Jimmy Corkhill's Photographical Review of The Grand National

So, after my blog about how to Keep It Scouse At The National went down such a treat, with over 7000 views, I thought I’d take the time to do a Photographical Review of all the disasters that failed to take my advice, and rocked up and made bad shows of themselves:

Here goes:

 

Exhibit a) Not too bad a start, decent outfits, decent figures .. then OH MY GOD what is the face on that third one? The one in the tan?  Looks like the Birkenhead Tranny’s twin brother:

Exhibit b) No clue what’s happening here.  Are they feather earrings or is it a feather boa or did something just crash land in her chips or what?

Exhibit c) Lad? What the actual fuck? Really lad?  Why?  Actual WHY?   

Never seen anything as queg in my life.

Exhibit d) So .. this bird has fallen head first through the Gypsy Wedding dress maker’s shop.. Then her 3 year old messed around with it a bit.. and then her fella placed the pearl necklace on there?  Bad state.

Exhibit e)   WHAT is this on the right???  Looks like she’s had off a Pimp .. robbed his coat and hat ??  Has she no mirror? Has her friend no tongue? Really?

Exhibit f) What an absolute belter this is.  Some lad has actually let his Ma out the house looking like that.  There are so many things wrong with it.. I can’t even begin.  She reminds me of an old Crown Street prozzy I affectionately nicknamed Candle Wax Face.

Exhibit g)  Told you this would happen didn’t I?  Shoes off, tears.. vomming.. Making a bad mess of yourselves.  Bet yer fella still isnt talking to you is he love?

Exhibit h) Dear Lord...  someone’s Ma here taken a turn for the worst.  Can you imagine??!  Our Jackie got herself in that bad a state one time and I never forgave her. Ended up noshing a bizzy the utter whore. 

Our Lindsay was fumin.

Exhibit i)  Tight shiny suit -  check ...  Sunnies – check ... Being an ABSOLUTE WHOPPER-  check...

Exhibit j)  These two have GOTTA be from Wigan?  Nice saggy nips there, bird in the pink top.

Exhibit k) Just put her down and put those thunder thighs away... Tree trunks.  Also check out the GORGEOUS steward in the background

Exhibit l) Now what did Uncle Jimmy say about Panto Dame crossed with Gypsy Wedding?

Exhibit m) I don’t even need to say anything for these two do I ?

 

Exhibit n) Here we go .. shoes off.. snarling down the  to your fella coz he has swerved you.   

Told you, didn’t I ?

Exhibit o) And last but not least .. this utter buffoon of a man always has to gegg in doesn’t he. Does that cardigan / coat thing actually have Buffalos on it? Really lad?

Hollister: What a cunt of a shop

On a nice spring day like today, what is an ‘in-between roles ‘ soap character like me to do other than hop on the bus to town for a mooch round the shops and enjoy a few bevies with old friends?

I fancied myself a new pair of denims, as my favourite stone wash Wranglers are getting a bit old now, so I was wandering through Liverpool One trying to find this G-Star shop that @TinheadFTM recommended and I came across this strange smell.  It smelled like the scent of really pretentious rich teenagers who would pay more for a popped collar polo shirt than I paid for my first car.

I looked to my left to see where this overpowering odour was coming from, and saw some kind of strange surf shack / beach house thing, with loud funky music blasting out of the dark window shutters.

“What. The. Fuck’s. This?”   I said to my double denimed self. I thought it was a nightclub or something, so popped in for a Babycham. 

“Hey, welcome to Hollister”  goes this posh-non-scouse- bird wearing a checked shirt 4 sizes too big for her and some denim hotpants.  *note to self:  get some of those hotpants for Summer*    I just about heard her over the ear-rapingly loud music.

Once my eyes had adjusted to the fact that it’s darker than a Chilean mine shaft in there, I realised I wasn’t in a bar, but was actually in some fucked up Californian fraternity house type shop that would fit right in on the set of the 90210 remake.

Piles of overpriced t-shirts resting neatly on a dining table that defo used to be me Nan’s... A load of trackies rolled up stored in a bookcase ...  A load of hoodies folded with a ruler and spirit level placed on a rustic wooden bench...   fuck me.. Never seen such bad grip in my life.

“Hey, what’s up.”  Goes this open shirted-non-scouse-bloke.

“I’ll tell you what’s up, I can’t see fuck all, I can’t hear myself think, and WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS PLACE? And why can’t you just turn the big light on?”

Instead of answering me, the beaut just flexed his muscles and flashed his Hollywood smile.

I was then distracted by two lads trying to decide which t-shirt was most, and I quote, “epic”.  Who the fuck calls a T-shirt epic?  I’ll tell you who DOESN’T...  scousers!  These two were obviously Uni students who need to bail the fuck out of Liverpool the day they graduate before they end up another statistic on the Echo’s gun crime map.
 

Another waft of aftershave (Eau de Pretentious) came through the air conditioning and I nearly vommed,  I had to get out of this non-scouse hell hole and fast. But then I seen that the shopping bags have a proper fit guy with no top on them, so I had to buy something didn’t I.   

Ended up with this monstrosity.....  --->

Thought it was beige coz of the light in there, didn’t I. Turns out its the colour of a Mr Kipling lemon fondant fancy and now @TinheadFTM is calling me “a bad nonce and a wool combined”.

Moral of the story is... 
 

Hollister is not scouse.

Hollister = wool

Popped collars = wool

Clothes that are solid primary colours = wool 

Wanting to look like you're off the set of 90210 = wool

Saying a tshirt is epic = ThunderCuntish