Mate, I’ve just heard that little Ed Sheeran’s had a type of peri peri sauce named after him by Nando’s. That’s made me want to work a million-and-one per cent harder to make it in this game. If a fat ginger – no disrespect, Ed, you’re a ledge, mate – can achieve that, then the sky is the limit for Frankie Cocozza. Just imagine: my own sausage roll at Greggs!? All those girls with my steaming meat in their mouths. Phwoar. Or how about my own sandwich at Subway – the Frankie Cock-ooze-a, a roll filled with only mayonnaise so when girls shove it in their gob my goo oozes down their throat. Absolutely mental! But the rule is only girls can buy it. Mate, imagine a bloke noshin’ on my wanger – that would be weird (maybe).
Backstage at X Factor, all the girls love me – obviously. There’s these three or four foxy ladies who insist on touching and rubbing my face before each show. They say they’re putting on make-up to make me look even better for my millions of female fans watching me on the telly, but I know what their game is! I’d ruin the lot of them, mate. I bet they’d love that. Cheeky sods!
I’m still missing Amelia (I’ve never felt anything like that before – the press attention was amazing!) but not as much as those 2 Shoes birds. They were right up for a laugh, I’ll tell ya. Let’s just say me and my new mate Robbie Williams (or Willy Man, as he likes me to call him) got a bit naughty with the pair of them one night after a couple of Breezers in the jacuzzi. Rob’s a liability, mate. Now, I dunno if I’m imagining things, but he kept slapping my thighs and rubbing my back when I was getting saucy with the one who looks like Les Dawson’s twin sister. I couldn’t get into it.
Rob’s a top bloke, though. He’s been helping me plan my next tattoo for my arse. The other night in my room he had a go at writing Tulisa’s name in pen across my cheeks. Tulisa Contostavlos – now that is a mouthful! Rob had to use my ringpiece as the second ‘o’ to fit it all on, but he didn’t complain once, bless him. You expect these celebrities to be up themselves, but it’s just not true. I guess I’m one of ‘them’ now, so maybe I’m a bit biased.
Loved last week’s twist on the results show. Pretending the public hadn’t voted for Frankie Cocozza – quality move, Simon. All for the cameras, mate, innit? I’m still deciding who I’m gonna get to duet with me on the final show. I’ve suggested Mick Jagger or Jimi Hendrix. The producers have said they might struggle to get Jimi but Mick (or even one of the other Beatles) would be sweet as. I’m tellin’ ya, I’m gonna be huge (and I’m not referring to you-know-what)!
This weekly column also appears on Vice.com