No 9 Most Embarrassing Moments

Sunday Tribune, 20 January 2008


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 us. Several red-faced Indian gentlemen surrounded the table, one carrying a cake with almost-spent candles.
“They’ve been waiting for 15 minutes for you to come out of the loo,” Mrs Erindipity whispered.
We never went back.

Most purple-faced Bishop

In 2006 the C of E Bishop of Southwark appeared at Mass sporting a black eye after being mugged following a drinks reception at the Irish embassy in London.
The Bishop had told police and his flock that he had been robbed after two hours drinking wine with the Paddies, but didn’t remember the incident.
Others did, however – much to his embarrassment.
According to witnesses the Bishop ended up in a lane near his cathedral where he climbed into a stranger’s Merc, setting off the alarm.When the owner came to investigate he found the robed Bishop sitting in the back, throwing toys out on to the road. The incident was to provide the classic definition of a Bishop’s job.
“What are you doing in my car?” the owner demanded.
“I’m the Bishop of Southwark,” the figure haughtily replied, adding helpfully, “it’s what I do.”


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 inundated with requests for sundry items.
“New shorts and a new hat,” says one hairy chap.
“Bleach,” says a dyed blonde.
“Toothpaste,” says another hirsute islander.
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 story.
Last Christmas our good friend Dominick Lewis traipsed into Brown Thomas’s 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 [italics] Karen Millen [close italics] . . .”
“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, etc . . .