So, much like a well educated smack’ed, the World Cup has begun to filter out the shite, and leave itself with the good stuff. We’ve already said Au revoir to France, Ciao to Italy, and wished most of the African countries a safe trip home on their poorly constructed rafts; seriously you should have seen the bad boy Nigeria rocked up on. I couldn’t tell if it was the fact that they were about to founder that was so terrifying to them, or the fact that Obafemi Martins was trying to prove he wasn’t actually 50 by getting his wily out to prove he still ‘had it’.

Despite being criticized in its first week, the first ever African world cup has truly started to blossom. Did you see the size of the Cameroonian women’s Vuvuzelas? Crikey! We’ve had shocks, goals, tears, and England conforming to almost every single stereotype that has even been placed upon them. Fat cunts that have drank too much? Check. The incredibly annoying band that play none stop throughout every single England match? Check. Alan Shearer cruising around the slums of Johannesburg intimidating people in to supporting England should Banana Banana go out? Check. It really has been great so far don’t you think? But then again, I don’t see how a month of consistent football could not be good? That just doesn’t work in my head.

England so far have failed to set the tournament alight. We’ve played 3 games, accumulated 5 points and on the whole performed rather poorly. The game against Slovenia was by far and away the best we’ve played, but then again we were playing against Slovenia, a country who is licking their lips at the imminent release of the N64 and Nokia 3210. There is no major cause for concern just yet. We’re through, and surprise, surprise we’re coming up against the Germans our ‘biggest’ rivals. It’s sad really that we have this patriotic undertone that we take along to every world cup, when we prey to the lord above that we get drawn against them. Funny thing is the Germans couldn’t give a shit about us, and rightly so. As a nation they have consistently performed better than us, and when they beat us on penalties on Sunday I should think the word ‘BOTHERED’ will spring to mind for every German man and wo…no just man in Bloemfontein. At least we’ll have Beckham doing his best to entertain the cameras from the bench. Aww I love Becks. He’s perfected his different array of acting faces especially for this World Cup. Sad, happy, serious, you name the face and Becks will nail it for you. And you can bet your life that, that’s not the only thing he’s nailed in the last 4 weeks.

So the last 16 has almost taken shape and ENGLAND is on the cusp of greatness. We face a match of epic proportions against our oldest enemy on Sunday. The 3 Lions shall roar, and England shall rise from the ashes to claim the greatest prize of all, bragging rights for the next 10 years to make weekend trips to Berlin with the wife a little more entertaining.

Come on England.

PS I told you South Korea would blag it in to the next round!!!!

Words: Ballgown

Well not quite the start we were hoping for really was it? A real lack of genuine entertainment thus far, and one almighty goalkeeping blunder has brought the first round of games to a somewhat disappointing end.

So lets start with the opening ceremony shall we? It was pretty cack. It Sort of resembled the beginning of the Lion King, but didn’t have the same charm as that haggered old baboon lifting up Simba and presenting him to the animal kingdom. We obviously all found the giant dung beetle rather amusing, yes we really did laugh at it, and I did get quite confused at one point as I saw what appeared to be a giant cunt walking around on the pitch, some strange African thing perhaps? In the end turns out it was just Emmanuel Adebayor.

After that thrilling episode we were treated to Banana Banana vs. Mexico. Not a terrible game to kick things off, but at no point did I get really excited. The impressive South African goal did stir my penis slightly, but to call it a semi would be offensive to semis all over the world. A predictable 1-1 draw wasn’t much of a shock and probably a fair reflection on the game. The other game in the Group consisting of France vs. You’re a gay was so shit, I probably would of rather cut off my foreskin and use it to seal up my eyes than watch it again.

So on to the Saturday when our beloved England were in action. Was it what we were expecting? Yes. Was it what we wanted? No, but this is England we’re talking about. It was such a predictable England performance that anyone who knows anything about football could probably of told you what was going to happen before the game even started. I predicted 1-1 and surprise surprise I was right. An early goal sent expectations soaring, an unsurprising goalkeeping error saw everyone comedown harder than a fat kid on Pancake Day when the batter runs out. I don’t think it’s the end of the world for England, far from it. We will beat Algeria and Slovenia, comfortably I should think, it’s just our luck though that the only team that has looked like winning the competition so far is the bloody Germans.  And then there’s the little matter of Robert Green. Robert what happened mate? How you can let a fucking pea roller from Clint Dempsey, yes that’s CLINT DEMPSEY slip between your sweaty, rapist palms is beyond me. So why don’t you march in to Fabio’s little office, mud hut, hive, whatever he uses an office in this place and ask for your p45 because mate, seriously, you need to prepare for a life time of grief after that. Booing, death threats, you name it, it’s in the post. Moving to the MLS could be an option, you’re the right standard, and after that gift I’m sure the Americans will be more than happy to give you a GREEN card.

The rest of the first week has been pretty mehhhh. A commendable performance from North Korea was a highlight, as was the Swiss beating the Spanish. We can just hope things pick up a bit in the second week. It should become more open when teams need wins to stay in the tournament rather than holding on for draws. On the plus side the hosts look like their going out, so we get rid of a shit team and also a load of annoying shit fucking fans and their stupid Vuvuzelas. Although I do love the player ‘Tshabalaba’ great name son, great name.

Words: Ballgown

Only England can beat Japan 2-1 and not even score a goal. The curtains came down on England’s World Cup preparations on Sunday with a poor performance against the Japanese. Japan went ahead when sing bong chon netted neatly from a corner, and 2 own goals in the second half gave England a deserved (ahem) victory. An inspired display at Wembley a few days earlier saw England churn out a wonderful 3-1 win against a superb Mexico team (this sentence only makes any sense if you were watching this game in a parallel universe, because again we were fucking shit.) I wonder if watching in 3d makes us look any better?

So it’s now time to get serious about this shit. The niceties can now stop. Darren Bent, Stephen Warnock, and Tom Huddlestone will hopefully by the time this goes to print be back in England crying in to their wives over inflated fake chests (or in Huddlestone’s case his boyfriends massive cock) as Fabio has told them DOUBT IT when they asked if they’ve made the final 23.

England will travel to South Africa with a whole load of hope and expectation resting on those 46 shoulders, 45 not counting the dislocated shoulder of Theo Walcott, which is OBVIOUSLY the ONLY reason why he is not the best player in the world ever yet. It really does have nothing to do with the fact that his careers advisor was really hung-over and forgot to tell him he’s meant to be a sprinter, or a writer, he has just released some really lovely children’s books which are meant to be a pleasant read, Amazon.com for further details on those literary masterpieces.

If I’m being honest I do think that we can win the World Cup. England has plenty of talent, and Women’s volleyball is a really big up and coming sport, ho ho ho. But to finish off, I think we have a chance if Capello can sort out a midfield that functions well with a holding midfielder (fingers crossed Mr. Barry) and hopefully one of Aaron Lennon or Theo Walcott skinning defenders on the right side (Lennon it is then). Throw in a rampant Rooney and who knows, stranger things have happened. I’ll be back on Friday the 11th June with a live minute by minute report from the eagerly awaited, seriously I love that shit, opening ceremony. Until then Smack That minions. BIG KISS.

Words: Ballgown

The World Cup is without doubt the best thing ever. Falling in Love, having children, getting married, none of these even come close to the excitement that the World Cup brings. When you fall in love, no one apart from you and the person you’re falling in love with cares, the same can be said for having a kid, give or take the odd family member who shows an interest once a month with the offering of an over cooked Sunday dinner. And as for Marriage; the only reason people go to weddings is because they can get really drunk for free (if you’re not getting drunk for free then why even bother going?)

The World Cup on the other hand unites the entire country, even your Mum will get involved, only when England is playing of course. I love the whole build up, the status’s on Facebook, my favorite was written by someone I used to go to school with and it went a little something like this ‘Fuck off you foreign cunts, I’ll wear my England shirt when I want, wherever I want. This is why the BNP should have got in’ – genius! Taxi drivers all over the country exercise their given rights to be a complete fascist and decorate their cabs with the good ol’ flag of St George, and best of all the price of beer, peanuts, crisps and burgers seems to plummet to disgraceful rates so we can all get really pissed, really fat, and then burst in to tears when Gerrard shins his penalty against the bar in the second round. I CAN’T ACTUALLY WAIT.

I’ll be keeping you updated every few days with all of the news from South Africa. Whose playing well, how fucking boring the open ceremony was, which team has blagged their way through (South Korea), and whether or not John Terry can go 4 weeks without fucking the entire female population of Johannesburg. We’ll have a full report from the first game of England’s quest to glory against the USA as myself, the Smack That boys, and a host of our other ‘mates’ have hired out The Royal Box at Brighton’s most celebrated pub, The King and Queen, to watch the game, whilst shouting abuse at other England fans (standard) and getting horribly drunk in the process. It’s going to be outrageous.

P.S. We’ve got a little fantasy football league going especially for the world cup. Go to this website, create your team and enter this code 144504-34101. There will be a prize for the winner.

Words: Ballgown

Photos by: Nima Elm

Photos by : Milo Belgrove and Nima Elm

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The Palace Pier

To me, this is an emblem of the depressing shit that Brighton has come to represent. The entrance welcomes you with the potent smell of exchange students, drug addicts and rotting burgers served by some poor immigrant who day in, day out has to make slop for the horrid foreign kids with their neon rucksacks. There is a distinct air of misery on the Pier. Hardly anything is ever open, even in summer. The poor fucks that actually have the misfortune to work here must have the daily reminder that their life is shit.

Don’t bother going into the Arcades. If you were to go all CSI shit in there, I’m pretty sure that you would find buckets of semen, piss, blood and whatever else. I’ve seen people fucking on those driving game-seats so you can only imagine what horrors the machine guns have seen. The prizes you can win are laughable. They are so awful and all fake. So, unless you want to waste money or win a ‘cuddly’ toy that is probably a fire risk, don’t bother.

The rides are an option for you, should you wish to be gawped at by the grim staff who have nothing else to do with their day apart from press buttons and stare at you as you try to ignore the fact you & your friend are the only people on the Dodgems, or even on the pier. I’ve never liked or enjoyed the ‘ride’ section of the Pier. It’s not just the safety aspect (growing up, there have been innumerable rumors of people falling off rides into the sea etc etc) it’s just that there is no sense of fun or anything. I wish Brighton had that strip like the one in Lost Boys. So avoid the pier, it’s a waste of time and you’ll probably need to get pissed afterwards to wash the disappointment and sadness away.

The North Laine & The Lanes

The North Laine is basically a set of parallel streets containing a vast array of bullshit shops and cafes with the odd crap hairdresser thrown in. It hasn’t changed much since I was young; although now I always think I can smell regurgitated Innocent Smoothies, probably because I always see these three-wheeled-pram using mothers force feeding their bratty (and weird named) kids organic slop instead of Mr. Juicy which was good enough for me as wee’un. There are those shops where you can get dildos, vibrators, and gimp masks right next to some bland beige boutique where someone like Judi Dench would perhaps shop. There are a few cafes selling overpriced lentil shit or ‘meat-imitation pasties’. There are one or two good pubs, but it’s normally hit and miss with the people inside. I’ve seen far too many middle-aged, seemingly alcoholic Mods for one lifetime. There is nothing really to buy. Even the places that were once good, e.g. Snoopers Paradise (an emporium selling everything old and strange) has now become infected with pretentiousness and is ridiculously overpriced).

The Lanes consists of an amazing amount of rank jewelers and the only decent record shop in the whole bloody city. Just don’t bother.

Clubs

There is not one good club or even club night in Brighton (Smack That nights apart). Seriously. The biggest ones are on the seafront and you can normally find any STD you want in these places. The music is normally so mainstream and dire, the people so vacuous and dressed head-to-toe in River Island, afterwards you would probably want to wade into the sea with rocks stuffed into your pockets and die, just to avoid the same experience. The stench of semen dribbling out saggy vaginas from the night before is always too much for me to bear. Even the people that are relatively ok, are not, if they venture into these shitholes. Away from the seafront, there is no real night that is worth going to. Most of the people that go to the club nights that are tolerable, are pretty uninteresting. I’m pretty sure almost all of them are illustration/graphic/photography students because they are all fucking boring. I have no idea where the interesting people of Brighton hang out. In all the good pubs, they are never to be found. To be honest, all the good people have probably returned to London.

Students

The ‘human rats’ proliferate the streets like rubbish. I have no idea how many there are, but it must be a lot. Too many than is normal. Everything in Brighton seems to be controlled by the student population in some way. They are everywhere…they are the ones who do all the shit nights, the ones who are in every pub and cafe (no matter where you are in the city) and the ones who have exhausted all supplies of K. If I have to talk to, or just encounter another curly quiffed, quilted jacket, deck shoe wearing prick with a bow tie again, I’m going to sew up my vagina and remove my womb so that in the event of an apocalypse, I do not have to procreate with one.

Probably best to stay where you are.

Words: Nina Lily Gill
Photos: Sam Hiscox and Google

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