A woman scorned.
Jesus, I read this in the Independent this morning and my first thought was Jesus, heat of the moment rage is a very very dangerous thing indeed. Oh, dontcha like the way the Indo put 'another woman' in inverted commas? Was she not a woman? Maybe she was a puppy. Or a rainbow. Anyhoo
"A JEALOUS housewife in a fit of rage ran down her husband with a car after a row over "another woman".
Mother-of-four Helen Fehily of Murphy Place, Abbeyside, Dungarvan, Co Waterford, was given a suspended two-year prison sentence at Waterford Circuit Court.
She pleaded guilty to causing serious harm to her husband Mark on August 14, 2006. She also pleaded guilty to drunken driving and dangerous driving on the same occasion.
The court heard that the couple were married for 17 years and had a turbulent relationship. They had just reunited after a separation of several months.
The incident was triggered off when the "other woman" played back a voicemail message in which the husband claimed he was "mad" about her.
The defendant left the pub in Dungarvan where the message was played on a mobile phone and drove to a nearby cove where her son was fishing with her husband. The couple engaged in fisticuffs and she grabbed the car keys and drove the vehicle at him.
While on the ground injured she drove at her husband a second time and attempted to drive the car at him a third time but her son intervened and managed to stop the car.
As a result of the collision the husband's neck was broken and a plate and two bolts had to be inserted in his neck. He also suffered a fractured elbow, cracked ribs and his left ear was detached from the side of his head. He also had extensive bruising, said Gda Jim Ahearne.
Following surgery, the husband made a good recovery. The couple had a turbulent relationship and a barring order was obtained against the husband due to violence in the home.
The husband told the court that he did not want to see his wife locked up for what she did to him."
Very decent of him.
Bit extreme, and while I find I can't support a woman running her husband and father of her kids over I do understand the fury behind it. Haven't we all done rash things in fits of rage? I"m rather hoping some of you agree with me here, I don't want to be Johnnysolopsycho on a Friday.
I'll tell you what a fatcat once did, not in rage I might add, in cool calculated anger.
Many many years ago I went out with a chap, a most unsuitable chap, so utterly wrong for me that to this day I will sometimes bang the heel of my hand against my forehead and cry, 'What were you thinking!?' in the strangest of places.
To give you some idea Try to imagine pairing plaid with horizontal stripes, only fools think they go together, fools and people with mental problems.
But I digress.
Our relationship was stormy from day one. Literally, it rained constantly it seemed. Forcing us to spend more time than is natural together, by the time we moved to Dublin together we were ready to do serious battle (how it never occurred to just split up is a whole other story).
Anyway, after one particularly nasty wet weekend he moved out, but insisted we still see each other. I saw him and then decided I wouldn't, he disagreed with this decision by kicking the front door off my lousy grotty flat. Nothing says I love you more than destroying a girl's front door. Conversely, nothing says 'I'm a big fucking eegit and I should just gas myself now and be done with it' than the girl-despite being angry about the door- finding this somewhat passionate.
'I want to bury the hatchet' he said, as the last of the hinges fell.
'I'd like to bury it too! Right between your two fucking eyes. You broke my door!'
'Look I don't want to fight with you. And I'll fix your door on the weekend.'
Such romance. Naturally he never fixed the door either.
Anyhoo, we went along like this for a few more months, fighting, making up, kicking holes in doors, I in an act of fury one day ripped up nearly all of his text books for college, leaving him no choice but to spend three whole days sticking the pages back together again. He got me back by getting me fired from my weekend job by coming in drunk and glaring at all the patrons and offering to fight the manager when he was asked to leave.
Oh wot larks.
Nightmare.
Anyway, the heel of the hunt arrived when I caught him out with some dollybird one night. Don't ask me how I knew what the stupid shite was up to, it's not like he didn't leave enough hints.
He might as well have said, 'Say fat cat I"m going for a drink with some....MALE friends that you DON"T know tonight.'
'Why are you making inverted comma signs with your finger like that?' I might have replied had I not been busy scraping mould from the fridge.
But my antenna was up and half an hour after he left I followed. Because he is/ was a total idiot, it never even occurred to him to go to a totally different pub from the one we might frequent on occasion. I walked in saw them together, made sure he saw me and then turned heel and left. He ran after me.
'It's not what you think!' He roared.
'Sure it is.'
'You're acting like a stupid bitch.' He grabbed my arm.
I hit him.
He hit me back.
I was stunned. And then I was furious. With a blood curling scream I went for him and we wasted a few more minutes looking like stupid fucking eegits on a busy road in Rathmines until finally a passing squad ordered us to cease and desist immediately.
'What the fuck's is got to do with you.' My idiot soon to be very ex-boyfriend yelled at the two cops.
Moment later he found out just what it had to do with them and by the time he got the blood to circulate in his arm again I had gone home and barricaded myself in my flat using the fridge to keep the broken door closed.
Oh but I was velly angry, filled with a cold fury that wouldn't' calm. I didn't sleep, I ignored phone calls,(nothing really new there) I plotted and I schemed. What could I do to right this wrong? to save this face? to gain the upper hand.
What would make him suffer as I was now suffering.
I pondered all these thing and nothing came to mind. I ghost walked for a few days, attending my useless bar job and dragging my tired body to the laundrette and back again. But still I raged.
And then, one day, I was passing the swimming pool in Rathmines when I saw it. My opportunity. There it was, gleaming, in a shaft of light.
His one prize possession. The only thing he owned worth any money.
His racing bike.
And lo, the idea came to me.
I fished my flat keys from my pocket and stared. Yes! I still had it, the second spare key to the lock that was currently holding said bike to the railings of the pool.
I glanced around once and then unlocked the bike. I took it down and walked away quickly. It was a proper professional racing bike, one his parents had bought him for competitions, light and fast.
I took it immediately to Ranelagh, where upon I sold it to a man called Chester for quite a decent sum of money. Money which I used to buy very nice Levi Jeans with.
I felt my heart begin to heal.
When we got back together a fortnight or so later (I told you we were idiots) He lamented the loss of this great bike and swore that he would wreak vengeance on the thief when he found them. I lit another cigarette and nodded sagely, admiring the seam on my new jeans.
"A JEALOUS housewife in a fit of rage ran down her husband with a car after a row over "another woman".
Mother-of-four Helen Fehily of Murphy Place, Abbeyside, Dungarvan, Co Waterford, was given a suspended two-year prison sentence at Waterford Circuit Court.
She pleaded guilty to causing serious harm to her husband Mark on August 14, 2006. She also pleaded guilty to drunken driving and dangerous driving on the same occasion.
The court heard that the couple were married for 17 years and had a turbulent relationship. They had just reunited after a separation of several months.
The incident was triggered off when the "other woman" played back a voicemail message in which the husband claimed he was "mad" about her.
The defendant left the pub in Dungarvan where the message was played on a mobile phone and drove to a nearby cove where her son was fishing with her husband. The couple engaged in fisticuffs and she grabbed the car keys and drove the vehicle at him.
While on the ground injured she drove at her husband a second time and attempted to drive the car at him a third time but her son intervened and managed to stop the car.
As a result of the collision the husband's neck was broken and a plate and two bolts had to be inserted in his neck. He also suffered a fractured elbow, cracked ribs and his left ear was detached from the side of his head. He also had extensive bruising, said Gda Jim Ahearne.
Following surgery, the husband made a good recovery. The couple had a turbulent relationship and a barring order was obtained against the husband due to violence in the home.
The husband told the court that he did not want to see his wife locked up for what she did to him."
Very decent of him.
Bit extreme, and while I find I can't support a woman running her husband and father of her kids over I do understand the fury behind it. Haven't we all done rash things in fits of rage? I"m rather hoping some of you agree with me here, I don't want to be Johnnysolopsycho on a Friday.
I'll tell you what a fatcat once did, not in rage I might add, in cool calculated anger.
Many many years ago I went out with a chap, a most unsuitable chap, so utterly wrong for me that to this day I will sometimes bang the heel of my hand against my forehead and cry, 'What were you thinking!?' in the strangest of places.
To give you some idea Try to imagine pairing plaid with horizontal stripes, only fools think they go together, fools and people with mental problems.
But I digress.
Our relationship was stormy from day one. Literally, it rained constantly it seemed. Forcing us to spend more time than is natural together, by the time we moved to Dublin together we were ready to do serious battle (how it never occurred to just split up is a whole other story).
Anyway, after one particularly nasty wet weekend he moved out, but insisted we still see each other. I saw him and then decided I wouldn't, he disagreed with this decision by kicking the front door off my lousy grotty flat. Nothing says I love you more than destroying a girl's front door. Conversely, nothing says 'I'm a big fucking eegit and I should just gas myself now and be done with it' than the girl-despite being angry about the door- finding this somewhat passionate.
'I want to bury the hatchet' he said, as the last of the hinges fell.
'I'd like to bury it too! Right between your two fucking eyes. You broke my door!'
'Look I don't want to fight with you. And I'll fix your door on the weekend.'
Such romance. Naturally he never fixed the door either.
Anyhoo, we went along like this for a few more months, fighting, making up, kicking holes in doors, I in an act of fury one day ripped up nearly all of his text books for college, leaving him no choice but to spend three whole days sticking the pages back together again. He got me back by getting me fired from my weekend job by coming in drunk and glaring at all the patrons and offering to fight the manager when he was asked to leave.
Oh wot larks.
Nightmare.
Anyway, the heel of the hunt arrived when I caught him out with some dollybird one night. Don't ask me how I knew what the stupid shite was up to, it's not like he didn't leave enough hints.
He might as well have said, 'Say fat cat I"m going for a drink with some....MALE friends that you DON"T know tonight.'
'Why are you making inverted comma signs with your finger like that?' I might have replied had I not been busy scraping mould from the fridge.
But my antenna was up and half an hour after he left I followed. Because he is/ was a total idiot, it never even occurred to him to go to a totally different pub from the one we might frequent on occasion. I walked in saw them together, made sure he saw me and then turned heel and left. He ran after me.
'It's not what you think!' He roared.
'Sure it is.'
'You're acting like a stupid bitch.' He grabbed my arm.
I hit him.
He hit me back.
I was stunned. And then I was furious. With a blood curling scream I went for him and we wasted a few more minutes looking like stupid fucking eegits on a busy road in Rathmines until finally a passing squad ordered us to cease and desist immediately.
'What the fuck's is got to do with you.' My idiot soon to be very ex-boyfriend yelled at the two cops.
Moment later he found out just what it had to do with them and by the time he got the blood to circulate in his arm again I had gone home and barricaded myself in my flat using the fridge to keep the broken door closed.
Oh but I was velly angry, filled with a cold fury that wouldn't' calm. I didn't sleep, I ignored phone calls,(nothing really new there) I plotted and I schemed. What could I do to right this wrong? to save this face? to gain the upper hand.
What would make him suffer as I was now suffering.
I pondered all these thing and nothing came to mind. I ghost walked for a few days, attending my useless bar job and dragging my tired body to the laundrette and back again. But still I raged.
And then, one day, I was passing the swimming pool in Rathmines when I saw it. My opportunity. There it was, gleaming, in a shaft of light.
His one prize possession. The only thing he owned worth any money.
His racing bike.
And lo, the idea came to me.
I fished my flat keys from my pocket and stared. Yes! I still had it, the second spare key to the lock that was currently holding said bike to the railings of the pool.
I glanced around once and then unlocked the bike. I took it down and walked away quickly. It was a proper professional racing bike, one his parents had bought him for competitions, light and fast.
I took it immediately to Ranelagh, where upon I sold it to a man called Chester for quite a decent sum of money. Money which I used to buy very nice Levi Jeans with.
I felt my heart begin to heal.
When we got back together a fortnight or so later (I told you we were idiots) He lamented the loss of this great bike and swore that he would wreak vengeance on the thief when he found them. I lit another cigarette and nodded sagely, admiring the seam on my new jeans.
posted by fatmammycat at 9:06 a.m.
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