Shape I’m in: Seán Moncrieff
He has devised and presented many hit TV programmes – The End, Good Grief Moncrieff, Black Box and IFTA-nominated Don’t Feed The Gondolas. But his attitude is one of resignation when he talks about being dad to teen girls.
“I just have to accept the fact that I will lose every time,” says the 53-year-old whose daughters are aged 17, 14 and 12 – he also has a 23-year-old son.
Seán has presented The Big 40, a celebration of 40 years of Irish TV, Ireland Undercover, HQ and The Holiday Quiz. He is the voice of The Restaurant on TV3. Would he ever consider cooking on air? “God, no! I did it once for the pilot of the show before it was ever broadcast. I only got two stars.”
He has written three novels and two non-fiction books. “In journalism, you’re taught to keep everything as short as possible. When it came to novel writing, I always wrote too little and had to add on.” His latest book – an attempt to divine the way Irish people think and why they think as they do – will be published in the autumn. “We’re the most contradictory nation on earth. We’ve done pretty well compared with other countries in terms of how we treat immigrants but our attitude to Travellers is profoundly racist.”
I’m in reasonable shape, though that’s more due to genetic chance than anything else. I’m tall and skinny and I’ve always been that way. I’ve been the same weight since I was 20. I’m not one to spend long periods flopping in front of the TV. I’m always doing something. I walk a lot in the course of a day but I wouldn’t formally exercise.
I don’t eat much. I have toast and a vitamin C tablet for breakfast. For lunch I have a sandwich, usually chicken and coleslaw, and then dinner in the evening. Some of the people on the show (all of whom are considerably younger than me) once tried the Sean Diet. None of them could stick it. I guess I just have a weird metabolism.
I don’t have any. If something brings you pleasure, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone, you shouldn’t feel guilt about it. .
Usually if there’s some problem I didn’t manage to resolve that day. And it’s usually the smaller niggling problems that do it.
I read. I always have something by the bed. I like essays because I can read a whole one and then have something interesting to think about as I drift off. I’m currently reading George Orwell’s collected essays, which is massive. I’ll be reading it this time next year.
Who would you invite to your dream dinner party?
George Orwell, George Bush Junior, George Clooney and George Eliot. I wouldn’t say a word: just listen.
Freshly baked bread. I have a bread maker and had all sorts of intentions to put the ingredients in on a Friday night so the smell would waft through the house on Saturday morning. But it’s Friday night. I’m tired...
There was a time when I’d have liked to have had shoulders or an ass or hair. But over time you start to realise that the body you’re in is part of you. And to wish for a different appearance is like wishing you were someone else. And that’s not really a mentally healthy aspiration.
I’m not really a crier. I don’t do full-on blubs. I can well up though and I do that quite regularly. But as often as not it’s about something happy rather than sad – such as when one of the kids experiences a big milestone in their lives. They usually slag me over it.
I try not to judge other people, but of course I do. It’s not nice to see when people lack kindness. And sometimes it seems like there’s a lot of that about.
I can be intolerant sometimes. And sometimes I can be smart-ass in my replies to people when perhaps I should have taken a moment to think it through.
Not to a deity of any sort, no. Sometimes I imagine conversations with my father, who died in 2011. Most of his answers would be unprintable.
Winning the lotto wouldn’t hurt – or even if someone bought me a ticket.
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