Ryan Tubridy's First Late Late Show: A Live Reaction Blog

They've gone for an easy-listening/jazzy theme tune. Good to see Ryan Tubridy isn't going to be complacent and just rest on his laurels in the niche he's built that has proven so inexplicably popular, then. The much-photographed new set has many wooden elements, as though to tell us that Pat might be gone, but he cannot be forgotten.

Our new host, the personification of Celtic Tiger smug consumerist aspirationalism, slides on-screen, greased up by his own sense of self satisfaction. I think he fluffed his first line. Woo. Oh, he stumbles twice! Bwahaha, impale yourself on your sword of nerves, you six foot streak of anorexic anxiety.

House-band. Meh.

Tubridy attempts to do politics with the Taoiseach as his first guest. The house band play him on with the same horrendous remix of the Late Late theme they have now played 3 times in the first 4 minutes.

Now that we've seen it from a few angles and had time to digest the surroundings, it's pretty clear that the set is horrible. Really, horrible. You know it must be pretty bad when Brian Cowen is on screen and for once he isn't the ugliest thing there. It looks slightly like the interior of a beehive being maintained by magical giant bees who have constructed their home out of pinkish-blue honeycombs stuck to the slatted wooden remnants of Pat Kenny. Possibly the same magical honey bees who inflated Cowen's lips to such a ridiculous degree.

Tubbers is trying far too hard to be confrontational with An Taoiseach. I get the feeling each guest tonight will come from a different background, to show us just how capable our new host is. “Look Daddy, I can do Political as well as fluffy banter with figures from the world of light entertainment! Aren't you glad you got me this job now?”

I see the widsom of choosing Cowen as the first guest now. It's easy for Tubridy to endear himself to an audience who might be sceptical by scoring points making smarmy comments and needling one of the most disliked men in the country. But I won't fall for it. No amount of Taoiseach trouncing can make me set aside my disdain for this smug git.

He SHOUTILY introduces this evening's competition, which is a fairly impressive stash of prizes to keep all eyes on the box so RTE can bleat about how this was one of the most watched things in years. Then he SHOUTILY introduces Sharon Corr with her first solo single. Er.... it's easy to see why Andrea was the lead singer of The Corrs, lets put it that way....

Jim Corr runs on stage wearing a paper bag over his head, drops his trousers and helicopters his cock anti-clockwise. “I exist!” he screams, as we take to the adverts, “I FUCKING EXIST!”.

Brian McFadden. We start with some arse licking from The Lanky One, building ever so slowly to the question everyone wants to ask. How do you solve a problem like Kerry Katona? (By not being in Australia when your children need you?) This is slightly cringey. You know the way Pat would never cut too close to the bone or ask anything too enquiring? Tubridy is the opposite. He's being just a little bit too familiar; there's nothing wrong with the questions he's asking per se, but the way he's asking them is a bit... intrusive. It doesn't seem like he has the knack of being subtle in asking personal questions. It would probably be rude, if the person he was talking to wasn't dirty greasy sleaze-ball Brian McFadden.

And now we're interviewing Brian's mammy in the audience about how awful Kerry Katona is. Remember when everyone loved her? God bless the mercurial nature of tabloid culture.

Kerry breaks onto the set, pushing a trolley full of Stella Artois through the pinkurple honeycomb walls, extinguishes the half-smoked cigarette she is carrying on Tubridy's desk. The over-stuffed Lidl bag-for-life she is carrying explodes and litters the floor with tins of beans, Weetabix and a giant pack of fanny pads. She blinks, seemingly confused and tired, but manages to pull it together long enough to offers a concise and witty riposte to McFadden's criticisms of her ability as a mother: “You've got a tiny willy.” She then spits up a tiny bit of vomit that lands wetly on the zipper of her velour tracksuits, before falling over.

Moving the audience participation lens from Mamamcfadden to the rest of the plebs. Wow, I can see why so many people like him, what with his down to earth throwing out of snide insults about the way everyone is dressed. But it's okay, cos Quinn Direct are giving everyone in the audience a weekend break! Woo, you could call my mam a flea-riddled whore and I wouldn't give a fuck as long as there's lots of free crap!

Joan Collins. So very boring. The insightful interview basically amounts to lots of name-dropping about Joan's luvvie friends and how every woman from the golden age of Hollywood was a bitch. And then there's a clip of her fucking some guy to death. Next!

Cherie Blair! Wife of the guy who turned Labour into the Tories, which in turn forced the Tories to try and turn themselves into Labour. For some reason the house band play what sounds like the QI theme tune. Oh great work, Cherie, as she manages to plug her book within 90 seconds of appearing. And then starts talking about her father's sex life. She does her usual thing of saying something mortifying about Tony; this time concerning his pride at being a former Heat magazine Torso of the Week but eventually wins the audience around with her down to earth charm and complaints about Ryanair's service. The lizardpeople will be pleased that their Empress has performed so well.

Musical interlude with David Grey. Never was a man so aptly surnamed. Well, maybe if he'd been called David Boring.

When we wake up from our nap, we find that Tubridy has been joined by ten year old actress Saoirse Ronan, in an attempt to show off his diversity. From political insight to bonding with pubescent Oscar nominees about her favourite Tweenie or High School Musical character, is there nothing this man cannot do?

Oh dear. She's nice, but she's no Cherie Blair. The audience aren't exactly enthralled. The interview concludes with her excitedly eating a jelly while everyone watching wishes they had continued napping following that earlier song from David Beige.

Niall Quinn and wife. In a final display of his immense interviewtory range, Tubridy shows us he can do girlie by basically imploring Wife Quinn to do a twirl for us to show off her new hairdo. Woo love. That Sarah Jessica Parker interview is surely in the bag now.

We end shambolically, as the camera pulls away from the house band (who, mercifully, don't yet have an “Oh, I'm so ironic and self-depricating, me” imposed name, yet) who are about to put instruments to lips, then pause, then ready instruments again, waiting for some cue that still won't come, then just as we see them puff up their cheeks to begin playing... we fade to black.

You know what would've made it much better? If Pat and Gay were sitting in a balcony overlooking Tubbers, making bitchy remarks about how much of an irritating little slab of watery shit he is.