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Irish Times
44 minutes ago
- Irish Times
‘He obviously decided that he'd wasted his life, focusing on career, marriage and family goals'
Sorcha tells me that I need to do something and obviously, I'm like, 'Er – as in?' Yeah, no, Angela – the wife of my brother slash half-brother – has been on the phone from the States and Sorcha is running out of excuses. I'm fixing breakfast for the boys when the dude eventually arrives downstairs in the company of a woman named Rowena, who wears leather trousers, has a smoker's cough and works – so she says – in, like, hospitality? She goes, 'I wouldn't say no to a coffee.' READ MORE And Sorcha's like, 'Well, if the walk of shame takes you through Dalkey village, I can recommend the Country Bake.' I love my wife, but – yeah, no – she can be colder than a witch's tit. Rowena, by the way, is the third random woman that Brett has brought home this week. 'So come on, tell us,' Sorcha goes – this is right in front of her, by the way – 'where did you meet this one?' It's Rowena who answers. She's like, 'Tinder,' and then the woman looks at me and sort of, like, narrows her eyes, like I do when I'm trying to add two numbers together, and goes, 'Do I know you from somewhere?' I'm there, 'If you're a rugby fan, then possibly?' She's like, 'No, nothing to do with rugby, no,' in her husky voice. 'Your face is just–' I put a cup of coffee in front of her, portly to shut her up, but also because it's nice to be nice. Sorcha goes, 'Brett, Angela has been ringing – as in, like, your wife?' I think she's expecting a reaction form Rowena to the news that he's married. But she doesn't respond in any way. Just sips her coffee. It's not her first rodeo. I'm there, 'No, I'm most definitely not on the apps,' except at the same time I can feel my face flush? — Ross Sorcha goes, 'She said she's been trying your cell.' He's there, 'I lost my cell.' Sorcha's like, 'How can you be on Tinder if you've lost your cell?' Very little gets past her. Twenty years of being married to me will do that to you. Rowena goes, 'That's how I know your face! Are you on the apps?' I'm there, 'No, I'm most definitely not on the apps,' except at the same time I can feel my face flush? She's like, 'We've definitely met.' Brian, Johnny and Leo are unusually quiet. They're just, like, staring at this woman, open-mouthed. Johnny is actually looking at her chest. Like father, like son, I'm hugely tempted to say. Sorcha cops it too. She goes, 'Johnny, eat your cereal,' and then, at the same time, she gestures to me with her eyes that she wants a word in, like, private? Thirty seconds later, we're outside in the gorden and Sorcha is going, 'Ross, what the actual fock?' I'm there, 'Yeah, no, I'll tell him to go. I'll tell him that we don't approve of this kind of behaviour under our roof,' at the same time hating myself for sounding like Sorcha's old man. She goes, 'Ross, what did you say to him?' I'm there, 'Excuse me?' because I knew I'd end up getting the blame for this. She's like, 'The way he's carrying on, Ross, it's very – I don't even want to say it – but very you behaviour?' I'm there, 'I knew I'd end up being blamed.' She goes, 'It's not a question of blame. I'm just asking, what did you do to encourage this?' I'm like, 'Fock-all, Sorcha. And I mean that literally. The goys – we're talking Christian, we're talking JP, we're talking Oisinn, we're talking, in fairness, Fionn – may have told him some stories about my carry-on over the years in terms of rugby and in terms of – yeah, no – the deadlier of the species. And Brett, who may have already been in, like, midlife crisis mode, decided that I was – yeah, no – some kind of, like, role model to him?' Sorcha goes, 'Oh, Jesus – God help him.' It's nice to see that Sorcha – while being a very, very good person – remains, at hort, an out-and-out south Dublin snob I'm like, 'Excuse me?' because it sounded like a bit of a dig. She's there, 'I just mean – actually, I don't know what I mean? But this can't continue. It was Amory on Saturday night, Summer on Wednesday night and, I don't know, what did she say her name was?' I'm there, 'Rowena,' a little too quickly for Sorcha's liking. 'She said she works in, like, hospitality?' She's like, 'Rowena – whatever. With her leather trousers and a focking black bra showing through a white shirt.' And it's nice to see that Sorcha – while being a very, very good person – remains, at hort, an out-and-out south Dublin snob. She goes, 'Ross, you have to talk to him.' I'm there, 'Excuse me?' She's like, 'Ross, he's only in Ireland because of you. You were the one who–' I'm there, 'Don't say it. Do not say it.' She's like, 'I'm going to say it, Ross. You corrupted him.' I go, 'I didn't corrupt him? Like I said, the goys made me out to be some kind of absolute rugby legend and he obviously decided that he'd wasted his life, focusing on career, marriage and family goals.' She's like, 'Ross, even without being directly responsible, you basically caused this? You're going to have to talk to him and tell him that this can't continue.' So – yeah, no – no choice in the matter, I end up agreeing to have a word with the dude. So we tip back into the kitchen. I could be wrong but it looks like Rowena has undone another shirt button. I'm there, 'Dude, all that shit the goys told you about my rugby career–' He goes, 'It was inspiring.' I'm like, 'Yes, I accept that. But no good can come of you trying to live like me.' He's there, 'Why not? I mean, look at you!' It's lovely for me to hear. I'm there, 'That's lovely for me to hear. But you have everything going for you back in the States, in terms of – yeah, no – a hot wife, a beautiful home, a couple of, in fairness, kids–' He cuts me off. He's like, 'Well, maybe I don't want that any more. Maybe that's not the end of the rainbow for me.' I'm there, 'Oh, you're telling me that's the end of your rainbow,' flicking my thumb in Rowena's general postcode and hating myself for it. 'Dude, that woman is not the end of anyone's rainbow.' Rowena goes, 'Oh my God, I remembered how I know you now. I was with you a few years ago – when you crashed the porty for the closing of the Berkeley Court?' And I'm like, 'Sorcha, we were almost certainly on a break at the time.'
Irish Times
an hour ago
- Irish Times
The Macron shove is not a sign of a very French love story, but something more disturbing
The moment last Monday evening when aeroplane doors opened at Hanoi airport to reveal the French president being shoved in the face by his wife was not the first red flag in their relationship. The first red flag was the fact that, when they met, Emmanuel Macron was a 15-year-old schoolboy, and Brigitte a 39-year-old drama teacher directing a school production. For all they have waxed lyrical in interviews since about the special nature of their love ('when you're in love, you don't choose,' he says; 'little by little, I became completely subjugated by the intelligence of this young man,' she gushes); for all the media obligingly dance around their troubling origin story (note how often reports of this period in their lives refer to him not as a child but as 'the future president' and to her as his 'childhood sweetheart'); this was no mere age gap relationship, and only one of them was a child. Now he is 47 and she is 72, the appropriate response may well be to shrug and say good on them both. But back when they met in 1993, she was an adult woman, and he was a boy. If a 15-year-old girl enters a sexual relationship with a teacher 25 years her senior, the usual and correct response is outrage. When the genders are reversed, it's a very French love story. READ MORE But the story of how the Macrons met has always seemed to inspire an uncharacteristic reticence in the media – particularly the kind of outlets that usually relish nothing more than deconstructing every aspect of a first lady's existence. This conspiracy of coyness may be why the incident on the tarmac in Vietnam earlier this week was met with such an odd response. Sure, the split second of slightly blurred footage immediately went around the world and was thoroughly dissected: the force with which she shoved him in the face, using both of her hands. The way his head jerks back. His look of shock. The speed at which he recovered his composure and waved to the cameras. Her refusal to take his arm going down the aeroplane steps. Yet, for all the coverage, the reaction was weirdly muted. Much commentary opted for the strained, bemused tone you might use should you find yourself trapped at an uncomfortable dinner with a warring couple. The moment when aeroplane doors opened at Hanoi airport to reveal the French president being shoved in the face by his wife was not the first red flag in their relationship. The Elysée Palace responded at first by suggesting the video was a Russian deepfake, and then spun it as a 'moment of closeness', the couple 'decompressing'. Macron himself said they were 'bickering, or rather joking': 'The video becomes a sort of geoplanetary catastrophe. In the world we live in, we don't have a lot of time to lose. This is all a bit of nonsense,' he said, demonstrating himself to be not averse to spouting geoplanetary nonsense of his own. Those who thought otherwise were 'crazies', 'nuts' and clearly had 'sugar rushing to their heads'. So that's settled. Nothing to see here. Except, of course, anyone with a smartphone and a social media account did see it. And yet, just as they have always done where the Macrons are concerned, the media seemed to largely acquiesce to being told that they did not see what they saw. Politico characterised it a 'spat'. The New York Times led with Macron's dismissal of it as 'nonsense'. USA Today went with a translation of his words as 'horsing around'. The Sun called it 'embarrassing'. One commentator decided that it was not 'just a shove [but] a symbol, a barometer of a world out of sorts, reflexively violent, perpetually on edge'. Macron is, of course, entitled to his privacy and to our compassion – I can't imagine anyone looking at footage and not being struck, above all, by his humanity. But he is also a public figure, and his willingness to brush off a moment of aggressive physical contact from an intimate partner is, at best, a missed opportunity to address the stigma surrounding domestic abuse. [ Emmanuel Macron plays down video of shove from wife: 'It's nonsense' Opens in new window ] At worst, it sends a harmful message about what men are supposed to quietly put up with. The obvious question – and yet only a handful asked it – was whether we would be so willing to chalk this up as a moment of mild embarrassment if he was a woman and she was a man. Of course we wouldn't. When advertising mogul Charles Saatchi was photographed grabbing his then wife Nigella Lawson by the throat in a London restaurant in 2013, the reaction was swift and unequivocal. It amounted to (with a handful of notable exceptions, mostly involving older men in the media with social connections to Saatchi) horror and revulsion. The images were more graphic and left little room for ambiguity, but the context was similar: an unguarded moment that hinted at something disturbing beneath the glossy surface of the lives of an apparently happy power couple. Saatchi's first reaction was that it was a 'playful tiff' ; Lawson's was to pack up and leave with her children. The editor of the Sunday People, which first published the images, later explained the rationale for it: 'Our debate kept coming back to what was going on behind closed doors if Saatchi was able to behave like this in public. We concluded that there was a genuine public interest ... We couldn't think of any circumstances in which his behaviour could be justified.' [ The pictures of Charles Saatchi and Nigella Lawson were disturbing. But so too was the public rush to judgment Opens in new window ] Those same considerations ought to apply here – yet many commentators seem to have no trouble coming up with circumstances to justify Brigitte Macron's behaviour. Perhaps it's just that many of us are incapable of reconciling the idea that a man in a position of power can also be someone vulnerable to the possibility of domestic abuse. There are well-known reasons men underreport domestic violence – among them is the fear they won't be taken seriously. Based on events this week, they're probably right.
Irish Times
an hour ago
- Irish Times
‘Tháinig ár lá': Lawyers agree €100,000 damages award is undeniable win for Gerry Adams and republicanism generally
The €100,000 in damages awarded to lifelong republican leader Gerry Adams is in the 'medium range' for awards for defamation. Very moderate defamations, Mr Justice Alexander Owens had told the jury, should get awards of up to €50,000, medium range defamations €50,000 to €125,000, serious defamations €125,000 to €200,000, and 'truly exceptional' defamations, €200,000 to €300,000. Given that Adams was alleged to have given the go-ahead for a man to be murdered, the award could be seen as a low one, two experienced lawyers, speaking off the record, observed in the wake of the verdict. Nevertheless, it is an undeniable win for Adams and republicanism generally. 'Tháinig ár lá' [our day has come], muttered one legal figure as the court was emptying, referring to the republican catchphrase 'Tiocfaidh ár lá'. READ MORE The jury found the BBC Northern Ireland programme, Spotlight, defamed Adams in 2016 when it quoted an anonymous man saying Adams would have given the go-ahead for the 2006 murder of self-confessed republican informer, Denis Donaldson, and that Donaldson was killed by the IRA . The programme included a statement from Adams refuting the allegation. In the witness box Adams pointed out that the IRA issued a statement in 2005 saying it had 'formally ordered an end to the armed campaign' and that all members were told to restrict themselves to 'exclusively peaceful' activities. The Spotlight allegation, he said, meant that the IRA statement was all 'a cod'. As someone who had worked hard to bring about peace, this had damaged his name in the 'broad republican family'. The jury found that the BBC was not entitled to a defence that the defamatory material was published in good faith or constituted fair and reasonable journalism. The cost of the lengthy High Court trial, to be borne by the BBC, is likely to exceed €3 million. The decision by Adams to take proceedings before a jury in Dublin rather than in Belfast was one of the many interesting features of the case. (It was open to Adams to take proceedings on both sides of the border). It is too late now for proceedings in Northern Ireland. The programme had just 15,800 views on terrestrial TV in this jurisdiction, which may be a factor in the size of the award. The jury was told only to compensate damage to reputation in this jurisdiction. Adams, in the witness box, accepted that politicians, journalists and others have repeatedly alleged he was a senior figure in the IRA and associated with overseeing many of its most heinous crimes. His evidence was that he joined Sinn Féin as a young man and not the IRA. 'It wasn't a path I took, that was a decision by me, not to join the IRA, to join Sinn Féin,' he told the jury. The BBC were arguing he had 'no reputation, that my reputation is useless,' he complained. Spotlight believed it could 'say whatever they like about me, and I can have no redress'. The lawyers who spoke to The Irish Times were critical of the Spotlight programme. Just because a person had a sullied reputation should not mean anything can be said about them. Under US law wild allegations can be published there about public figures without fear of being sued if the person's reaction to the allegation is also published, one observed. 'That's unfair.' Mr Justice Owens, who made many observations during the five-week trial, at one stage remarked that reputations change and instanced that Ireland had a civil war after which the reputations of the participants changed over time. Adams, presumably, would have welcomed the analogy.
