Mike McRoberts: 'I'm not quite that rock god-ish yet'

Mike McRoberts, serious news reader, hardened war correspondent and happy to take a bit of flak about those military-style jackets. Photo / Martin Sykes

Mike McRoberts, TV3's smooth and authoritative co-news anchor, fearless war correspondent and now, apparently, a sort of rock god, was sounding a bit like a cowardy custard.

On the phone he suggested I might prefer to interview his cleaning lady. He said, "oh, God" and sighed a lot. He was otherwise his usual pleasant self; the sighing, I'm sure, was involuntary.

Perhaps he was sighing at himself for being too polite a fellow to wriggle out of things. When we arrived he was giving a good impression of the ever doleful Eeyore with rather better manners. He made coffee, nicely, but you wouldn't have said that he was the most cheerful fellow you'd ever encountered.

An hour later, when I said I'd finished with him, he perked up enormously and said, "are you done? Thank goodness for that!" Then, belatedly, made positively garrulous by relief perhaps, he beamed and said, "would you like some carrot cake? I didn't make it myself but I'm told it's gluten- free".

I may have pulled a face at the gluten- free offering. He told me a story about a mate of his who orders "extra gluten" with his cakes at cafes. That was quite funny, but of course he would never do such a thing. That would be rude.

You can't imagine that, or that he would be silly, either. But he was fairly silly on the Telethon. "Yeah, a little bit silly, I suppose, playing the guitar and singing a song with a band." He sang, Why Does Love Do This To Me? Can he sing? "Ah, I did all right, I think. Ha, ha. I had a good time. I thought it was a really neat thing to do."

The Listener's Diana Wichtel called him "an unlikely rock god".

"Oh, you're joking!"

Does he like that? "Umm, yeah, sure. Why not? I'll take that as a compliment."

Which bit: the rock god bit, or the unlikely? "I don't know about rock god."

Perhaps he's just relieved he didn't make a total arse of himself. "Yeah, ha. Anything to do with television, even reading the news, there's always that risk of public humiliation."

Well, yes. Just what was going on with the even sillier John Campbell threatening to pash him? "Threatening? He did." I managed, mercifully, to miss this. I hoped there hadn't been lip action. "I managed to turn my head in time, so it was on the cheek."

Still, is this a good look for the serious news reader, hardened war correspondent etc. "You know, John's a very affable guy like that and we quite often ..."

I really don't want to know, but one has to ask, "quite often what?" They probably do cuddles. "Yeah! I remember having a photo taken after he won best presenter and I won best journalist or something ... and it was just us having a nice man hug. It was good."

Now, really, this is more stomach-turning than the thought of his carrot cake. Everyone, I say, possibly sarcastically - we're talking about journalists here, for God's sake - at TV3 is lovely. "Yeah, they are, actually. If you weren't that sort of person, and I mean a decent, caring sort of person, you wouldn't last long there."

Because he is decent and caring he is, for him, really cross with the critics of the fundraiser ... "the whole smearing of KidsCan, which I thought was just bloody shameful. Even our own people. Michael Laws is on a MediaWorks station [MediaWorks owns TV3]. I thought he just came across as an absolutely miserable prick."

Goodness, that was a bit of a shock. The trouble, of course, with being a newsreader is that you are paid to read the news, not to have opinions on the news. Which makes it a bit of a strange job; you have to have almost no personality, but enough charisma, or authority or some indefinable something, to make people want to watch you.

"I think to be a successful news reader, and when I say successful, I mean in terms of that the public trusts and connects with you, you know, you have to be a bit dull and boring."

He says, valiantly, "I'm not without negative feelings." What could he mean? "Well, it's not all light and sunshine." I still don't know what he means but, in the spirit of cuddliness, I'll give him a hand. Does he mean he, like most journalists, is a fairly cynical beast who likes gossip and black humour?

"I've got a black humour streak, for sure."

He is capable of the occasional meow. I mentioned those billboards, which say "It's all about the story" and show him on his foreign assignments, looking pretty much like the story. He says, looking hardly pained at all, "I'd much rather have a photo like that than one where we're sitting in the studio looking like Ken and Barbie." Which is a direct swipe at that other lot over at TVNZ.

But mostly he's nice and good, or thought to be, and that must annoy him sometimes. "Oh, no. Because, you know, it's nice that people think I'm nice. But not everybody thinks I'm nice."

Surely they do. Who doesn't? "Oh, you've just got to look on those bloody horrible forum and blog things ... When I got back from the war in Lebanon, I was described by one person of a particular religious persuasion as being a 'sack of shit in a suit'. Those things worry me."

But why would they? He's been a journalist for 20 years; he must be used to such slaggings.

"Oh, just because ... as expressions of thought go, they're among the most vicious and vile things you could ever read. You just think, 'what the hell is going on in their lives?' That they could have so much ... bile. You know, it's just awful."

He really is a good person. He likes gardening and makes his own compost and grows veges - organic, of course. He likes to have some "control" over his profile, by which he means he does charity work. He is working on a scheme in which old rugby and soccer boots will be collected, cleaned up and given to kids whose families can't afford new boots.

"I think it's good for kids to play sport and I also think it's good to recycle."

He's never let his profile go to his head, or got a bit up himself? "No." Truly? "I don't think anyone would accuse me of being that."

He's up for a gong in the media awards, for his interview with Morgan Tsvangirai. If he wins, will he get drunk and dance on a table? "Ha, ha. Probably."

Really? I said, meaning, surely not. "Well, maybe the former. I don't know about the dancing on tables. I'm not quite that rock god-ish yet."

I'm trying to imagine him drunk. How drunk would he get? "Well, everything's relative. Drunk enough to think that maybe I should take the kids to McDonald's for breakfast the next morning rather than making it."

It's hard to be good and not come across as a bit pompous. He came back from one of his overseas assignments and told a journalist: "We take a lot for granted in New Zealand. I do talk to the kids about water and waste. The message isn't too different from the 'starving kids in Africa' story our parents told us as kids."

He looked fairly appalled at this. "Yeah, that does sound a bit pompous, actually. Well, you know, I am concerned about the environment."

What a nice, sensitive little war correspondent he is. I thought I'd give him a bit of stick over his war zone get-up. For Telethon he auctioned one of his shirts: Mike McRoberts' Shirt! As Worn To Some of the World's Biggest News Events! It raised $93. I may have laughed. "Well, there you go. I was hoping it might go for a bit more, actually."

Was he disappointed? "Oh, it's all right. It's $93 the Telethon wouldn't have got otherwise. And I've got four of those shirts so it wasn't a huge attachment."

Yes, those beige, vaguely military- looking shirts.

"I don't think it's military. It's a good colour because, you know, in hot places ..."

And there is the flak jacket he's been seen in. It's meant to make us think he could be shot at any moment. "I've never done a live cross in a flak jacket. I don't amp that thing up at all and I stand by that."

He is daft enough to mention a Sideswipe item that poked fun at his flak jacket.

"This is the war in Lebanon and there were some pretty hairy moments ... If what's her name, Ana Samways, wants to come and explain to my wife and children why I would want to wear a flak jacket ..."

It was only a little joke, I say. Here's another: Perhaps the marketing department could come up with a McRoberts doll, with optional flak jacket. "If the money goes to charity I'd be well pleased with that."

He can be po-faced and a little pompous, but he does know when he's doing it - that's his little joke.

He is mostly (just don't tease him too much about his flak jacket) as good-natured as you'd expect. I asked, to see how sensitive he really is, why on earth anyone would buy his vaguely military shirt?

"Maybe they're going to start their own career as a foreign correspondent." I suggested that whoever bought the $93 shirt might go as Mike McRoberts to a fancy dress party. "There you go. He'll be the dull, boring person in the corner."

Yes, very droll. Despite his best attempts to make himself sound as interesting as a slice of gluten-free carrot cake, he didn't, I hope, quite manage it.