end there was a change of principal and essentially I went down on bended knee in August and pleaded to be taken back in. They relented on the basis that I was to behave like a saint.
And did you behave like a saint?
No! But it was great, once I got back in. The last two years were fantastic. I remember acting in a Brian Friel play – The Enemy Within. Hugh O’Regan would have been a schoolmate of mine, the property developer. We left in ’81 but I wouldn’t have much contact with the lads I was in Synge St. with.
When did you have your first drink?
I was 15. I was down in Wexford with friends who also happened to run a bar. I was always intrigued. I’d never even sipped beer. I was told that you have to start with whiskey and I made the mistake of drinking whiskey as if I would drink a beer. It was a mug of whiskey – he had sneaked it out – and I spent the night vomiting and I realised that whiskey wasn’t for me. Not the best of introductions. I had my first beer around the same time, but my first taste of alcohol was that whiskey.
Do you still drink now?
Yeah. I love a pint. I love a glass of wine as well. I suppose I’d maybe go out once a week, and maybe stay in and watch a box-set and have a few glasses of wine with my wife, Miriam [Donohoe, former Irish Times journalist].
Did you ever experiment with drugs?
I smoked a bit. I smoked ‘OPs’ – ‘Other People’s joints’ – when I was in college in Rathmines. I wouldn’t have forked out for them but yeah, in college, occasionally. But I very quickly realised that smoking joints wasn’t for me because I’d be passed
the toke and inhale a couple of times. With drink, you know when you’ve had a couple, but with this, I couldn’t gauge it. So nah, not for me. I got sense and didn’t go back to it.
When did you lose your virginity?
Oh God, I shouldn’t really reveal that, should I? I won’t (laughs). But put it this way, I would have had a good time in Rathmines. That’s where I found my wife. I went straight from the Leaving Cert to the College of Commerce. I studied journalism there.
Did you always want to be a journalist?
I used to keep a Man United scrapbook from when I was 12, a sort of newspaper account of how they did. I kept cuttings. So I was intrigued from an early age. I loved writing and English. I remember when I was 15, my brother put me in touch with the editor of the local newspaper and he gave me a few match reports to do. So by the time I did the Leaving, I was one of the fortunate ones who knew that I wanted to be a journalist.
Did you qualify from Rathmines?
No. Part of the course was a placement in the summer so once you got a taste of working for a provincial paper... I worked for the Clonmel Nationalist. Coming back into second year, most people were, I won’t say shifty, but having got a taste for it, some left. Once I got a full-time job with the Tallaght Echo, I figured, “I’m not hanging around here,” so I left.
Was working for the Nationalist your first time living away from home?
I was living with my uncle and aunt. My first time living away from home was when I moved to Cork. About six months after I got the job at the Tallaght Echo, I got a job as a reporter for the Cork Examiner. A 19-year-old moving to Cork on his own…
Did it pay well?
Well it paid £30 more than the Echo. I remember living in a very grotty bedsit up near UCC that I paid £13 a week for, and my poor siblings and parents would come down and take pity on me. It was just a hovel. It was a great learning experience though. I had chronic arthritis at the time. When I was 17, I developed arthritis, so it was a difficult year or two. I wasn’t in the fullest of my health and on all sorts of drugs and inflammatories for the arthritis. I had no car and walking distances was a problem. Those early days in the Examiner, I really found tough. It was a welcoming place but you know, you’re a young fella from Dublin. (Cork accent) “Ah, don’t talk to me about Dublin!”
Was it always news journalism that interested you?
My head was in news journalism, but my heart was in sports. Even to this day, I’ll always go straight to the sports section in a newspaper. So, I suppose I knew back then that it was more likely that I would do news. Both my parents were very interested in news and current affairs. Dad, with the job he had, he’d be dealing with Ministers so you were very politically aware. Sport and politics were my loves.
I became the local government correspondent for the Examiner. I did a satirical column on the City Hall councillors and that was great fun.I stayed there six years, until 1989.
When did you get married?
I got married in 1988, so I was 24. I had met Miriam in college. We eventually got together. She had come to Cork to work in the Examiner – or chased me to Cork, as I tell her! We bought a house in Cork, we had our two kids in Cork – Stephen and Catherine – and at that stage I had gotten a job in local radio. With two kids at the age of 27, I figured this was the lifestyle for us – a lovely house on the outskirts of Cork, lovely neighbours.
So what happened?
Well, I moved to local radio – 96fm in Cork. Despite my love for print journalism, I’d always kind of hankered after radio. People would always say that I had a good voice for radio. I had done the odd report occasionally for RTÉ – a sports report, that kind of thing. The new local radio licenses were issued in 1989. So I ended up leaving the Examiner, which everybody told me I shouldn’t. They said, “You’re mad, the radio station won’t survive!” But I was only 26 or 27 so I joined anyway. Within the first month or two, I realised that this is what I wanted to do. Miriam stayed in the Examiner. Then after a couple of years, I actually got laid off. Peter Cluskey who went on to work in RTÉ, was the head of news, and new management was taking over. They decided I was surplus to requirements and laid me off, but as luck would have it, with Peter joining RTÉ, they came cap in hand to me and asked would I come back. They’d given me a few bob as goodbye money. So I went back.
Then in ’92, we were thinking would it be the right move to go back to Dublin? So we said we’d give it a lash. It just so happened that the day I rang RTÉ there was a vacancy. I got the job and, shortly before the election in 1992, I was working for RTÉ.
What were you doing there?
Started on the foreign desk. It was the most boring few months of my life. There was nothing happening because of the election. Then I ended up doing a year on Morning Ireland with David Hanley. I did This Week for a year…
You say that casually, but Morning Ireland is one of the biggest shows in the country.
I did Morning Ireland back in ’94 so I was only 30. I’m not saying it’s too young, but looking back now my knowledge of politics and life would have been limited. At the same time I got a chance to work on it for year, presenting with David Hanley – and Áine (Lawlor) came on board at that time – so I got a great grounding in radio.
What was the biggest story you covered at the time?
I remember an interview with John Bruton around the time of Fr. Brendan Smyth where he made that classic statement, “The reason I didn’t answer that is because
I wasn’t asked the right questions.” It was a big thing at the time. It was in relation to the intricacies of the Fr. Brendan Smyth case, and he was being excoriated for
not being forthcoming with all the facts, that was his explanation. That would have been the standout interview at the time, for me.
Do you feel a sense of journalistic pride when those things happen?
Ah yeah. Looking back now, a lot of the time in broadcasting you feel you do a really forensic interview and you don’t raise the voice at all and you think it’s a really good interview, and nobody says anything to you. And then you get stuck into a politician and you shout at him a few times and he shouts at you and maybe says something he shouldn’t, and suddenly you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread. In broadcasting, you take the plaudits when they come – and the criticism.
In 1995 you left RTÉ and went to work for the Progressive Democrats as their press officer. How did that come about?
Geraldine Harney was in the RTÉ newsroom and [her sister] Mary Harney was in opposition and she was scouting around for a press advisor. I’d only been in RTÉ three years, but I was getting a bit bored. Even though I had done Morning Ireland and This Week, I didn’t feel like I had the depth and breadth of knowledge that you’d need. That’s not saying there was a plan to come back. When I left RTÉ in 1995 I thought I’d never darken their door again.
The second time you’d left a steady, pensionable job…
Yeah! I remember meeting Mary and she jokingly said to me, the first time we met in her house in Ballsbridge, that, “You know the deal now – if things go well I get the credit, and if things go pear-shaped you get the blame.” She was laughing, but that’s actually the way it is in politics. The spin doctor invariably gets it in the neck from the politician. The politician never thinks that he or she could have possibly screwed up.
How was Mary Harney to work with?
Ah, great! Now it was tough, she’s a tough woman to work with, but for all of that, the five years I spent in politics were the most gruelling, but also the period of my life where I learnt the most about how people behave under pressure. I look back now and I can’t believe that I was in there, so close to the centre of power. I remember one day that there was a stand-off between the Progressive Democrats and Fianna Fáil, and the Cabinet meeting was delayed. I remember being up in Northern Ireland for the Good Friday Agreement. I pinch myself thinking, "Was I
there for it at all?" (laughs) But what I learned in those five years has made my job easier now in terms of my interactions with politicians, with business people, with constituents… The relationship with Bertie and Mary for the most part was good, but there were crises. At times it was madness. I can recall pacing the garden at weekends, taking calls from political correspondents about the latest row, and because Miriam is a journalist, she couldn’t be privy to what I was saying.
That must have been awkward...
The gas thing is when I was in Government with the PDs, she took a job as political correspondent with the Irish Times. So you had the remarkable situation where she’d ring me and she’d preface her call by saying that this is an official call and she’d go, “Look John, could you ask Mary about this?” So there were a few tricky situations. I’d have to then ring Mary and go, “Listen, the Irish Times were on”, and she’d ask who, and I’d say it was Miriam. So it wasn’t good. There were times when I came home and I wouldn’t go inside the house.
Did you ever share sensitive information with your wife?
I suppose it’s difficult for politicians to believe that during that period, I didn’t tell Miriam anything. But I didn’t. So, it meant that I’d come home, having maybe been at a late night meeting or a crisis meeting, and Miriam would, of course, be intrigued, and I’d be all…
“I can’t tell you!”
At no stage during that period did I ever divulge anything that I shouldn’t have. But, if a politician picked up the paper and saw a scoop – and occasionally Miriam got Government scoops – the finger of blame would be pointed at me. That went
on for about a year until I realised that one of us had to quit – and I quit. Now, I quit because, as it turned out, Miriam had landed a great job in China (as the IT’s China correspondent – OT). At that stage, I had two-and-a-half years in opposition, and the same in Government. I learnt so much about how the country runs. I’m very sympathetic with politicians. There are probably too many of them, but I just feel they’ve a tough job.
Some of them are utterly shameless. For example, Mary Harney once famously used the government jet to fly to Leitrim to officially open an off-license for a friend...
That wouldn’t have been her proudest day… Had that happened in the UK, she would have had no choice but to resign immediately and reimburse the cost of the flight.
There’s no doubt about it – we have a problem with the trappings of office. Now, I think because of what has happened over the last few years, particularly with the Government jet – the use of it is so restricted now that the lads out in Baldonnell aren’t getting their training hours (laughs). But back then, there was no two ways about it – there wasn’t enough thought given to the public purse. You get carried away. I think there’s a danger when politicians go from the opposition into Government. They’ve had to drive their own cars and do their own legwork. Then they get into power, and suddenly there’s a whole host of public servants and civil servants there. Even drivers.
I know that’s restricted now, but suddenly you’re in a whole new world where you don’t have to do a lot. It’s done for you. So, you lose your way a bit. But at the same time, things like that in the overall scheme of things… (shrugs) My big thing is that I love those who are serious about their politics. And once you’re in Government, you have to make big decisions. And once you can stand over things, I think you’ll forgive a little bit of excess.
Did you enjoy the trappings of power yourself?
Ah yeah. Money spent on lunches… though I was quite modest. I still have people asking me what the Government jet was like.
What was it like?
It was great! Mary’s good at Scrabble. I’m convinced she cheats. Ah no, she doesn’t cheat (laughs). I didn’t at any stage object to travelling, and sometimes when you’re in far-flung places, it’s justified. But I can recall during that period having my sumptuous office in Government Buildings, having a drinks cabinet. Just
too much. There is that danger that the more you get used to the comforts of Government, the less likely you are to be really in tune with what’s happening around you.
What was the biggest moment of your time in politics?
The Good Friday Agreement. It was interesting because all the journalists were camped outside and I was inside and I remember meeting Bertie. I remember working in the Government press office with Joe Lennon and Tony came up with his famous, “The hand of history on our shoulder,” and Bertie had his few metaphors. I remember having some small input into his speech and thinking, “Jesus, this is
history in the making!” It was a special time.
What was Harney’s reaction when you left to go to China?
In a way, I think Mary knew. The interesting thing is it was just after a trade visit to China. My first experience of China – Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong… it was just coincidental that Miriam got the job a few weeks after I came back. I wouldn’t have
known about China then, and I wouldn’t have even suggested Miriam would like it if I hadn’t just been. Mary was disappointed to see me go, but understood that I wasn’t going to hang around.
Did you consider Harney a friend?
Yeah. I wouldn’t be in touch with her as much as I was, but we text each other occasionally. But I’d regard her as a friend, yes. Most political careers end in failure, and that’s kind of how hers ended…
Yeah, but in fairness to Mary, in all the ministerial portfolios she took on, she set out to change things. Even in health, you can disagree with some of what she did, but I think she did more good than harm. She wasn’t afraid to make decisions. Even back to taking on those Ansbacher account holders. I would think that if we had a few more Mary Harneys, we might not have found ourselves in the pickle that we’re currently in.
How did you get on with Michael McDowell?
Em... (pauses). In the early days we really got on well. Because he loved the media. But things went a bit sour. As you know, he lost his seat. He would have
blamed myself and my late colleague Maurice Roche for contributing to his defeat by putting stuff in the press, which I would contest. So after that, really, things soured. I mean, I have a great admiration for him as a politician. We went from being good friends to… ah, I’d just contest a lot of what he said at the time about what happened, and to this day I would, too. But that’s the nature of politics.
How was it to go to China from that?
It was a blast! For me, China was the best place to go because it was so far away from everything I had done. I didn’t realise just how much the job had taken out of me, but it took me six months really to get back on an even keel. Miriam then, because of 9/11, was travelling a lot, so I got to be house husband to the two kids who were then 10 and 8. It was just terrific, living in downtown Beijing near Tiananmen Square, and cycling around the place. Looking back, if that five years in the PDs was the best thing I had done career-wise, life-wise, those two years in China were the best thing we ever did.
Can you speak any Mandarin?
It’s taxi Chinese now, at this stage. I got tuition for six months but my problem was that I would stay up till 3am watching the Champions League matches and then my tutor would be in at 9am, so we gave up on the writing and characters pretty quickly. If I encounter someone from China, I’ll give them a cúpla focal in Chinese but I couldn’t hold a conversation.
You wound up appearing in a soap opera over there.
I did! I was in Starbucks, minding my own business with a friend, when this guy came in scouting. They needed a person to play the role of a western businessman for this big drama they were doing. So I spent a few days out on set in Beijing Film Studios. The gas thing is I didn’t hear anything for about six months, and then Miriam’s Chinese friend came running in all excited, “JOHN FAMOUS! JOHN FAMOUS!” It’d be the equivalent of something like Strumpet City in China, and it’d have an audience of something like 110 million. I was in episode 11. All the people I knew in Beijing were astounded. I should have taken a DVD of it. I did see it once and it was mad!
What prompted the return to Ireland?
Cutbacks in the Irish Times. It was meant to be a three-year stint, but the paper was in a pickle financially. We knew it was only going to last three years so to suddenly just get two wasn’t a huge disappointment. I’d just landed the gig of my life. I’d been asked by a newspaper in Hong Kong to cover the World Cup for them because the Chinese manager, Bora Milutinovic, lived above me and I used to
interview him. So that was my dream end to my trip to China, while Miriam took the kids around South-East Asia. She had covered Afghanistan and Pakistan in the chase for Osama, so she was really wrecked.
Was there any culture shock coming back home?
Oh yeah, how small everything is. I remember walking down Nassau Street and thinking it was like a country lane, and also how few people were on it. You’ve come back from a place where you get on the subway and you’re sardines in a tin, and you come out to a place where, everywhere you go, there’s people. Dublin felt like a small country town.
You went back to RTÉ to present The Business Show...
I did a bit of PR work when I came back, but my heart wasn’t in it. I eventually went back to RTÉ fulltime, did the business news on Morning Ireland. That led to me putting a proposal for a business show, which led to The Business Show itself in 2005. I wrote a little book on jargon, too (2008’s Now That’s What I Call Jargon). It was a bit thrown together but it was great to have. An A-Z of jargon.
Any plans to write another book?
I’d love to write about the experiences I’ve had. I’ve been in six or seven different jobs in politics and media. I’d love to write a satirical novel. There’s something there. I’ll sit down one day. I also thought about writing a diary about this job because it’s the most fascinating job I’ve been in since politics. I’ve gone from being part of a team at Morning Ireland, and suddenly your name is on the door, and it brings certain pressures with it, but it’s wonderful at the same time. You get to meet so many fantastic people.
Where were you when you heard Gerry Ryan had died?
God, where was I? I don’t know. I didn’t know Gerry I met him once. I’m sure I was working. I would have been around, but I can’t remember.
Just that his death ultimately led to you getting The John Murray Show...
Yeah. Well, it’s interesting. When I say I only met him once, I only met him once properly. I was walking along the corridor. I had been filling in for Marian Finucane the previous few weekends and one of the senior managers was there and Gerry came up and slapped me on the back and said, “Ah, you did a great job on Finucane!” And he just said to whoever was there to look after me. For the first interaction I had with him, I always remember it because it was nice to get that vote of confidence from the man who was regarded as the main guy in the station. I always saluted him after that. I hope when I say, Olaf, that I can’t remember where I was, it’s because I was probably working and I genuinely can’t remember.
I was probably in the newsroom and I would have heard it on the news, but I had no idea even at that stage that it would lead ultimately to me being Ryan Tubridy's successor on Radio 1.
Are you friendly with Tubridy?
I would have been on the show a couple of times with the book, but I wouldn’t have known him. In the newsroom, we’re all apart from the likes of Gerry and Ryan Tubridy and Pat, they’re all over the radio centre, so I would have known them to say 'hello' to, but I wouldn’t have known them – as in, I wouldn’t have been ringing or texting them.
Is RTÉ really the hotbed of bitchiness and backstabbing we all hear about?
Ah, no (laughs). It’s probably as civilised a place as I’ve worked in, and that’s having worked in politics. Having been out of there since 1995, the thing that
struck me when I came back full-time was how decent people are. For the most part I find it a very civilised environment and people do work hard. Okay, like any big organisation there will probably be people who will work less hard than others, but really I’m not really interested in hanging around the canteen
getting tittle-tattle.
There’s a lot of public criticism of inflated RTÉ salaries. In a way, timing is everything. I was probably the first person to sign a contract in the new austerity
age, so I’m not in what they call the ‘big’ bracket. I’m not in the top ten.
What’s your salary?
I’d rather keep that private, if you don’t mind. I’m well paid for what I do. As for the other TV and radio presenters… Look, let’s face it, in the new climate they’re not going to be earning as much as they did a few years ago. As I said, I was the first person in this new no-money age to negotiate a contract, but I really do think I’m well paid for what I do. I’m well off, and I think I work hard for it. I don’t want to make it sound like I’m earning a lot less or a lot more than anyone else.
Are you a big music fan?
Yeah, big music fan. As part of a recent TV series called Instrumental, I started learning the piano and I had the great thrill of playing the piano part of ‘Fairytale Of New York’ in the National Concert Hall with the Concert Orchestra.
Was Shane MacGowan there?
He wasn’t, but his sister sent me a very lovely tweet saying that Shane would have been proud. It was actually a very emotional night. It was essentially a reality TV thing. Six of us – myself, Brent Pope, Manuela Spinelli and three others who were chosen through the radio show – got to learn instruments from scratch. It was fantastic.
What about your own musical tastes?
My friends always slag me off for my ’80s interest – Human League, OMD, Ultravox. I was a big Gary Numan fan. Love electronic stuff, big Kraftwerk fan. Nowadays it’s Kings Of Leon, Arcade Fire. Every week I’ll be introduced to a new act. We had a special stage at Castlepalooza for emerging Irish talent. Actually, I’d better mention the CD or I’ll be killed! Little Green Cars, I saw them on Other Voices and there’s a touch of Arcade Fire about them. We had an hour-long special with Christy Moore recently and I told him afterwards that it was probably the highlight of my broadcasting career, sitting down one-to-one with Christy, and him doing a greatest hits based on callers’ suggestions.
When was the last time you cried?
The night at the National Concert Hall, playing ‘Fairytale Of New York’. I had a little cry afterwards for me Dad. I am very emotional. At the strangest of times, too. I could have somebody on the show telling a story, and it might hit me afterwards.
Are you temperamental?
I’m very laidback. Well, maybe my colleagues might disagree (laughs). I can be tetchy and I can be sharp, but I consider myself fairly even-handed and even-tempered.
This Christmas CD is in aid of Aware. Have you ever suffered from depression?
I have close family experience of depression, but back in 2007 I was out for five months with what you could call the first cousin of depression. I basically hit the wall. I was telling you about my arthritis. Back in 2007 I went back on a new superdrug for that, one of these wonder drugs that you inject every month, hoping it would sort it out. But the side-effects included shakes and jelly legs and panic attacks. Now, I thought initially it was just some flu symptoms but, after a few months of it, I was diagnosed with a general anxiety disorder.
The remarkable thing about that is I went to a psychiatrist and was put on medication. During the same period, I was taken off all other medication as a precaution, so for the first time in 25 years, I was off medication for the arthritis. During that period I thought I’d never work again because of nerves. Your ability to go on the air when the red light goes on – I thought, “How am I going to do it? I’m fucking shaking!” This is what would happen. I’d be sitting here talking to you and I’d have a panic attack. Something would come into my head and then – waaahh!! So at the end of the five months, I was back at work having been diagnosed and treated. The symptoms went and, touch wood, haven’t come back and the arthritis seemed to have burned itself out. So there’s good in everything. Five years on, I’m
walking, I’m cycling. I ran a 5K last year – well, I sort of half ran it – so when you talk about depression I’m more familiar with anxiety than depression, but it’s the same family. The fucking panic attacks would frighten the life out of you.
Are you on Facebook?
Through the show, but I got rid of my personal account. You don’t really need to be inviting nasty comments.
Do you get many nasty comments?
Ah, very little. I chuckle at some of them because there’s no harm. You’ll never be everyone’s cup of tea and you need to have a bit of a brass neck about it. It’s all up there on social media and you can’t, on the one hand, take the praise for a good show, and then give out when someone says it’s the greatest load of rubbish.
Do bad reviews bother you?
I take criticism with a pinch of salt. I’m there every morning with 320,000 listeners and if there’s not some critical analysis of it... Hell, I’ll criticise things that I see on TV or radio. It’s part of the job. One of the reviews said, “Murray could do this better,” and he probably had a point. I’m well away from being the finished article, and I go in every morning thinking, “How can I do this better? How can I improve my interviewing technique?” The producers are great, they’re a great crew for taking you aside and saying, “Maybe next time you might try it this way.” I’m learning all the time.
Any ambition to move into TV?
I don’t have any overt TV ambitions. If TV comes my way, fine, but at the moment I’m too busy just with the radio show.
Do you have a motto in life?
It might not be a motto, but the approach I take to life is you just never know. Never take things for granted. That’s how I approach all the people I deal with, that you never know what’s going on with people’s lives. One of the things I feel very strongly about is that everyone who comes on the show, you treat them with respect. You may be under pressure to throw bricks at them, but always treat them with respect, let them tell their side of the story. And above all, treat the listeners with respect. I don’t think I’d stay too long in this job if I didn’t.

The John Murray Show is broadcast on RTÉ Radio 1,
weekdays 9-10am. A Murray Christmas is out now.