Confessions of an Essex Girl

by Becci Fox

  ‘I’m dying, leave me be,’ Ryan murmured weakly. He really was milking it. But once everyone’s stories started flying back and forth, Ryan’s strength visibly returned. We always call him the Gossip Gollum because he gets this wild, fevered look when he hears scandals, but now, with that blanket round his head, he genuinely looked the part. He was literally bouncing on his seat as he drank up our precious morsels.

  So it turned out Gem did have it out with Karen in the end because of the ‘forced fun’ she was inflicting on all her guests. That ended in Karen crying, which is why she went off sexting to make herself feel better. And then she tried to walk back home to Epping from Stapleford Abbotts even though she was staying at her mum’s that night, so they had to sedate her with a valium. So glad this side of her never came out on the hen do. I’ve not been trained to cope with sexting single mums.

  Then Gem revealed the reason why her Auntie Carol had kept crying. Apparently she said her table was too far from the head table, which she thought was disrespectful considering she was Gem’s godmother and mother of a bridesmaid. What a prima donna. Honestly, Gem’s family are something else. They’ve got this pecking order that goes on there, and sometimes one aunt gets jealous of another and then Nana Lils has to step in and sort the lot of them out like she’s the Godfather. What a blooming headache. I still say it was not a good idea to stick her next to her ex-husband though.

  Once we’d dissected Gem’s family dramas, Brooke told us (in a totally pass-agg way) that she couldn’t find Charlie when the taxi turned up and had ended up going home alone. He was then found by Gem’s stepdad asleep on the lawn at 2 a.m. Allan said that with the amount of grass and shit on Charlie’s jacket it was now a genuine Moss Bros suit. It was a dad-gag worthy of Don Fox.

  Talking of my family, it was while we were mid-debrief that Jake rocked up with Emily in tow. He’d texted me earlier to make sure Cleo wasn’t there, and then he managed to show up just as food was served. So jammy. Anyways, he offered a very valuable contribution to all this and revealed the mystery of Grant’s dented nose. Turns out Jake had been at Sugar Hut on Friday night too and he’d seen a fight break out in the street where a bloke ripped a shirt off another bloke’s back. When he got a closer look, he saw that the now shirtless man was Grant and he was now charging head first in to this other guy’s crotch. Grant loves his clothes, so I can see why he would have been enraged. I wouldn’t like my dress ripped off me. So that’s when he did the damage to his nose and then passed out on the street. This is the kind of shit that really goes down at Sugar Hut, but I think TOWIE should stick to filming Gemma’s Love-Struck singles nights and Joey’s Reem Sundays.

  While Grant was still busy at the barbecue, I asked Gemma the question we all wanted to know: had they consummated the marriage? As per usual, the answer was no. I’ve started up my own personal poll to find out if anyone has sex on their wedding night, and so far, I’ve had one hundred per cent negative answers. It’s a proper depressing statistic, but one day I hope to meet one wife who has put out on her wedding night. Obviously I only ask this question to newly-weds. I’m not interested in finding out the answer from Mum or Nan. That’s information I could do without. I suppose Gem did have a broken wrist, so I’ll let her off.

  That bloody wrist of hers had ruined a lot of things, including her honeymoon. Gem told us that they’d had no choice but to postpone it, which was proper sad. They were meant be going on this cruise for two months, the same one Grant’s parents had been on. It sounded so amazing, but there’s no way she could go off for that long, especially since the pins were coming out in six weeks’ time. You wouldn’t exactly want to take that contraption to the Seychelles either. So now they were going in the new year and would be having a ‘mini-moon’ instead. All the time-starved celebs are doing that now. They go away for a few days’ holiday after the wedding but have the proper honeymoon when they can fit it into their hectic schedule. What a sad life. So Grant and Gem were flying to Italy for the week instead, which, to be honest, didn’t sound much of a hardship.

  Just when we thought we were done with the gossip, I remembered Ryan. He’d been awful quiet, but I told him, it’s not all take, take, take, you know. Reluctantly, he dished the details. He showed me Tony’s profile on Grindr so I could have a proper look this time. ‘IG8 Straight’ was apparently ‘married bi-curious’ and he was a ‘top’ who was up for anything ‘except barebacking’. I was glad to hear it, but it’s strange what you find comforting when reading your brother-in-law’s profile on Grindr. ‘Hundred per cent prime Essex beef?’ You are having a laugh.

  My main concern was that he was putting Tasha’s health at risk, but at least he practised safe sex. Ryan said they’d met in Virgin Active and had been ‘horsing around’ in the showers a few months back. Ryan was kindly toning it down for me because I honestly never want to picture Tony doing anything sexual. And yes, they’d met up at Liverpool Street station one day after work, and then it stopped as soon as he saw him at the polo. Apparently Tony had seen him then but they hadn’t spoken. Ryan was really apologetic, especially since he said he didn’t even fancy Tony. But it’s not like he had anything to be sorry about. It was Tony’s own stupid fault for getting in this mess.

  We’d just have to see how this played out over the next few months, but believe me, I would be making Ryan monitor his every move. Who knows, maybe it was good for him to explore his gay side. I honestly don’t get why people can’t be upfront about sexuality these days. Maybe he did love Tasha and just needed a bit of cock sometimes. Who am I to know the inner workings of Tony Crook’s tiny mind?

  I felt properly exhausted after the afternoon at Gemma’s parents. Maybe there’s a limit to how much gossip one person can absorb? But as we all kept saying over and over again, ‘What a party.’ I’ve been to a few weddings in my time, but an Essex one trumps them all. If Kate and Wills’ wedding was half as eventful, I’ll be very surprised. I mean, did Pippa Middleton have her bum grabbed by an ex? Did Wills get hammered at a club the night before? Was Harry found unconscious on the lawn of Buckingham Palace at 2 a.m.? Did the Queen grass up Charles for leaving the party to shack up with his fancy-woman? Did a fit aristocrat dance around with his shoes on his hands? I’d like to say no, but if I give it a bit of thought – possibly.

  I got to say, I bloody love autumn. Mum says to me, ‘I don’t know why you love it, it’s such a messy season. Leaves everywhere.’ But I just feel like I think a lot clearer and I start cooking up plans. It’s like that back-to-school feeling where you’ve wiped the slate clean, you got your new pencil case and you got a fire in your belly.

  I mean, you’d have thought after Gemma’s wedding I’d be feeling a bit deflated with nothing major to look forward to. Wrong. So much is going on!

  Since The Only Way Is Essex lot started filming again, I’d say there’s more hysteria than ever. Like everyone’s going on about where they’re going to be and what they know about new characters. It’s endless. And the worst culprits are my mum, Cheryl and Sue. Swear to God, Mum’s on Twitter now, so she can stalk them and get in the background. They were filming Chloe and Joey down Queens Road at one point and Cheryl sidles up to one of the producers and goes, ‘So how can we be in this shot?’ and he replies, ‘Well they sell swimwear in that shop across the road. Why don’t you pop yourself in a bikini and then we’ll talk.’ Cheryl was beside herself until Mum told her he was taking the piss. I don’t know how Cheryl gets on in day-to-day life without Mum’s assistance.

  And there’s been an exciting new development in the world of shopping. What with the opening of Westfield in Stratford, I can hop on the Central line and be at the shops in fifteen minutes. I mean, I’ll always love Bluewater, but the traffic is a bitch around there. And to be honest, I’ve always loved that feeling of having shopped up west and being surrounded by shopping bags on the tube ride home, you know what I mean?

  When I first heard the Olympics was happening in Stratford, I was like, me
h. But as soon as I heard they were building a shopping emporium there, I was all over the place. I was there two days after it opened, and guess who I saw walking around like they owned the place? Only Mark and Arg, aka Marge. No one was taking the blindest bit of notice of them, though. Funnily enough, I saw Mark shopping once before down Carnaby Street. Basically, he had this teenage boy with him who seemed to be carrying all the bags. I’d like to think Mark had taken this kid out for a massive shopping fest, but I think the truth might be that this kid was there to carry Mark’s bags. I honestly wouldn’t put it past him since Brooke told me she asked for a picture with Mark when he was down Faces recently and he went to her, ‘I think I need to start charging,’ and she laughed, but he didn’t. I think he genuinely might start charging, so watch yourself if you approach him. Since leaving TOWIE, I actually think his head’s got bigger. I didn’t think it was possible.

  And Brooke has appeared in a few scenes in TOWIE which has been proper exciting. Even better, Russ and Rob haven’t. So much for their ‘we’re best friends with Kirk’ line. The first scene she did, she was in the audience for Jessica’s lingerie catwalk show which happened in Faces. She said she was so hot for Mario she forgot Mark was even there. I love the fact they portrayed them as two rutting stags because it’s so true – that much testosterone is genuinely floating around West Essex. Brooke was also in the background for Kirk’s Sugar Hut karaoke party which we all could have gone to, but I’m not interested and Gemma didn’t want her arm on national television. It’s been so long now, I’ve honestly forgotten what she looks like without her mechanical arm.

  Anyways, the best news of all is that Jack Tweed’s still not in TOWIE. If that ever happens, that show is dead to me. But I tell you who has been riding the crest of the Essex wave – Jodie Marsh is back on TV and all because she got involved in that body-building malarkey. I can’t say I’m a fan of the girl, but you got to admire her tenacity. If you think about it, she was on Essex Wives, which was the original Essex documentary a whole decade ago. You got to respect that.

  Gemma said to me, ‘If you want to get noticed, becoming a body-builder is way more original than getting a boob job.’ She makes a good a point.

  And just in case you’re interested, I’m going to get my own boobs sorted out at Holly House. Even though Brooke says I’m hallucinating, I honestly believe one is drooping more than the other and I can’t be having that. Not that anyone’s seen me naked recently to check them out. Sorry to say, nothing has occurred with Jamie yet. I fobbed him off because I didn’t want to go to Shoreditch, but then I discovered the party was at Shoreditch House. They got a blooming rooftop pool there!

  OK, so I’ll admit I like him and I promise I’ll go on a date with him, but I do think our scenes are totally different. Can you seriously imagine me slumming it at some party in an East End warehouse? I’d have to create my own VIP section out of beer crates or something. I got to stop going over that in my head, though, because nobody got nowhere by thinking too much. I’ll just make it somewhere on my turf for the first date. I’ve been dying to go to Smith’s Brasserie in Ongar and it’s the kind of place that blokes love. When you see all the flash cars lined up outside on a Saturday night, you get a buzz before you’ve even stepped in the restaurant. I think Jamie sees West Essex as this foreign land, so I will happily be his tour guide. And maybe I could take him shopping down Westfield beforehand so he has some nice clothes to wear and then we could burn those shorts?

  Thankfully, I haven’t heard a word from Ben. I was a bit scared of bumping into him in One9Five for a while, but Charlie assures me that he won’t let him in if he sees him. I’m not normally like this with blokes I’ve slept with, but in the clear light of day, I’ve decided that Ben was a psychopath. Not in the murderous sense, but I read this article about one recently and Ben totally fitted the criteria. For instance, they’re charming and they’ll charm your friends and family. They seem like a really good catch because they’re obscenely good looking, successful, persuasive, but they’re actually morally blind, emotionally bankrupt and don’t feel sorry for anything they do.

  Now, I get that I’ve just described a lot of Essex men here, but if I think back to Ben, I knew something wasn’t right. I mean, he was proper hunting me, which would make me his prey. How gross is that. I just hope he has fucked off to America now so all WEGs can be safe from his handsome clutches. I feel like I should write to US Immigration to tell them, but what’s one more psychopath over there?

  Anyways, no matter cos I’m going places. I’ve been killing it at the wedding fairs and you may have seen me sauntering down the catwalk at a few. I’ve properly got my swagger back. I saw Lauren Goodger flogging her fake tan down one of the biggest fairs in Brentwood. She’s not exactly the greatest advert for her product because she does have an orange tinge. Then again, I doubt she uses the products because looked to me like she’d had a professional spray. I don’t know if it goes against trading standards if you falsely claim to be wearing the product you’re selling, but I would have thought so.

  Then again, who am I to talk, with my lies about our ‘celebrity clients’. I swear I’m getting worse because I told one woman Petra Ecclestone had bought her dress from us. I don’t even think she lives in the area, but people love to shop where a millionairess shops, right? I don’t know if I’ll say Chantelle bought her dress from us, even though I’ve got nothing against arranged marriages. Maybe I’ve given the girl a hard time, though. I’m only saying that because I went into Vardo the other day and bought this stunning Vivienne Westwood bag. It’s gold and shaped like a seashell. What’s not to like? It’s going to be part of my outfit for the big Essex Fashion Week party at Woolston Manor. Then I got this amazing Ted Baker pink feathered cape to go over my shoulders. I don’t care if Dad does say I look like a flamingo. Fashion Week has become such a big deal now, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was in Vogue sooner or later.

  Anyways, all I’m saying is there’s a lot of electricity around West Essex at the moment. There always has been, but now there’s outsiders with their noses pressed up against the window wanting an invite to the action. I haven’t told Tash this yet, but I’ve got itchy feet and I just feel like now’s the time to do something for myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to give a hundred per cent to her business, but I want one of my own. I just hope she doesn’t feel like I’m abandoning her. Everyone should do what makes them happy, unless it’s murdering people or shit like that. And the only way you can do that is by living for yourself and not other people, right?

  I’m not even sure what I want to do yet, but I’m sure inspiration will strike while I’m out and about. It usually does, and, like I say, I usually find opportunities fall my way because I’m in the right place at the right time. I mean, how do you think I got to write this book?

  Watch and learn, people.

  First off, I’d like to thank myself for all my hard work. Since bones have been broken during the writing of this book, I must also express my deepest gratitude to my truly amazing Essex brethren: my accident-prone bosom buddy KL (still got it), my favourite man ‘the Fontos’ JF, my rosé drinking wingman PB – who knew we were researching that whole time? Also thanks to Redman for living dangerously, to MF for his tawdry tales, the Chelmer girls for a lot of laughs and a lot of cork popping, the entire J Family (what a hen do), my East Anglia crew and my publisher Ingrid Connell for her advice and for giving me this opportunity. And special thanks to my mum and dad for putting up with me and moving us to West Essex. See, I told you going out was more important than school.

  Real people, real voices, real stories

  The Pan Real Lives Series brings together some truly remarkable stories. From moving accounts of suffering and redemption to fun and fabulous confessions, entertaining adventures and touching tales of devotion, these are life-changing stories told from the heart.

  Full of drama and wisdom, these books will transport you to another world. They are uplifting,
inspiring and timeless – and perfect whether you’re looking to laugh or cry, or both!

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  First published 2012 by Pan Books

  This electronic edition published 2012 by Pan Books

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited

  Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Basingstoke and Oxford

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-4472-1302-4

  Copyright © Becci Fox 2012

  The right of Becci Fox to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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