The Emancipation of Dolores McCrumble

Sunday, June 18, 2006

'May Ball' Bust Up

I don't know what was wrong with me yesterday, perhaps I'd at some point during the day stumbled over a bad Ley line or something, whatever it was, I was in a foul mood. I was definitely not feeling particularly ha ha hee hee and certainly not feeling like tripping the light fandango at village language school's annual May Ball. Joseph loves the May Ball, largely because he likes to reclaim the price of the ticket by guzzling as much euro beer at the bar and ogling the "lovely ladies" in their clevage enhancing dresses. Anyway, I was decidedly maudlin throughout the evening. I was feeling fat, frumpy and middle aged and generally rather tired. There was a distinct lack of seating which meant I had to stand in agony in my strappy sandals waiting for Bucks Phizz (Joseph's favourite Bucks Fizz tribute band) to come on stage. They were due on at 1am but didn't manage to get on stage until 1.40am due to the "Cheryl Baker" woman having squirted herself in the eye with some industrial strength hairspray. I stood wall-flower-esque at the side of the dancefloor watching Joseph "strutting his funky stuff" (as he likes to put it) to all the band's glorious hits of the early 80s. By 2.45am I'd pretty much lost the will to live but was biting my lip and allowing Joseph to enjoy his annual 'letting his hair down.' Somehow, through the lager fog that was now clouding his brain Joseph realised that I wasn't having a particularly good time and asked me if I wanted to leave. Naturally I had said we left....Anyway, by the time we'd walked from the marquee, across two fields full of cow pats (not fun to stand in when wearing strappy sandals as I discovered) and back to the car Joseph was ranting about how I'd spoiled his 'one evening a year when I can let myself go' and how I was a kill joy etc etc etc. Well, I saw red and wasn't prepared to sit there and take his irrationality. So, I started to fire back. The whole thing escalated into a full-blown argument, Joseph's arms were flailing about (thankfully the car is quite roomy) trying to emphasise his "point" I was in floods of tears trying to prize my strappy sandals off my feet and groping around under the car seat for my sensible shoes whilst my nose was running down my top lip. After a few seconds I'd realised that our argument had turned into a soliloquy. I stopped and looked at Joseph. He was looking past me at something on my side of the car, I followed his gaze and to my astonishment, there was a girl, probably in her early 20s naked except for a black g-string. At first I thought she was sleep walking but then I realised that she was actually trying to discretely (ha ha) creep away from something. I was about to put the car into reverse, having dismissed the girl as a drunken language student floozy and head on home. Joseph pulled the handbrake on and fell out of the car mumbling something like "I must help her, poor wee lass." I turned the engine off and Joseph stumbled around to the boot of the car, after a few seconds ferreting through wellington boots, shooting sticks and car breakdown kits he had found his 'field jacket' (a pac-a-mac to you and I) and headed over towards the girl. Lacking the fine motor skills that he would usually posess Joseph made a clumsy attempt of handing the jacket to the girl. He more or less threw himself (plus jacket) onto the girl and fell on top of her (Benny Hill style - I would've expected greater comedic orginality from Joseph). As our car has tinted windows she hadn't seen that I was with him and thought that Joseph was some kind of, well, dirty old man with wicked intentions. There was an almighty struggle as she tried to free herself from Joseph and his field jacket. She managed to stand up and she gave him a couple of mighty good kicks (for a bare footed slender girl she's left Joseph with some wonderful bruises). Anyway, Joseph hobbled his way back to the car and had (thankfully) forgotten our row and was now suffering from acute paranoia that he's going to be branded a 'pervert' and that he's tarnished his reputation. This went on all the way home. I was feeling a little vindictive so subtly fueled his paranoia by saying things like "well, it did look very compromising" and "a group of people walked past and saw the whole thing." Needless to say, today he has been rather subdued.

Friday, June 16, 2006

For the bewildered....

For those of you who have stumbled at random upon this blog, you will first need to view my husband Joseph's blog to make sense of this blog.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Dolores and Ravel do TK Maxx

Poor Ravel, I know I probably shouldn't be lavishing sympathy on the lad in view of the recent shananigans with Miron but he really does need some help. Since Ravel arrived in Joseph's department I've been desperate to take him under my wing and give him a makeover (of sorts). He will insist upon wearing stone-washed jeans circa 1987 and godawful shell suit jackets. He's not a bad looking bloke in an Eastern-European-pasty-kind-of-way and I really think with a bit of tweeking he'd be fighting off the lasses. If Ravel got a girlfriend I think he would become more stable and less susceptible to the machinations of his rogue sibling.

Our morning went as follows:

9.00 Arrive at Ravel's flat. Find Ravel in kitchen eating remnants of boiled cabbage and tinned frankfurters off a paper plate. Advise Ravel that this is not an ideal breakfast meal.
9.20 Ravel is finally ready to leave. Ravel appears to have doused himself in some kind of aerosol aftershave. Have to drive with windows down despite the inclement Scottish weather.
9.45 Arrive at TK Maxx (as I am paying for Ravel's new wardrobe it has to be done on the cheap).
10.00 Ravel disappears.
10.05 Ravel returns with a fondue set, a wrought iron edged mirror and a faux leopard skin oven-glove set.
10.06 Remind Ravel that we're here on a clothing mission, not a household mission.
10.15 Locate some non-stonewashed jeans, a 3-pack polo shirts and 2 pairs of chinos.
10.16 Ravel insists that I enter changing room with him. Am a little concerned about this and even more concerned when I discover that Ravel is wearing paisley Y -fronts.
10.30 We leave TK Maxx with Ravel decked out in a pale blue polo shirt, a pair of chinos and a tasteful pair of brown leather brogues. Curiously, he looks kind of English foppish now but not unattractive.

The next day.

Joseph informs me that Ravel rolls into work 3 hours late. A bit of a gamble on Ravel's behalf considering the recent goings-on. Apparently, the night before, delighted with his new image, Ravel hits the town, discovers the Scottish drinking culture and ends up spending the night with Kara O'Mara (I kid you not, that's her name) the infamous town bike. I'm intruiged as to how the pair of them communicated, she's from the arse end of Wexford and his grasp of English limited. The mind boggles.

Anyway, I best toddle off. It's Thursday night and that's 'Telephone The Twins' night.

Monday, June 12, 2006

My Book Club

You may be interested to hear that I have started my own Book Club: Joseph plasters his photographs all over his blog so I thought I might as well share my hobby too.

If you pop there now, you might be the first person to submit a review!

Happy reading!


Monday, June 05, 2006

Ohh my poor wee bairns

Let it be said, I have never liked the fact that Joseph insisted that my babies should go to boarding school. How lovely it would be if they could fall off the school bus every evening into a warm kitchen where I could make them a cup of tea and fill them with home-made fruit loaf and listen to their school-boy anecdotes. Alas it is not to be. I'm sure Joseph has made reference to his abysmal childhood and the horrors of Granny McCrumble and her cupboard under the stairs. Well, I think these 'experiences' he suffered have affected him more than he would like to admit. I'm not going to make you privy to Joseph's most intimate demons but let's just say his insistence on the boys' going to boarding school is his way of ensuring that his children are safe. That's his logic anyway - I have pointed out that the kids will probably end up being some spotty oik's fags or subject to ritualistic tamperings in the showers, he simply replies "I went to an all boys grammar school, and it did me no harm." I've never been entirely sure what he means by that....

Anyway, we dropped the twins off at the station after lunch yesterday. Joseph was his usual 'I'm a bloke and I don't have emotions'self. I of course, was fussing and blubbering, not something I'm proud of as I do consider myself quite the stalwart matriarch (on the sly).

Must get back to it.

Until next time...

Sunday, June 04, 2006

Get back Joe Joe

Well, if ya can't beat him....

...create your own Blog.

For several months now I have found myself alone on the sofa of an evening. It's bad enough when he's away (not only am I tinged with loneliness, I'm all a-fidget worrying that he's applied sufficient amounts of deet to repel even the most determined of mosquitoes) but now I find myself watching Crimewatch alone. 'How did this happen?' I ask myself. Bloody blogging, that's how.

So, in the interests of objectivity and impartiality, I shall now be posting my versions of events on my very own Blog.

I very much look forward to making acquaintance with all of you.

Goodbye for now!