The curse of being a Strictly widower

His wife Ruth Langsford’s been hit by injury but Eamonn Holmes says HE deserves sympathy too, in this wickedly funny diary that’ll strike a chord with all home-alone husbands

EARLY MAY

A crisis has engulfed our Saturday morning and, as is somehow customary, my wife is blaming me. Standing in the kitchen of our home, Ruth looks at me the way the dog does when I close the fridge door without giving it a tit-bit. Believe me, that is not a good look.

The problem this time? Ruth has been offered a place on this year’s Strictly.

‘It’s always been my dream to do Strictly,’ she complains. ‘But I just can’t do it. I’ve got no time.’ This is no lie.

I reply with the same trepidation I imagine is familiar to bomb disposal experts, hoping at the same time to inspire motivation. ‘Well, obviously it isn’t really your dream. If it were, you would do it.’

I’m not sure it hit the right spot. Ruth issued an X-rated retort, turned on her heel and stomped off (more of which later).

Six full hours elapsed until she eventually faced me saying: ‘I’ve been thinking about this all day, I may never be offered this again, you’re right – I’m going to do it!’

My first reaction was: ‘Thank goodness for that. I’d never have heard the end of it.’ Which was immediately followed by a rather more selfish, and pressing, concern: ‘How on earth am I going to cope?’

Ruth, you see, does everything. Anchoring Loose Women, co-hosting This Morning, filming and editing our series on Channel 5, working with QVC. She is also a wife, mother, sister and, until now, has always walked the dog. So you can imagine how my life and that of our 15-year-old son Jack has been thrown into disarray.

I’m also concerned, in truth, about the dancing itself. I say she does everything, but outside the odd shuffle at a wedding, including our own, I had never seen any evidence Ruth can dance.

Then there’s The Curse of Strictly, so-called because so many contestants have left their real-life partners to set up home with their dance partners. How could I compete with a lithe, bronzed dance god swinging her round a ballroom? After my double hip operation, it’s not something I’m remotely cut out for. Little did either of us know what was to come...

SATURDAY SEPT 9

The launch show is on TV, so there is no going back now. I am resigned to certain Strictly widowhood. As rehearsals start in earnest, I have been replaced in almost all ways by Strictly veteran Anton Du Beke. I must admit, however reluctantly, that it could be a great pairing.

TUESDAY SEPT 12

The rehearsals are gruelling. I have now lost my wife. I literally never see her, unless I tune into Loose Women on my lunch break. She gets up at 5am while I slumber on, leaves at 6am, and manages to put in an 18hour day, fitting in dance lessons among her TV commitments. It’s intense.

Anton makes her repeat the steps again and again. She tells me he is the perfect mix of carrot and stick and knows exactly how far to push her.

MONDAY SEPT 18

It’s getting a bit lonely. I miss being organised by Ruthie – she’s a force. I read her interviews to promote the start of the show. She sounds upbeat but I know privately she’s worried that she is talking the talk without knowing if she can walk the walk. From what I can see, Ruth is lucky to walk at all, let alone dance. But she still wants to cook and clean the house. Phew.

SATURDAY SEPT 23

The first live show and it didn’t look too promising at the start. I knew there was something wrong before the routine started. Ruth was breathing heavily. I thought, ‘Well, we’re in trouble here. She’s gone.’ She’s not like me, she suffers nerves terribly.

But when she started – what a transformation! Not just the dress and hair but the way she moved. She was gliding.

I didn’t need Shirley, Darcey, Bruno or Craig to score her technicalities – for me this was an 11 out of 10. I am so proud of her.

SUNDAY SEPT 24

I spoke to Anton last night after the show. In truth, I felt sorry for him. The thing is, Ruth’s like a frightened horse – if you pet it, it could bite you. I asked him: ‘Do you get paid extra for having to work with Ruth?’

Exercise exhausts me but Ruthie is thriving on it. It’s a rare Sunday off but Ruth sets about cooking up a storm, making steaming pots of rations for her three dependants; me, Jack and Maggie the dog.

‘No takeaways you two!’ came the instruction. She knows us so well. Fortunately, she has underestimated how sneaky we are... Jack has convinced me that she probably wouldn’t notice the odd Deliveroo meal, provided we dispose of the evidence.

MONDAY SEPT 25

The dog-walking – normally left to Ruth – is beginning to take its toll. Jack and I aren’t happy, the aforementioned asking: ‘Dad, I thought it was mum who was supposed to be doing the training, not us?’ Fair point, son, fair point. Strangely, though, we both miss being bossed about by her, too. The house is almost eerie without her wailing ‘Jaaaaack!’ or ‘Eaaaaamonnnnn!’, as she is prone to do, particularly concerning matters involving the bins, the dog, food, television or answering the front door. I have fast become #TeamEamack, making huge sacrifices like going to the Strictly studio instead of our usual Manchester United matches.

TUESDAY SEPT 26

Ruth is working so hard learning the Charleston that I haven’t seen her since Sunday. She’s started waking me when she gets home, so we can say hi. It’s like the first flush of love – I look forward to a text! Even if it’s about what to take out of the freezer. Or to wash some socks. Anton may seem like a friendly sort of chap but he’s a tough task master. ‘It’s like doing a gym rou