"Let's see. . . Back then I was doing Morning Call, on Radio One, which was incredibly popular. At the same time I was doing The Live Mike and then later on I did Murphy's Australia.

They were the three big things I did in the '80s and they would all be projects I'm still very proud of. I would say that, yes, that was my best decade." He's Mike Murphy from RTE, you see.

And respect is long overdue.

For many, Murphy remains the consummate Irish broadcaster; sure, Gay Byrne might be the daddy, but Mike's the hip uncle, a versatile talent who fronted both the cheesiest of primetime vehicles (lest we forget, he was the original host on Winning Streak, and don't get us started on Murphy's Micro Quiz-M), alongside more personal projects like seminal documentary series Murphy's America and a lengthy stint fronting Radio One's The Arts Show. "I did try and live out my own life through television, " he says. "Even back in the early days at RTE, when I was doing sports, I came up with the idea of trying things out myself, getting out there and mucking in. I suppose I decided to use the medium to my own ends. And some of it worked out OK."

What's more, Mike Murphy is The Man Who Walked Away From It All. F Scott Fitzgerald once said, "There are no second acts in Irish lives." All right, all right, it might have been "American lives". Either way, Mike Murphy proved them all wrong. For the best part of the past decade, Murphy has been putting in office hours as a director with Irish property giants Harcourt Development, and loving life after fame.

"I have just basked in my relative anonymity. There's a whole new generation of young people and immigrants who don't have a clue who I am and that suits me perfectly. A friend of my sons was telling another friend about me, and he described me thus: 'Mark's dad used to be famous in the last century.' And that's absolutely accurate. On the nose. That said, it makes me sound a bit ancient."

There's only one Mike Murphy. And Mike Murphy is The Live Mike. Murphy's Friday night comedy 'n' chat fest remains one of the most fondly remembered homegrown entertainment shows of them all, despite the fact that (save the odd fragment here and there) it hasn't been seen on our screens for 25 years.

Offering a topical mix of sketches, spoofs and hidden camera stunts, punctuated by a 'serious' discussion as its centrepiece, The Live Mike gleefully pushed the Irish primetime envelope into a daring new place, offering a unique perspective on a country then (lest we forget) in an advanced state of socio-economic despair.

God knows, we needed the laughs.

"I think that one of the reasons that what we did was so successful was that it brought a little ray of light into people's lives, " says Murphy, "I swear to God, I think it did. Christ, it was a dismal time in Ireland back in the '80s. People were leaving the country, they couldn't find jobs; they were hard, harsh days. So people badly needed an escape of sorts. One thing that we Irish were always good at was taking the mickey out of ourselves, so we tried our best to find humour in all that darkness."

Coming off the back of a string of ratings winners, Murphy and producer John Keogh had been given the green light, a blank slate and something resembling complete creative control to fashion a new Friday night show. "We were given the go-ahead to more or less pick who we wanted and had an hour to basically do something that would provide an alternative to the Late Late, which was still on Saturdays back then. We based The Live Mike on the notion of an evening out . . . you'll have a bit of a laugh, some serious conversation, send a few people up, maybe a bit of music . . . and took it from there. We said we'd take a chance, do the show we wanted to do . . . and it worked."

The duo assembled an eclectic backroom team of young guns that eventually included such future heavy-hitters as John (Riverdance) McColgan and David (Nighthawks) Blake-Knox. Then there was the cast: "We got Twink, who we thought was underused; we knew she was a good mimic. Then Fran Dempsey we knew from years back, and Dermot Morgan used to write to me on the radio programme, that's how we got to know Dermot. We went to see him out in UCD and loved him and that was it, he was on board."

Indeed, anyone who remembers The Live Mike won't forget Dempsey, later to become children's fave Fortycoats, as Charlie Haughey or a very sweaty Christy Moore; or the young Morgan sowing the seeds of Ted Crilly as the inscrutable Father Trendy, before smashing up the set with a hurley stick as the psychotic GAA Man.

"Dermot was very undisciplined, " laughs Murphy, "I mean he was a bugger for turning up with no script and you wouldn't have a clue what he was going to do. So we'd be live on air and I would see him going over the top and getting carried away and I would just raise my eyebrow, like so [cue theatrical raise of brow] and he'd know to take it down."

For many punters (a pre-teen version of this writer included), the true highlight of any edition of The Live Mike was usually Murphy's Home Movies, the hidden camera stunts perpetrated by a heavily disguised Murphy and cohorts upon an unsuspecting Irish public. The immortal clip of Murphy pulling a fast one on Gay Byrne while disguised as a French rugby supporter has become the stuff of legend, and perhaps the most repeated clip in the history of RTE these days . . . you'll find it on YouTube, where it's been viewed thousands of times. The vicarious thrill of witnessing good old Gaybo inquiring whether Murphy's cheeky Frenchman is familiar with the expression 'f**k off ' never quite fades, after all. And the national broadcaster, which is finally getting a bit canny about cashing in on its formidable archive, has decided to compile some of The Live Mike's prototypical Punk'dmoments on an essential new DVD, gamely entitled I'm Mike Murphy From RTE. . .' By and large, they've aged remarkably well, offering a unique window to a bygone age, pre-reality TV, when the great Irish public (at one point, Murphy pulls a fast one on his own father) would pretty much swallow anything.

"I found that I had a facility for doing them, " says Murphy, "where I was able to push it, and I'd be watching the person as I was doing it, and saying to myself 'I wonder if I pushed it a little further. . .' And I'd push it, and push it, and see what happened. And I never broke down;

I always managed to keep in some semblance of character. We had a lot of fun. I remember John McColgan, who directed a lot of them, telling me that he used to be sitting in the van, cringing, saying 'Please tell him to stop. . .' But we never had a serious problem."

Which is not to say there wasn't the odd awkward moment. "We did one in an antique shop, " he says. "I was pretending to be an antique dealer. I had a vase and these couriers were being brought in to transport this very valuable Ming vase. . . So we're filming the courier. I'd say 'Wait here for a minute. . .' and leave the room, at which point somebody pulled a string and the vase fell down and broke. Then I'd come back and say 'You broke my Ming vase. . .' And of course the lot of them were like, 'I didn't touch the f**king thing. . .' But this one guy started to cry." And I just said to myself that's it. We were running short of ideas anyway. And we never did another one.

Once you're actually making people cry, there's something wrong."

Ironically enough, the notion to release a Murphy's Home Movies greatest hits was inspired by the success on DVD of its heir apparent, Naked Camera. The Naked Camera crew have already acknowledged the debt they owe to Murphy's endeavours, and the affection is entirely mutual.

"I like those guys a lot. They've taken the whole concept and made it fresh all over again. That guy PJ Gallagher, in particular, is absolutely fantastic, really inventive and funny.

I love the way he takes things to another place altogether. He's a lunatic."

They even asked the original prankster to dust off his fake wig and dodgy beard for a Naked Camera cameo, which he respectfully (and regrettably) declined. Been there, done that. By and large, Murphy remained handsoff with the new DVD package; save for participating in a new interview, he's never been one for looking back. That said, he enjoyed this particular trip down memory lane.

"I hadn't seen most of them since they were originally shown. Back then, people couldn't get enough of them. They hold up remarkably well. The only thing was the technology wasn't there and everything had to be done out of doors, unless we did did a huge set-up indoors, which occasionally we did. But when I was calling to doors, which was a big part of what we did, I could not be invited into the house, because the camera was in an old O'Brien's bread van, with a hole cut in the 'O' and the camera sticking out . . . that was as sophisticated as we got."

Getting out while you're ahead is a reccurring theme throughout Mike Murphy's career.

It's a philosophy that ultimately drove his decision to forego the fickle world of broadcasting altogether, and one that saw him walk away from The Live Mike at the height of its ratings success.

"I wrapped it up in the end without telling anybody in advance I was going to, " he says.

"I didn't like the third series and didn't enjoy making it, so I announced at the end of last episode that we wouldn't be back next year. I had told nobody before that moment, I did it completely off the cuff. Gay came in to my office the following Monday morning and said, 'Do you realise what you've done? In one fell swoop, you've destroyed your career.' And I said, 'I don't care. I wasn't enjoying it and I don't want to do another one.' It really wasn't that important to me."

Murphy toiled away in the broadcasting trenches well into the naughties, receiving the unofficial Irish showbiz medal of honour, a Late Late Show tribute show, in 2000; as a new generation stepped up to the mike (pun fully intended), he became increasingly aware his broadcasting days were numbered.

"I've always had a low boredom threshold, " he says. And I know when it's time to go.

I remember giving my reason for leaving daytime radio: I'd run out of cliches. I actually felt that I just had nothing left to say. That's why I went on to do The Arts Show; I had a genuine interest in the arts. That had a very small audience in comparison to the audience that I had had, but the show was good and that's what mattered to me. I always feel that if I'm not enjoying it, and taking genuine pleasure out of it, then neither is the audience. I don't want to put on an act, or be passing time until something more interesting comes along. . .

That doesn't appeal to me. I'd rather do nothing."

Which most certainly isn't the case. At an age when most of his old RTE colleagues are kicking back and hitting the golf course, Mike Murphy is busier than ever, dividing his time between Ireland and the US, overseeing numerous projects for Harcourt Developments and exuding a tangible enthusiasm for his lot. "With Harcourt, there's always a new project, " he says, "always something different, always something unusual, and that suits me perfectly. Also, we've got a fantastic art collection here; every project we do we incorporate sculptural elements and we're very, very environmentally aware, all things that very much appeal to me. I love the job."

The only time he expresses any reservations, in fact, comes when he mentions a forthcoming return to the small screen to plug the DVD.

"I used to say that I when I walked down the street, I couldn't just stop and look at the buildings, which I always enjoyed, because somebody was always wanting to stop and talk to you. People were always very nice and everything, but I don't miss it at all. The fact that I'm doing the Late Late to promote the DVD already has me slightly uncomfortable because I don't want to be back in the spotlight for too long."

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ESSENTIAL '80s VIEWING

Fortycoats & Co Forget Wanderly Wagon, this spin-off was the Torchwood to WW's Doctor Who, a showcase for the redoubtable Fran Dempsey, the lost giant of '80s Irish telly. He used to do a mean Christy Moore on The Live Mike, to boot. Eccentric adventurer Fortycoats travelled about in a flying tuckshop (or was it a trick shop? ), tackling villains like Whilomena the Whirligig Witch, on an effects budget of less than 20 quid. Note to RTE: What about a megabudget makeover, with Brendan Gleeson as Fortycoats? All together, now 'Be me forty coats and me fifty pockets. . .'

Strumpet City Back in 1980, the Montrose Mafia pulled out all the stops for scriptwriter Hugh Leonard's six-hour adaptation of James Plunkett's novel, a lavish (well, lavish-ish) ensemble piece set against the backdrop of the Dublin lockout of 1913, with a cast that included Donal McCann, David Kelly (as the immortal Rashers Tierney, his finest hour) Peter Ustinov and an unlikely Peter O'Toole as Jim Larkin.

Now available on DVD, Strumpet City hasn't aged well, but it does makes you wish that RTE would attempt something similarly ambitious in the nottoo-distant future.

Glenroe The Riordans begat Bracken, then Bracken begat Irish TV giant Wesley Burrowes' Glenroe, which amiably wandered into the nation's living rooms one Sunday night in 1983, taking residence of our hearts until it was unceremoniously laid out to pasture some 18 years later. Mick Lally's Miley Byrne remains arguably the most iconic figure in Irish soap history. Three Little Words, people: Well, Holy God.

Anything Goes This seminal RTE Saturday morning kids' show was fronted by Aonghus McAnally and Mary Fitzgerald (whose 'Make & Do' segment remains the stuff of legend . . . who knew there were so many uses for pipe cleaners? ) but all the cool kids had a lie-in and turned on late for the closing Rock Show segment with Dave 'Death To Disco' Heffernan . . . the definitive showcase for every dodgy '80s Irish band you've never heard of. We want a Best Of DVD NOW. . . These days, Dave is a big-shot TV producer and director. We still think he should grow the afro back.

The Irish RM A co-production between RTE and UTV (and broadcast to great success on a then fledgling Channel 4), The Irish RM adapted the novels of Anglo-Irish authors Somerville & Ross into a vehicle for top '80s telly totty Peter (To T h e Manor Born) Bowles, perfectly cast as a hoity resident magistrate in turn-of-the-century Ireland. The series made a star of soap regular Bryan Murray, who later got murdered . . . and buried under his patio . . . in Brookside, stopping off in Casualty, Holby City, The Bill AND Fair City, before stinking up the gaff on Celebrity You're A Star. Superstar!

Derek O'Connor