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 Surrey 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 t i me to i nspire motivation. ‘ Well, obviously it isn’t really your dream. If it was, 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-yearold 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 that Ruth can dance. I mean, real, grown-up dancing – proper stuff. In fact, if anything, I have noted her being a bit heavy of foot. Put it this way, there’s no way Ruth would ever get away with sneaking up behind you – she’s a stomper.
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. Ruth literally leapt with joy when she was paired with him, which does not do wondrous things to my ego. I must admit, however reluctantly, that it looks like 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 somehow manages to put in an 18-hour 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. Most importantly, he doesn’t shout. Believe me, Ruthie doesn’t accept shouting.
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. She’s aching and has taken to wearing her dance shoes around the house to try to reduce blisters. 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.
Please bear in mind there has been nothing in my 21 years with Ruth that indicated to me that she was a glider.
I didn’t need Shirley, Darcey, Bruno or Craig to score her technicalities – for me this was an 11 out of 10. She didn’t care that she came joint bottom of the leader table, she was just relieved to have got through it. 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.
But just as Ruth and Anton have become #TeamRuthon, Jack and 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 l earning t he Charleston that I haven’t seen her since Sunday. She’s started waking me when s he 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 routine over and over again,’ Ruth tells me, during a brief, passing encounter. ‘You think, it’s over and then Anton will say let’s do it again, then again.’ The routine involves her keeping her arms in the air for ages. ‘I’ll be very disappointed if I still have my bingo wings at the end of it,’ she grumbles. As
for me, I’m preparing to film Through The Keyhole when the make-up artists tell me they also do Ruth’s on Strictly. They say they love her because she helps them with their personal problems. ‘Nah,’ I say. ‘She doesn’t tell you the truth but I will.’
WEDNESDAY SEPT 27
AT the newsagents, a startling realisation hits me. I am no longer Eamonn Holmes. I am Ruth-from-Strictly’s husband.
Without fail, folk say: ‘Where’s Ruth?’ I feel I may have to preempt things by hanging a sign around my neck with all the possible answers: ‘Ruth’s fine’; ‘She’s practising today’; ‘You’re right, she is tired and she has got blisters’; and ‘I’ll pass on your good wishes’. Hopefully these good wishes will turn into votes. Gosh, that pro- gramme is popular. There are so many closet watchers as well. People just love Strictly and by association they love anyone who has a go, including my Ruth. THURSDAY SEPT 28 ALL the Strictly contestants have a WhatsApp group and they talk to each other every day. Ruth is very fond of Mollie King from The Sat ur days a nd t hey’ ve become besties.
Well, you’re not the only one making a new friend, Ruthie!
For I have discovered that you can buy almost anything online these days, including a full-size Ruth Langsford cardboard cutout. I kid you not.
So, for the princely price of £34.49, I now have my Ruth back. We can have a cuppa together, share meals, go out in the car, even do things we never did before – like watch the same TV programmes.
I may be getting some funny looks but at least this Ruth doesn’t care if I don’t get round to emptying the dishwasher.
As I type this, Cardboard Ruth is looking over my shoulder and we are reading a Good Luck card put through our door from: ‘Your local Parcel Forced river, Michelle’. I have no idea who this woman is.
I can only assume Ruth gets a lot of parcels delivered while I’m not here. I make a note to discuss this with her.
Jack and I are like feral cats, fending for ourselves for another week. I’m a slave to Jack’s hectic social diary, school pick-up times and sports clubs.
I’ve even done some cleaning, and stuck on some washing. I pick Jack up from hockey at 10pm. ‘No sign of Mum,’ I say. ‘She won’t be home for at least an hour and then she will be up again at 5am.’
FRIDAY SEPT 29
FINALLY I get to see my wife on the set of This Morning – the show we co- host every Friday. I’m determined to ask our guest, Louise Redknapp, a former Strictly contestant, about her split from husband Jamie. And I also need to probe the so-called Strictly curse. Did it end their marriage?
I can’t not ask. Will Anton come between us? I’ll eyeball him today too – he’s coming on the show (because he can’t be separated from my wife these days) and the two of them are rushing off to practice together and to sort out Ruth’s outfit for tomorrow night. Or so they say.
Louise is diplomatic, which means I learn nothing. She says their marital problems have been well documented but the priority is the children.
I make the most of talking to Ruth while the cameras aren’t rolling because I probably won’t see her again until late tonight.
My job is to have a G&T waiting when she gets home. This, I’m told, is my most important job.
SATURDAY SEPT 30
TENSETENS times again in our household. Ruth pulled a hamstring during rehearsals yesterday – and her appearance on tonight’s show is now in serious doubt.
Now, even two hours before they go on air, we’re not sure whether her hamstring will withstand a Charleston.
It’s like waiting to hear whether your favourite player has succumbed to injury before a big match. In football parlance, she has done a Paul Pogba (he plays f or United and has al so strained a hamstring). But he’ll be out for months – can’t see Ruthie doing that.
Then, finally, as the clocked ticks towards 8pm, my Ruth is on the Strictly dancefloor, wiggling away at the Charleston in gold and silver tassles in a way I could never have imagined. In fact, chair of judges Shirley Ballas says she ‘ nailed it – 100 per cent better and 100 per cent in time’!
Judging by the good wishes I’ve received on her behalf – in the supermarket, in the airport, at the hospital, while walking that dog – I reckon she has a good chance of confounding those bookmakers after that performance (they’d initially placed her as the rank outsider at 66/1).
But as for Cardboard Ruth I’m afraid the initial spark has gone. She just doesn’t cut it. In fact she’s giving me the silent treatment. I prefer the real thing.