Monday, 30 July 2012

Nikki Hardy has a nice ring to it doesn't it? DOESN'T IT?

An intelligent woman once said to me, “the trick is never to force yourself to blog, if you aren't inspired by anything then don't despair! I'd much rather read something that really matters to someone where you can hear their passion (hello! Liz Jones rants!) than a blog post for the sake of it” – Thank you to the lovely @styladelica for the comment and for talking sense.  Funnily enough on this very day you’ll be pleased to know (I am sure) that I have found something that has inspired me all the way to my LOINS, so much so that I can’t concentrate on work, I can’t sleep (8 hours is minimal) I can’t eat (ignore that chicken bacon mozzarella and basil ciabatta I just had, I was crying inside as I stuffed it in my mouth).  I think it’s safe to say I am officially INSPIRED.

This all started on what I thought was going to be an average day.  I chilled out yesterday and then went to see Batman last night with Jo and Charlie.  It all started off normal, I bought the standard gallon of popcorn and a bucket of sprite for the reasonable price of £37,000, and then settled into my seat.  I had even joked that I might fall asleep while the film was on, as it’s BATMAN and i’m not a boy.  Little did I know that I was mere seconds away from a lightning bolt of pure red hot unadulterated passion that would change my life forever.

Tom Hardy.

I have known about Tom Hardy for ages.  I have always admired him, always known that he was amazingly fit, but seeing him as Bane in Batman drove me to near destruction.  I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY.  You can’t see his face in the film as it is covered by that stupid mask that makes him talk like the lead character from that rubbish board game Atmosphere, but that just added to the attraction for me.  It was all about his mad serial killer eyes, his shaved veiny skinhead, and the muscles, OH MY GOD THOSE MUSCLES.  The film started, Bane rolled onto the screen and I didn’t breathe for the next 3 hours.  By the point in the film where he was shown without the mask (for all of 2 seconds), I nearly had a seizure.  Don’t worry, I won’t spoil it for all of you that haven’t seen Batman yet (FREAKS!) but the film in itself is amazing.  I had no idea I would enjoy it as much as I did, but for me this kick started an obsession with T Hards that I didn’t even know was inside me.

I am used to these obsessions on famous people.  My first ever TRUE LOVE was none other than Mr Marshall Mathers, Eminem himself.  I used to go home from school and fire up my computer, wait 6 years for the dial up internet connection to work and then spend my evenings scouring the internet for pictures of the real Slim Shady.  Once I had collected enough, i’d print them all off and stick them all over my wall and then just sit there looking at them FOR HOURS.  After the height of this obsession which lead to me sitting on my friends staircase sobbing down the phone as my sister played “Without Me” live from his concert, I moved on, grew up and thought my obsession was over.

Enter Dave Grohl.

This obsession has been ongoing for years, in a way it’s still here and still as strong as it was.  Normally they fade but I know my love for the Grohl will never be extinguished, it burns, lightly in the background like a tiny riot fire in some small part of Tottenham.  Tom Hardy is the newest one, succeeding Robert Pattinson (but not replacing him FYI).  I saw Tom in the film ‘Bronson’ and did wonder if there was something wrong with me because I actually fancied him when he looked like Charles Bronson and I have a feeling that probably should have put me off?  It didn’t though and I tried not to think about my burning love for the man who looked like a freak.  Then Bane happened to me.

I have just gone out on lunch and bought This Means War, Warrior and RockNRolla so I can get my fill of Tom Hardy whenever I want in the comfort (privacy) of my own home, because frankly the actual shit fit I was having watching him in Batman last night should not have been viewable to the general public.  The cashier in HMV nearly gave me a hernia when he said I was entitled to Robert Pattinson’s new film for free because I spend over £20 and shortly afterwards I awoke to find myself propped up in a chair being doused in water, newly christened the proud owner of these 4 films that will end me tonight for sure. 

Do any of you have mental obsessions with famous people?  Before any of you think I am on my own with this, my friend Charlie could barely watch Batman last night as she is so in love with Christian Bale and she’s had the full blown love shits for David Beckham ever since I can remember.  So there.

Now we will view a short slideshow of Tom Hardy's best faces.

Serious Hardy

Bronson Hardy
Happy Hardy
Beardy Hardy
Warrior Hardy
Bane Hardy

Thursday, 26 July 2012

Happy 1st Birthday to Me!

My blog is 1 year old today!

When I started my blog I was kind of accosted into it by my friends Faye and Charlie.  I had tried to blog before and always liked the idea of it, but always ended up posting a few times and then forgetting about it for months.  Charlie and Faye sat me down and basically said that I should really look into taking blogging seriously.  I loved Twitter for the openness and the ability to write whatever I want, to whoever was following me.  I LOVE writing as I find it by far the easiest form of communication and I love talking shit about the things I enjoy doing, so starting a blog made sense to me.  For the first few weeks I had Faye encouraging me with daily emails and as the number of readers to my blog grew, the more confident I got with it.

Everyone has their fair share of trolls, I have had horrible comments on my blog about things I have written and people not liking what I have to say.  It’s fine if people disagree with me or don’t like me, but I just don’t understand why they waste their time reading and posting if they think it’s crap?  I write things that are based on my own opinion, not other peoples.  My blog is a place where I can keep my memories, talk about things I love and show you things I like in the hope that you might like them too.  That doesn’t make me a bad person.

My number of Twitter followers has doubled in the last year, regardless of whether this is due to my blog OR just a natural thing.  Twitter is my main source of communicating my blog to people.  I know some of my followers get bored of the blog links, but some of them don’t.  Some people follow me purely to read my blog and pass on their opinions about my blog posts and I love that.  I love hearing if people think something is funny, or well written or even if they don’t agree with what I am saying.  Opinions are better than no opinions, good or bad.

I have been a bit disheartened with the blog recently.  I went through a phase of having lots of things to write about, lots of inspiration and in return lots of readers.  Writers block sounds serious and professional, and for some people it is (if writing is their job) but for me it’s just a pain in the ass.  My blog has opened up many doors, created lots of opportunities, encouraged me, given me lots of pretty make up to play with and enabled me to meet and talk to lots of lovely people.  On nights out I have friends of friends that I have never met saying “oh you’re Morsh, with the blog” and I always get shy when people say they read my blog.  I suppose it’s because I write blog posts as they are in my head, without a thought for anyone else, so it’s like my blog readers can see right into my brain.

My main aim for this blog was to be an outlet for me.  I wanted it to be a place where I can show ‘the real me’, and if other people like to read it, that’s cool.  People have said when they read my blog posts they can imagine me saying it, that my writing style is true to who I am in real life.  This tells me that even if people don’t like my writing, or don’t agree with what I say, within my blog I am true to myself.

I have had an amazing time writing my blog and I really hope I find myself able to start it up properly again in the future.  As much as people say horrible things to me (sometimes), I know there are people out there that like my blog and like to read it.  Thanks to everyone that has read my blog in the last year, and i’d like to say I write these posts for you but I don’t.  I write them for me and I have loved every minute.

P.S Today, on my blog’s 1 year birthday, I have topped 28,000 page views!  Thanks again to everyone that has read my blog in the past, and to YOU, the ones who are reading it now J

Wednesday, 11 July 2012

The Duke of Essex Polo: Kev James and I aren't fans...

I’m sure if you are in the thick of the Essex Social Scene like me (cough) you’ll be aware that this weekend sees The Duke of Essex Polo coming to town.  Normally hearing of a Polo tournament will make you think of classy ladies in pastel chiffon, a hot summer day spent sipping Pimms , gentlemen in morning suits discussing the news, maybe even a special appearance from Royalty?  NOT IN ESSEX MY FRIEND.  There will be more skin on show here than at Stringfellows, more similarities to the colour orange than the paint chart at B&Q and more utter cunts than a gynaecologists office.  The closest we’ll get to royalty is some moron getting their Prince Albert piercing out because they’ve drunk too many WKDs and their mates have paid them to do it for a bet.

I don’t know what it is about this event that makes everyone hateful come out in force, but they do.  It’s held literally 5 minutes down the road from where I live, which is enough to make me want to move out and share the tramps sleeping bag that sleeps outside my office with his mouth open, showing that he has only half a tooth left and he’s determined to lose it to a bottle of white lightning and some crystal meth.  The pictures from last year were hilarious and if you are bored and self masochistic enough to go onto the website for this year’s event you’ll see the sort of people you get going there.  The TOWIE group will be out in force, stomping around the field clinging onto their glasses of champagne while exchanging pleading looks with the rest of the attendees, desperate for one of them to ask for their autograph.  If you are extremely lucky you might get Lisa Snowdon, Denise Van Outen or maybe even... wait for it... Gary Lucy (but only if he’s not too busy trying to dig up the remains of his dead and buried career). 

I could not think of anything worse than going to this Polo, even if someone PAID me £100 to go I wouldn’t.  I am surrounded by these people every time I go out locally.  Not just the Z list celebrities, but the wannabes.  The girls that paint themselves orange and have pure white hair, plaster on bubblegum coloured lipstick so thick if you tried to kiss them you’d just slide right off.  They grab their Louis Vuitton clutches, shuffle along like the walking dead in their Louboutins and squeeze their fat roles into Herve Leger and then spend the day balancing on a muddy field, freezing cold, trying to look their best and totally forgetting to have a good time.  The boys, also the most orange anyone could be (normally worse than the girls) will stand there with a faint air of disgusting smugness about them, side swoop in place, aviators on, royal blue blazer teamed with beige chinos and a hankie hanging out their top pocket, ready for them to wipe up the jizz that gets spilt when Lucy Meckenburger from TOWIE walks past.

If I was to go to this event, I would do the following: I would indulge in the Essexness SLIGHTLY.  I would have a spray tan, do my nails and make sure my hair looked nice.  I would buy a nice dress from a normal shop (because I am not rich and don’t see the point in pretending to everyone that I am when the designer bag I have for that particular outing has been RENTED).  I would go there with my mates.  I would drink loads, pay a bit of attention to the Polo, but ultimately end up covered in mud, barefoot, slurring my words and taking the piss out of every single clone in there.  Why would ANYONE want to go to an event like this when it’s all about what you look like?  I spend enough time getting shit eye from the clones for being too loud or having a bit too much fun, so sod paying £90 for the pleasure in a FIELD!!!! 

Another person that shares my view of The Duke of Essex Polo is none other than my faithful fellow abuser Kev James.  As before, Kev’s views are all his own, you need a strong stomach to handle his banter and if you can’t, don’t read it – just don’t complain to me about it.  Take it away Kev...

So it’s that time of year again, where The Duke of Essex Polo returns to the fields of Epping like an unwanted strain of rectal warts.  It brings with it an amalgamation of the biggest known collection of cunts who will be dressed head to toe in rascal clobber, along with a veritable army of ronsealed old brasses rampaging through the shit and mud in £800 Louboutins, trying to hold their septums in as well as their anal tampons.

Cunts all over the region have spent the last week ironing razor sharp creases into the overpriced tailored shorts, whilst buffering their deck shoes to a whole new level of absolute shitness.  The barbers on Queens Road has had more comb-over requests than a Bobby Charlton benefit dinner and the price of Ronseal has gone through the roof as slags all over the country try to recreate that terracotta glow.  Dagenham Market has been besieged by coked up 8 stone Essex boys, looking for 20 quid Rolexes to wrap around their anaemic wrists whilst the good women of Essex debate whether to keep their wraps of dickie inside their bums or their twinkies.  Hopefully it’ll be a good opportunity to do some minor celebrity spotting as I’m sure that Gemma from TOWIE will be there, rampaging through the undergrowth like a rabid rhinoceros, dressed head to toe in some technicolor monstrosity that only comes in two sizes – Massive or Brontosaurus!

I’d imagine you’d see Arg there too, drowning his sorrows having recently been rejected as the new face of ‘Go Compare’ for being too much of an aggravating disgusting cunt that we all want to shoot!  Then there's Arg's ex, the lovely Chlamydia Rose Bright.  If she manages to find her way there in this low light with those hypnotic cod-eyes of hers, she’ll be spotted wafting across the site like an anorexic, blind goat in the company of that fucking crazy haired old witch hag of a mother, looking like she's escaped from shutter island.

Its a certainty that Lauren Goodger will be there, flaunting that trout pout and a pair of cankles a rugby player would be proud of - Fuck knows what she’s done to her lips but she looks like a fucking radioactive orange pufferfish that has succumbed to its own venom. ‘I’ve heard a rumour that Harry Derbidge is making an appearance, swimming around in Debbie's cauldron which will be full of Moet and poppers so that when he gets drunk his asshole will open up like a garage door and he’ll be able to consume himself.
Anyway, as it happens I can’t make it and i’m fucking gutted but i’ve got something much more pleasurable to do.  I’m going to be wiping my ass with a broken beer bottle, but if that fails I might nail-gun myself to a billboard on the A406 and invite people to throw pieces of dog shit at me all day. On that note, enjoy the weekend you cunts! :)