Sunday Tribune
2 TribuneReview
DAVID KENNY’S ERINDIPITY
#9 Most embarrassing moments
THERE are two types of person in
the world: those who get
embarrassed and those who do not.
Actually, that’s not true. There are
loads of other types of person in the
world, but this week we’re just
concentrating on the aforementioned
type.
This is due to the convergence of
two recent events in our shrivelled
brain. The first was the settling of
clothes-maker Karen Millen’s case
with Dunnes over the copying of her
designs. The second was the fresh
horse manure being spread at the
Mahon tribunal. (Please keep reading
– this isn’t about tribunals.)
We’ll come to Karen Millen later,
but for now let’s consider Mahon
where, on Tuesday, lobbyist Frank
Dunlop claimed he had paid trainer
Jim Bolger the equivalent of
€200,000 for a share of a horse in
1992.
The nag, which Dunlop had never
seen, died before it could be
registered and never had a name,
passport or insurance. Remarkably,
Dunlop didn’t ask for his money back
and forgot about the affair until
questioned by the tribunal. He denies
giving money to Bolger for “onward
transmission” to someone else, or of
using him to facilitate a payment to
someone else.
Judge Mahon was unimpressed
and said he was making the horse
story up, yet thick-necked Dunlop
ploughed on, proving that he falls into
the Impossible to Embarrass
category. Erindipity does not and is
regularly embarrassed by our own
behaviour. And so, for your
delectation, here is a selection of
Most Embarrassing Moments,
beginning with yours truly in a
Dalkey restaurant.
Most red-faced Indians
Several years ago we found ourselves
nursing a heavy cold and grimly
celebrating our birthday in the Al
Minar Tandoori. The Family had
decided spicy food would unclog our
nasal passages, which it did, and after
the main course we went to the loo to
blow our hooter.
Turning our nose up at the
sandpapery bog roll, we grabbed a
fistful of soft paper hand towels, and
after a few blows had cleared our
head. Relieved, we flushed the lav
which immediately backed up as the
towels had absorbed so much water
they were the size of extra-large
Pampers. We waited for the cistern to
fill again and the water level to drop.
And waited and waited. Five
minutes later sufficient water had
dripped into the cistern to allow
another flush.
Still the towels refused to budge. So
we waited again on the pathetic
cistern. And waited and waited. As
this was the restaurant’s only men’s
toilet, we began to panic, imagining
that someone might be waiting
outside for almost 10 minutes now.
Again we flushed to no effect and
panic turned us into a sweaty ball of
rage, waving our fist at the loo,
kicking it and swearing (as quietly as
possible) that we’d “f*****g get you,
you b*****d.”
We lifted the lid of the cistern and
yanked the ball-cock in an attempt to
make the water flow faster, which it
did and continued to do, as we stood
with the broken implement in our
hand, mouthing “oh my God oh my
God” like a religious goldfish.
Over 15 minutes had elapsed when
we returned to the table. There had
been nobody waiting outside the bog
and no one to point the finger of
blame at the perspiring madman who
had, evidently, broken the loo after a
quarter hour spent dealing with the
effects of his vindaloo. We were in the
clear.
“Cleared my nose,” we said to the
our guests, as the strains of “Happy
Birthday to you” started up behind
Victoria Smurfit: us. Several red-faced Indian
Most gentlemen surrounded the table, one
embarrassing carrying a cake with almost-spent
line for an candles.
actress “They’ve been waiting 15 minutes
for you to come out of the loo,” Mrs
Erindipity whispered.
We never went back.
Most embarrassing
line for an actress
Victoria Smurfit must have been
transfigured with delight when she
learned that she was going to act
alongside Leonardo di Caprio in the
movie The Beach. It was an experience
she would never forget (however hard
she tried).
The trade-off for acting with Leo
was that she had to recite the worst
line in a movie ever.
In the scene where his character is
about to go ashore to get rice, Leo is
‘Erindipity Rides inundated with requests for sundry
Again’ (Mentor, ¤15) items.
has just hit the “New shorts and a new hat,” says
bookshelves one hairy chap.
“Bleach,” says a dyed-blonde.
dkenny@tribune.ie “Toothpaste,” says another hirsute
www.davekenny.com islander.
20/01/08
And then it’s Victoria’s turn.
Aspirin, paracetamol and,” she says,
breathlessly, “six boxes of tampons.”
Interestingly, the movie was never
billed as a ‘period drama’.
Least red-faced Rose
The Rose of Tralee regularly throws
up (pun intended) a few moments of
arch-squirminess among the regular
squirminess we have become used to.
In 2007 the Washington contestant
surpassed all expectations and proved
that it’s impossible to embarrass a
Rose when she sang the alphabet
backwards and spoke, onstage, to her
mother in her own made-up language
called ‘Op’.
Rose? Pricks? Construct your own
gag.
Most embarrassing
fashion moment
Finally we get to the previously
mentioned Karen Millen.
Last Christmas our good friend
Dominick Lewis traipsed into Brown
Thomas to buy his fiancée a pashmina.
Dom, being a man’s man, knew that
this was not a breed of dog, but was
still unsure of what he was buying.
After 20 minutes wandering around
he eventually found the relevant
department. Two assistants stood by
the cash desk chatting as he fumbled
through the rails. Eventually he gave
up and approached them.
“I’m looking for a pashmina,” he
said to assistant one, “but I don’t know
anything about them. Can you help me
pick one out?”
“Certainly sir,” replied the lady,
turning to her left, “This here is Karen
Millen...”
“Hello, Karen,” said Dominick to her
colleague, “I’m looking to buy a
pashmina for my fiancée . . .”
Most embarrassing jockey moment
Roger Loughran stood tall in the
stirrups of Central House at the end of
the Dial-A-Bet Chase at Leopardstown
in 2005. He waved his whip at the
grandstand and punched the air.
Roger had just turned professional
and couldn’t contain himself after
scoring his first Grade One victory. His
joy was unbridled. There was just one
problem – he still had 80m to race. The
hapless jock had mistaken the end of a
running rail for the winning post, and
as he slowed down two other riders
galloped past, relegating him to third
place. The crowd booed and he was,
rightly, mortified. His remains the
second most incredible story about a
man and a horse ever told.
So what’s the difference between
Roger and Frank Dunlop?
One’s a jockey getting it in the neck
for acting the b****x, while the other’s a
man with a neck like a jockey’s etc, etc.