Friday, 31 August 2012

All the colours of the rainbow...

So, this week I have been mostly continuing my obsession with all things nail related!

Instead of just posting the pictures as and when I did the nail art, I thought i’d show you some of my favourite nail art from the previous month.  I have had nails to suit all sorts of different occasions and I really feel now that I am starting to get a bit more adventurous with my nail art, even if my technique isn’t exactly amazing!


 My friend Jo took me to her beauty wholesalers on my birthday where I practically died and went to heaven.  Aisles and aisles of Essie, OPI, China Glaze polish... I didn’t even know where to begin!  I picked up a few more OPI to add to my collection and managed to get my hands on one of these racks.  I had been wanting some sort of shelving unit for my polishes for ages as I had just been keeping them in a holdall on my bedroom floor.  As my collection grew it was getting more and more frustrating having to root through boxes to find the perfect polish to compliment my outfit.  This rack is perfect as it’s now on my wall and I can pick out a suitable nail polish instantly – plus it looks PRETTY!  This isn’t my entire collection, this is only about half of it (oops) so am hoping to head back to the Wholesalers soon and pick up another rack (maybe 2 as I am unable to stop myself from buying polish at the moment).

Anyway, back to the nails.  Here are the nails I have been rocking this month, with explanations regarding what the occasion was J

My birthday

V festival

Subtle nail art - work friendly


New matte top coat first trial!

Trying out birthday present


Humbug nails!  Bank Holiday weekend

Wedding nails

My favourite nail polish of all time...

I have also been sent a Laqa & Co nail polish pen by the lovely Soraya at Powder Rooms – haven’t had a chance to use it yet as I have found within the last week I have had to pain my nails a certain way to coincide with outfits, but I am hoping to give it a crack on Sunday.  I’ll let you all know what I think, I can’t work out if a nail polish pen is going to be easier or harder to use in place of a standard bottle?  There’s only one way to find out I suppose!

I also (naughtily) just took delivery of these amazing polishes.  I had been bought some W7 for Christmas from my sister and wasn’t sure about them at first.  The bottles are similar to OPI which made me think that W7 were just going to be a rubbish knock off version of them, but their polishes are actually really really great!  They are cheap too, if you order from nailpolishdirect each bottle is £1.95 which is more than reasonable.  The bottles are slightly bigger than average being the same size as OPI so this was a bargain!  At the moment if you order 5 polishes from nailpolishdirect they throw in a free top coat – I thought it would be rude not to so ordered 5.  I got Black (W7 Black is probably the best black polish I have ever used), White as believe it or not I don’t have a standard white in my collection, Lava Flow which is white with red and blue glitter, Salt and Pepper which is white with black glitter and my most favourite of all, Multi Dazzle which is pretty much a dupe of OPI’s Rainbow Connection.

Top to bottom:  Lava Flow, Black, Multi Glitter, White, Salt & Pepper

Hope you like my nails, it’s finally Friday!  Have a lovely weekend! J

Monday, 13 August 2012

The Hangover 3 - London 2012

I have woken up with a big empty void in my life. 

London 2012.  The Olympics.  What I thought was going to be the biggest pain in the ass I have ever lived through, but actually turned out to be 2 of the most pleasant, exciting, nerve wracking and admirable 2 weeks of my life.

When I first learnt we had won the bid to host the Olympics I wasn’t arsed.  It was only within the last 6 months when the warnings of staying out of London grew louder and louder that I started to take notice.  As someone that uses the Underground morning and night, going directly through Stratford to Oxford Circus on the Central Line, I assumed I would be in the thick of the nightmare every day.  During the lead up to the Olympics arriving in London, I was dreading it.

Then something changed.  Everyone decided to embrace it and stop moaning about how bad it was going to be.  The Opening Ceremony was being talked about more and more and I actually found myself wanting to watch it, genuinely interested in how Danny Boyle was going to showcase London to the world, set us up for what was going to be surely at best a tempestuous 2 weeks?  We’d better not blow it on the first night.  I sat down with my friends and watched the Ceremony and was absolutely blown away.  IT WAS BRILLIANT.  With every segment I found myself genuinely amazed by the sheer volume of production, the people, the actors, the music, the volunteers.  The Opening Ceremony was outstanding and left me excited for the Games and with a big lump in my throat because I was so proud, proud of this country and proud of its history.  I had no idea of what was to come.

For the following 2 weeks I suddenly became interested in sport I had never batted an eyelid at before.  I was suddenly screaming for people that I hadn’t even heard of 2 weeks ago.  I was downloading Olympic apps, panicking when BBC iPlayer wouldn’t work.  I tweeted my love and admiration for this country countless times, something I hadn’t really ever felt compelled to do in my life unless we happened to have a particularly good game in the World Cup.  The Olympics is different.  The athletes that competed for Team GB (and every other nation when you think about it) are probably the best role models for children I could ever think of.  There is none of the loutish arrogance that comes with footballers.  Footballers are paid millions and hardly ever deliver.  They have fame that knows no bounds, but for reasons that are more often than not, bad.  The athletes in the Olympics are hard working, passionate, driven, ambitious.  They have worked their asses off every day for the last 4 years to be the best, to do our country proud, and they succeeded.   

Because of this I got behind them 100%, along with just about everyone else in the country.  I watched as much of the Olympics as I could, finding a genuine interest in it.  I genuinely felt a glow of pride when we won medals, whether they be Gold, Silver or Bronze.  The quality of the sport I watched in the last 2 weeks was phenomenal, and it wasn’t because it was backed by fat cats with big wallets or because they wanted promotional or advertising deals.  It was because the athletes wanted to do themselves and their countries proud and they had something worthwhile to fight for.  I got tickets for the first day of the Athletics at the Olympic Stadium thanks to my friend Hollie and it was epic.  It was brilliant to watch Jessica Ennis and all the other athletes in the flesh and the atmosphere in the Stadium was electric.  I met Alexander Smith, the Team GB Hammer Thrower – a genuine OLYMPIC ATHLETE who was a complete gentleman.  The park itself was brilliant;  clean, well laid out, big, impressive.  Our seats in the Stadium cost £20 each and we were ¾ of the way up so hardly near the front, but we could see EVERYTHING.  It was one of the most enjoyable days I have ever had, and it was so nice to go there and experience the Olympic spirit first hand and be active in such an important piece of British history.

I thought the trains were going to be a nightmare getting to work, and this was the main reason I initially dreaded the Olympics coming to town.  Granted, the day I went to watch the Athletics at the Olympic stadium the Central Line practically exploded and I had to get about 18 different trains into Central London just to come back out again to get to the park, but apart from that it wasn’t that bad at all.  There were a few things I even ENJOYED about that trains!  On the train home if a member of Team GB won a medal, the nice little men and women that drove the trains told us over their little announcer microphone thing.  This made fellow commuters and strangers smile at each other – I even witnessed a conversation about a particular announcement strike up BETWEEN STRANGERS.  If you haven’t been on the Underground before you won’t already know this, but NO ONE talks to each other on the train.  If at any other time you try to talk to someone you don’t know on the train, you would probably be committed to a mental hospital.   My favourite Olympic Transport moment was when Chris Hoy won Gold in the Keirin.  Fuming because the race was scheduled to be at 5.50pm, just as I was in the middle of my journey home I managed to get BBC iPlayer up on my phone so was able to watch the race on the train.  A woman sitting next to me saw what I was doing and asked if she could watch it with me.  We both sat huddled over my phone, getting louder and louder until Hoy whizzed over the line and we both screamed our heads off.  The guy opposite us asked if Hoy had won and we spent the rest of the journey talking about it.  THAT NEVER HAPPENS ON THE TRAIN but I loved it.  It created a lovely atmosphere which made a welcome change to the normal unwelcoming atmosphere on the Underground.

The Closing Ceremony divided opinion a bit.  After Danny Boyle setting the standard so high with the Opening and the sheer success of the Games, I think everyone was expecting miracles.  I for one LOVE British music, I think we have some of the best musicians in the world and nothing makes me feel more patriotic then listening to it.  The Closing Ceremony was basically a big concert, showcasing the finest musical talent that has ever come out of GB.  Artists such as George Michael, Annie Lennox, The Spice Girls, Beady Eye, Muse, Jessie J, Emile Sandé, Take That.  Not every artist was to everyone’s taste but that wasn’t the point.  The point was to show we can do pomp and circumstance at its best, we can do Olympic Games brilliantly, and we can do music too.  I loved the very English parts of the ceremony, one of the highlights for me being Eric Idle singing Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.  Russell Brand coming out on a 60’s tour bus dressed like a hippy child catcher singing I Am The Walrus almost put me in a coma.  It was BRILLIANT.

By the time the ceremony came to an end and the Olympic Torch was extinguished, I was genuinely gutted.  Here’s something I NEVER thought i’d say, but I wish we could have the Games for two more weeks.  I woke up this morning with a hangover, like I had been out on one of the best nights of my life and had just woken up to it all being over.  I loved every minute of it.

The list of people that did the nation proud is ridiculous.  First up, the athletes.  They were inspiring, brilliant, emotional to watch.  We felt their pain, we shared their joy and we inwardly spurred them round every corner, through every lap and over every jump.  The workers at the BBC, Olympic Park, the Underground, Airports.  The people behind the scenes that made sure everything went to plan.  The volunteers who did it all just for the experience, not for the money.  The people that kept us safe; police, ambulance workers, army, the security guards.  They all deserve their own Gold medals for making an entire 2 weeks that every citizen of this country can be proud of.  Twitter was a great social networking site to use during the Games.  Hearing peoples opinions about every aspect of it was brilliant, and some of the conversations and banter I had on Twitter during this time was the funniest I’ve experienced on there.  The people I follow on Twitter made the experience of the Games that much better, as we all were enjoying it together.  The most surprising of all and in my opinion the best was the people in this country.  I have never seen one event lift an entire countries spirits before, but the Olympics did it.  Everyone was interested, everyone was involved and everyone stepped up to the mark and helped to make this one of the best Olympic games on record.  We should all be proud of ourselves and each other.

Stand on the Podium London.  You did it.

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
*dies*

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! :)