Wednesday, 6 July 2016

Is like Piers Morgan has fallen out of love with Taylor Swift and Tom Hiddlestone

This is how it began with Kim, he defended her against the backlash from her nude, carefree antics then all of a sudden he turned on her. Looks like the cycle is repeating itself with Taylor Swift. He may not have attacked her directly but he did attack her beau for his public displays of affection towards her. Read article after the cut...

Oh Tom.
Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom, TOM.
What the hell were you thinking?????
My grandmother used to say there were three things to always be wary of in a man: an inability to pronounce the letter ‘R’, a large bundle of keys hanging from a belt, and the simultaneous wearing of white socks and black shoes.
To which I’m fairly sure she would have added: ‘Sporting a T-shirt and tattoo proclaiming your love for the woman in your life.’
I’ve been firmly in Camp Swift-Hiddleston since news first broke of their unlikely liaison three weeks ago.
Taylor’s one of my favourite entertainers, combining sublime talent with a thoroughly engaging personality.
Tom’s a brilliant actor and from what I’ve seen of him on talk shows and red carpets, a very charming chap.
Together, they make sweet A-list romantic music and I have ferociously contested all efforts by more cynical journalist colleagues to categorise their paparazzi-fuelled fling as some kind of PR stunt.
But even my faith in the purity of Cupid’s bow is taking a bit of a dent this morning.
I could handle the beach canoodling in Rhode Island.
I could handle the hand-in-hand strolls through the streets of Rome.
I could even handle the country walks with Tom’s mum in the wind-swept UK county of Suffolk, albeit with slight concern at the haste with which things had moved to parental introduction.
All seemed perfectly natural displays of blind adoration consistent with the first flush of new love.
But then came the T-shirt and tattoo.
I stared at these latest photos for several long minutes, soaking in the full horror of Mr Hiddleston’s crime.
Surely Britain’s hottest thespian talent hadn’t morphed into a fawning, love-struck pop star fan-boy?
This, after all, is the man who wants to be the next James Bond, the most rugged, tough, manly movie icon of them all.
He’s also 35 years old, so no spring chicken in Tinsel Town years.
But it was sadly, shockingly true: he had.
There was our Tom, the Night Manager himself, in a white vest crying ‘I (heart) T.S.’
To compound the horror, he also had a love heart inked on his right arm with a ‘T’ on it.
The pair frolicked together in the Atlantic ocean with a bunch of Taylor’s young friends including Gigi Hadid, Karlie Kloss, Ruby Rose and Uzo Aruba, giggling away as they hugged, kissed and piggy-backed through the surf.
When one left the water, so did the other.
It was like watching recently separated Siamese twins having a reunion play-date.
All perfectly fine, if it wasn’t for the T-shirt and tattoo.
I assumed at first it was a photo-shopped fake, some kind of internet prank playing on the widespread suspicions that this relationship is not what it seems.
If you were going to send it up, this is exactly how you’d do it.
Then it was confirmed to me that they were genuine pictures and my trusting faith in the genuineness and innocence of Swift-Hiddleston crashed and burned.
When a man tries so hard to publicly prove his love for a woman, it usually has the opposite effect.
We’ve been here before with a famous Hollywood heart-throb called Tom.

Eleven years ago, Tom Cruise destroyed his image in five minutes of utter madness during an appearance on Oprah in which he shrieked about his love for Katie Holmes whilst treating the couch like a trampoline.
‘He’s gone,’ sighed Oprah. ‘He’s gone. The boy is gone.’
She was right.
Cruise became an instant global laughing stock and has never recovered. Neither, of course, did the romance itself; Ms Holmes departing stage left a few years later from the hideous train-wreck of life as Mrs Cruise.

Tom Hiddleston’s T-shirt and tattoo are just as cringe-worthy as Cruise’s couch-hopping, and may prove to be similarly disastrous to his career.
A quick survey of social media this morning confirmed a cacophony of jaw-dropped mockery descending on his beaming head.
People from all corners of the globe were positively howling with derision.
Even his most die-hard fans seem completely bemused as to what he’s up to.
As, I must confess, do I.
Tom, I’m a massive fan, but for the love of God, what are you doing?
This is NOT how you win the Bond gig.
This is how you destroy your chances faster than 007 electrocuted Oddjob in Goldfinger.
Men think you’ve completely lost the plot and women think…. you’ve completely lost the plot.
It’s just so shudderingly uncool to behave like this in the full knowing glare of the paparazzi. Even if, and let’s be generous here by espousing this theory, you’re just trying to have a little joke on the media.
No real man would indulge in such a stunt, even if it was a joke, especially not one who has aspirations to be a macho movie star.
It’s beyond excruciating, right up there with the time I stumbled upon two married co-workers sharing a Big Mac by literally passing bits of meat to each other using only their mouths.
They thought it was sweet, I thought it was sickening, as would anyone else who had the misfortune to witness it.
Let’s cut to the quick here: Daniel Craig would rather shoot himself with his own Beretta than be seen wearing a T-shirt and tattoo like this.
He would instinctively know it would be the death knell to his personal Bond brand.

I now have to hope and pray Swift-Hiddleton really IS all some weird, elaborate hoax on the media and unsuspecting public.
The alternative explanation is unthinkable: the man who would be Bond is a gigantic, toe-curling, insufferably infatuated and sycophantic wuss with women.


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