Mummy From Hell by Kenneth Doyle

Author:Kenneth Doyle [Doyle, Kenneth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Parenting, Motherhood, Abuse, Self-Help, Biography & Autobiography, Family & Relationships, Biography
ISBN: 9780091937942
Publisher: Ebury
Published: 2010-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

‘Mad Irishman’

I succumbed, body and soul, to the demon drink as if I had a special vocation for it – which I suppose I did in a way. I drank as if there was no present, no tomorrow. I drank as if there was only my past. Of course living above a busy, friendly bar did not help and when I thought I had gotten ridiculously drunk one too many times at the Burrows Arms I took myself off to another bar for a while and then on to another one. Pretty soon I was on first-name terms with every publican in Swansea. My wife used to wonder how I knew so many people. I even had my own nickname with the locals; they called me the ‘Mad Irishman’. I drank frequently and always with the intention of getting drunk to the point where I hardly knew my own name. It got so that I was spending hundreds of pounds a week on drink. I kept working so that I would have the money to buy alcohol. When I ran out of money I was quite capable of taking things from the house to sell them: the tumble dryer, jewellery, the television and the video recorder. I think the worst thing I ever did was to steal Berny’s precious fur coat and sell it to buy booze.

A typical day included my bringing six to eight cans of cider to work with me. After a while I needed to bring an additional flask of rum or whiskey as the cider, from overuse, lost its ability to keep my memories properly at bay. When I knocked off work at 5 pm I headed straight to the pub where I would easily put away twelve pints of Guinness accompanied by twelve chasers of whisky. Only then was I drunk enough. One morning I woke up to find myself on a ferry which had just docked at Ireland. It took me ages to work out where I was and when I finally managed to recognise the innards of the ferry I looked out a porthole to see the sign, ‘Welcome to Ireland’. Then, under the guise of ‘Mad Irishman’, I began my own little crime wave: drunken disorderliness, burglary and assaulting the police officers who came to save me from myself. It was only a matter of time before I ended up behind bars. I soon found myself in Swansea jail for twelve weeks until I got bail.

If this was a novel, you would probably be reading at this point about my moment of glorious epiphany while I sat in my cell reflecting on my actions, followed by the consequential complete transformation as I realised how much I loved my wife and so forth. And yes, I did have plenty of time to ask myself what the hell was going on with me. I knew I was breaking Berny’s heart and that I needed to get a grip, to take control of the situation – I just wasn’t sure how I was to go about regaining control.

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