Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Daughters Will Have Your Heart Broken
My mother is in a decline. It is because of me, again. I left my husband, again. Actually, I am not one of those sap women that goes running off to her mother every time there is a marital row. I left him ten years ago, because he was a big cunt, then I forgave him, because I have an enormous heart and a generosity of spirit that knows no bounds, and then I left him this time because I was dying inside and he wasn't over the moon either.
I didn't tell her for a while, Himself did, in an email, but Merciful Jesus prevented her from receiving it, because she is old, has got a new car that she keeps locking herself into and could not get herself out of the car and in to the library to look at a computer.
My brother Francis eventually broke the news to them, after treating me to a lecture about the sin of divorce, and she then settled in to an enormous state of worry, which was relayed to me via skype, email, text and increasingly threatening phone calls from my siblings.
Eventually, under pressure from Francis and even Maud (who was gettting it in the neck about why I had absconded to east africa) I rang her. You'd have heard more life in cadaver, the voice she had on her.
'Hello' *weakly
'Hello Ma, It's Noreen. I'm in Africa'
'I heard. How are the children?' (this is typical. I could be being eaten by a lion, or gang-raped by the whole of the Masai tribe while I am on the phone, and she is only interested in the grandchildren)
'I believe they are fine. Himself is looking after them very well'
'Are you still losing weight?'
'I am still skinny yes - I think it was the stress of leaving'
'Well of course I knew. I just knew that it was emotional. There was no way there was anything physical wrong with you, you've the constitution of an ox. I said to myself 'It'll be to do with her marriage. She always gets thin when there are problems'
'Why didn't you say anything to me then? I had to go and have all those fecking tests, and there you were, telling me how you are a martyr to your thyroid and it was almost certainly the appalling health that you had suffered your entire life coming to bite me on the arse in middle age. You could have just said 'are you unhappy, Noreen'
'Well of course I have been incredibly stressed these last two months as well, probably more than you, because I was thinking you had the cancer or possibly even something worse'
'I thought you said you knew it was stress? And what is worse than cancer?'
'You know perfectly well what is worse than cancer, and the way you carry on, it may yet afflict you' (I think she is talking about HIV or something 'social' like the clap)
I let her go on a bit and then she started to try to figure out the name of the country back in the dark ages, and whether she had once owned a stamp from there, and what it said on the stamp, but do you know what she did not do? She did not tell me that someone I hardly knew had died. So there you have it. If you want your Irish mother to stop harping on about the departed, leave your spouses and move to the third world. That is all.
Noreen
I didn't tell her for a while, Himself did, in an email, but Merciful Jesus prevented her from receiving it, because she is old, has got a new car that she keeps locking herself into and could not get herself out of the car and in to the library to look at a computer.
My brother Francis eventually broke the news to them, after treating me to a lecture about the sin of divorce, and she then settled in to an enormous state of worry, which was relayed to me via skype, email, text and increasingly threatening phone calls from my siblings.
Eventually, under pressure from Francis and even Maud (who was gettting it in the neck about why I had absconded to east africa) I rang her. You'd have heard more life in cadaver, the voice she had on her.
'Hello' *weakly
'Hello Ma, It's Noreen. I'm in Africa'
'I heard. How are the children?' (this is typical. I could be being eaten by a lion, or gang-raped by the whole of the Masai tribe while I am on the phone, and she is only interested in the grandchildren)
'I believe they are fine. Himself is looking after them very well'
'Are you still losing weight?'
'I am still skinny yes - I think it was the stress of leaving'
'Well of course I knew. I just knew that it was emotional. There was no way there was anything physical wrong with you, you've the constitution of an ox. I said to myself 'It'll be to do with her marriage. She always gets thin when there are problems'
'Why didn't you say anything to me then? I had to go and have all those fecking tests, and there you were, telling me how you are a martyr to your thyroid and it was almost certainly the appalling health that you had suffered your entire life coming to bite me on the arse in middle age. You could have just said 'are you unhappy, Noreen'
'Well of course I have been incredibly stressed these last two months as well, probably more than you, because I was thinking you had the cancer or possibly even something worse'
'I thought you said you knew it was stress? And what is worse than cancer?'
'You know perfectly well what is worse than cancer, and the way you carry on, it may yet afflict you' (I think she is talking about HIV or something 'social' like the clap)
I let her go on a bit and then she started to try to figure out the name of the country back in the dark ages, and whether she had once owned a stamp from there, and what it said on the stamp, but do you know what she did not do? She did not tell me that someone I hardly knew had died. So there you have it. If you want your Irish mother to stop harping on about the departed, leave your spouses and move to the third world. That is all.
Noreen
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Condolences, Noreen, these break-ups are so damned miserable. Interesting you're now in the birthplace of humanity, where bare-titted women and big cunty men invented the concept of marital strife. It probably affected them less in those days because they had worse things to worry about, like lions.
Thank you GB, that's very sweet. I'm actually not miserable at all, I am quite cheerful. I like it here, it's raving mad, quite beautiful and the food is decent, which I certainly fucking wasn't expecting. I haven't seen any bare titted women yet, but I'll let you know when I do.
Noreen
Noreen
You're sounding quite bright - which is good - keep it up!
The telephone call from an Irish mother sounds quite similar to telephone calls from Scottish mothers - most of which begin with a heavy sigh and great emphasis on the 'I could be DEAD for all you care because you never phone me'.
Space for another wee one over there in East Africa *hopeful face*
Ali x
The telephone call from an Irish mother sounds quite similar to telephone calls from Scottish mothers - most of which begin with a heavy sigh and great emphasis on the 'I could be DEAD for all you care because you never phone me'.
Space for another wee one over there in East Africa *hopeful face*
Ali x
Well glad to see you’re so chipper Noreen.
Do enjoy your West African escapade.
I don’t mean to spoil the fun but if things get legal, doesn’t buggering off without the kids leave you a tad vulnerable with regard to accusations of abandonment? Or did you sort things out with Himself before heading off to bare-titty land?
Indeed, if “going-off-on-conversational-tangents” were an Olympic sport, every Irish mother would be bedecked in more medals than Michael fucking Phelps.
Do enjoy your West African escapade.
I don’t mean to spoil the fun but if things get legal, doesn’t buggering off without the kids leave you a tad vulnerable with regard to accusations of abandonment? Or did you sort things out with Himself before heading off to bare-titty land?
Indeed, if “going-off-on-conversational-tangents” were an Olympic sport, every Irish mother would be bedecked in more medals than Michael fucking Phelps.
Get yourself a Welsh mam, Noreen. They don't give a toss about the grandchildren, as they've already had you lot and that's their dues paid. They tell you about recently deceased nobodies, it's true, but with such glee that you wished you'd know them when they were capable of such atrocities as not washing their nets etc. And no one - son or daughter-in-law - is good enough for you.
I've got one who enjoys a chat, and she knows where Kenya is as her cousin used to run the Royal Mail there in colonial times. He retired to Sheffield.
I've got one who enjoys a chat, and she knows where Kenya is as her cousin used to run the Royal Mail there in colonial times. He retired to Sheffield.
Blimey, Noreen. Here I was thinking the long silence was due to something relatively painless, like delayed punctuation trauma or a course in proper internet usage courtesy of the Chinese ministry of enlightenment through salt mining, and all the time it was husbands and mothers and ghastly things like that. Nice to see that you don't do marital break-ups by halves, buggering off to Zanzibar when many of us would be content to sulk silently in the next room to the ex-spouse or, if especially British, in the opposite corner of the same room as the ex-spouse. Don't stay out in the sun too long, and mind you don't get elephantiasis.
Word Verification: cones. Cones. Dull, but true.
Word Verification: cones. Cones. Dull, but true.
Ah, you are all very kind. See there I was thinking you were a bunch of evil little cunts and you come out with kindness.
Lung - himself is being very good about things at the moment, and two of my children are really incredibly old and are quite capable of abandoning me. I am aware that they will be choosing the home I go into when I am old, so am doing my best to maintain good relations with all of them - but thank you - it is a good point.
Boyo - is your mother looking to adopt? Can she make welsh cakes? I love welsh cakes. If she can - you have yourself a new sister
Philip I have never understood estranged people hanging about each other to ennjoy the fallout of a relationship. But then I have never understood hanging about full stop. I like to run from trouble, as fast as I can and preferably to somewhere hot, as I tan beautifully being Wog Irish rather than Bog (That means I am swarthy, not freckly).I hope your next word verification is rods.
Noreen
Lung - himself is being very good about things at the moment, and two of my children are really incredibly old and are quite capable of abandoning me. I am aware that they will be choosing the home I go into when I am old, so am doing my best to maintain good relations with all of them - but thank you - it is a good point.
Boyo - is your mother looking to adopt? Can she make welsh cakes? I love welsh cakes. If she can - you have yourself a new sister
Philip I have never understood estranged people hanging about each other to ennjoy the fallout of a relationship. But then I have never understood hanging about full stop. I like to run from trouble, as fast as I can and preferably to somewhere hot, as I tan beautifully being Wog Irish rather than Bog (That means I am swarthy, not freckly).I hope your next word verification is rods.
Noreen
Alison, you are most welcome to come. I hope you like bad driving, sun and loud south africans
Noreen
Noreen
"...or gang-raped by the whole of the Masai tribe while I am on the phone...."
Perhaps your sainted mam considered this eventuality to be a good thing? The Irish mam would never enquire after the beneficial goings-on of their crotch-fruit now would they?
Perhaps your sainted mam considered this eventuality to be a good thing? The Irish mam would never enquire after the beneficial goings-on of their crotch-fruit now would they?
# posted by 
: 6:11 PM
: 6:11 PM
So you ran off to Africa without a single thought about us. Where are we to go to vent our spleen if you don't write shite on here?
Try not to get eaten by anything. I walked into a lion in Malawi, true story, but it couldn't be arsed to eat me, you might not be so lucky.
Speaking of mothers, I never took any girls home for years, because I knew she would embarrass me, but then I found that she had told all her friends that I was gay.
Try not to get eaten by anything. I walked into a lion in Malawi, true story, but it couldn't be arsed to eat me, you might not be so lucky.
Speaking of mothers, I never took any girls home for years, because I knew she would embarrass me, but then I found that she had told all her friends that I was gay.
# posted by : 11:13 PM
: 11:13 PM
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# posted by : 4:58 PM
: 4:58 PM
Are you the Nona shivangi who blew me behind the Odeon in Bangalore for an onion bhaji?
# posted by : 1:01 AM
: 1:01 AM
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Keep it up and you'll find yourself on Irish Cunts one day... if you're lucky. I like the blog, very cuntish.
Noreen,
Mum will get over the break-up. Better to be away from all, in East Africa, than feeling the up-close warmth of familial rejection. Remember, too, you were the one sniffing hubby's stale flatulence ---not Mum! Send her an arrangement of flowers or fruit, along with a thoughtful sentiment. Somehow, words affixed to air-mailed gifts create a milieu of honest reflection.
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Mum will get over the break-up. Better to be away from all, in East Africa, than feeling the up-close warmth of familial rejection. Remember, too, you were the one sniffing hubby's stale flatulence ---not Mum! Send her an arrangement of flowers or fruit, along with a thoughtful sentiment. Somehow, words affixed to air-mailed gifts create a milieu of honest reflection.
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