Hallo Readers,

Normally employment works like this. The employee does stuff at the employer’s request. Then at whatever period is stipulated in the contract, the employer pays the employee for the stuff he or she has done. But in America, if the Government shuts down because Congress has not passed a budget, Government employees still have to come to work if told to do so, or they may be ‘furloughed’, which means they stay at home until instructed otherwise. But either way, they do not get paid. Nothing. Nada. Zero. When the Government re-opens, they get their pay backdated, (although contractors do not), but in the meantime, they have to draw on their savings. Unless, of course, they have no savings, in which case, they must make interesting choices, such as do they feed their kids or pay the mortgage? Do they put fuel in the car to get to work or pay for the heating bill? Friday 25 January will be Day 35 of the shutdown and people are getting desperate. And furious.

This is happening because President Donald Trump wants his wall.  The one Mexico was going to pay for. That wall. Only Mexico is not going to pay for the Wall, and was never going to pay for the Wall, which means either that there is no Wall or Americans have to pay for it with public money approved by the House and the Senate and signed off by the President. And neither Chamber will give Trump $5.7 billion to pay for the Wall. Trump is refusing to sign off on the original budget, which made no provision for any Wall but gave him $1.3 billion for border security – having said he would sign it, he reneged after right-wing nutters got antsy, and so 800,000 people are currently without pay.

Not that they are getting much sympathy from Trump acolytes. Secretary of Commerce Wilbur Ross, an 81-year-old multi-millionaire who looks like he died in the night, expressed surprise that people had to go to food banks, and anyway, he said, 800,000 employees’ pay was only a third of 1% of GDP. Trump’s daughter-in-law, Lara Trump, said, ‘Listen, it’s not fair to you, and we all get this, but this is so much bigger than any one person. It’s a little bit of pain, but it’s going to be for the future of our country.” No, love. It’s a little bit of pain when you wake up in the morning and realise you married Eric Trump, the son with a face like a boiled potato and a brain to match. It is a much bigger pain when you worry whether that you can keep a roof over your head.

And so it drags on. Trump pretends there is a ‘humanitarian crisis’ at the Southern Border, talks about ‘invasions’ (although crossings there are at a twenty year low), claims Democrats favour open borders, drug smuggling and uncontrolled crime and maintains that many unpaid workers are firmly behind him. This is what is known as bullshit. Sadly for him, the new Speaker of the House, mother-of-five Nancy Pelosi, is well used to dealing with toddlers’ tantrums, and is more than happy to get into a septuagenarian scrap. This week, she postponed his State of the Union address and Trump has now backtracked on $5.7 billion immediately and is offering to re-open the Government for three weeks in exchange for a ‘pro-rated down-payment’ on the Wall. On Tuesday, he whimpered that Pelosi ditched his State of the Union because she ‘didn’t want to hear the truth’. On the contrary, Mr President. As Jack Nicholson’s Colonel Jessup said, ‘You can’t handle the truth!’ During the campaign, you told a massive lie you cannot make good on, people are now getting hurt, and 70% of your fellow Americans disapprove of the way you are handling this fiasco. Madam Speaker has your little orange balls in a vice and she intends to keep on squeezing until you stop this nonsense and act like a grown-up. 

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We begin’s the week’s sartorial survey with actress Naomi Watts, wearing Nina Ricci.

The colour of this dress makes her look like a melted puddle of strawberry ice-cream. Furthermore, although criticism is alien to WTF’s nature, she feels compelled to remark that the seams are as puckered as Donald Trump’s horrible little mouth.

Next up, we have WTF regular, singer Rita Ora, wearing Dion Lee.

This is the Full Monty with peek-a-boo tits like a Klu Klux Klansman’s hood, mis-matched shades of white, and a skirt made out of that stuff greengrocers put over fruit to stop it bruising, with more than a flash of arse cheek. 

To Newcastle, where we find the “star” of Geordie Shore, Chloe Ferry, wearing Oh Polly, seen here with her boyfriend Sam.

This is not so much under-boob as thunder-boob, and it gets much, much worse, namely the dreaded nip slip. This is what happens when you venture out with your top half wrapped only in a tiny fuchsia bandage.

As for Chloe’s face, there has been major interference with the workings of nature, including a trout pout like something out of Finding Nemo. Here is what she looked like in 2014 before she became a celebritee….

To London, and actress Michelle Keegan at the National TV Awards wearing Dafna May.

One day Dafna may design a dress that doesn’t make the wearer look like a creosoted Sugar Plum Fairy. 

Here is actress Bella Thorne, née Annabella Thorne, and her boyfriend, singer Mod Sun, né Derek Smith.

Bella is showing an awful lot of chest and could well catch a chill. If it is cold enough to wear a coat, it is too cold to flash your embonpoint. As for her beau, he is also showing far more chest than anyone wants to see, including more artwork than Michelangelo’s sketchbook, and he has substituted what look like wind-chimes for a shirt. And as WTF aficionado Belinda rightly observed, no one should be allowed out in public with a mouth open that wide.

Here is rapper Cardi B, wearing Dolce & Gabbana. 

It is best to leave it to Cardi B to explain what is occurring. ‘… these pants is too mother–king tight. S–t was giving my p—y a wedgie. I hate having p—y wedgies, bro. My p—y be screaming at me like, ‘Bitch! You got me f–ked up! You want a yeast infection, bitch? You want a f–king yeast infection?'” WTF would advise either taking a size up or, better still, leaving this foul outfit on the hanger,

Finally, here we are at Paris Menswear Week where we encounter actor Robert Pattinson wearing Dior Homme.

At first WTF assumed that aficionado Kathryn had sent her a picture of a tramp on the Champs Elysées, but she then realised that it was Robert in designer togs, unkempt hair and a pallor last seen on someone exhumed by order of the Coroner. Why Dior Homme has found inspiration in Bill Sykes from Oliver!, WTF cannot say….

This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF aficionado Sue Peters who was rightly horrified that magazine Marie-Claire had advised women to kick-start their period by inserting parsley into their vaginas. Health professionals reacted with sorrel, with one gynaecologist remarking ‘there are only a few things that should go into your vagina and parsley is not one of them’. This is sage advice that women should fennel if they want to stay in mint condition.

Clearly Marie-Claire got caraway with this nonsense, and the article has since been withdrawn. Why would any female want to turn their lady garden into a herb garden? It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Last Friday, WTF wrote about the US Government Shutdown, initiated by President Trump because he couldn’t get it up. The Wall at the Southern Border, that is. Trump spent 35 days vowing he would not cave without Congressional funding for the Wall and then at 7 pm on Friday, he caved and agreed to re-open for three weeks pending negotiations. WTF was put in mind of Byron’s Don Juan describing the eponymous hero’s seduction of Donna Julia. ‘A little still she strove and much repented, and whispering ‘I will ne’er consent…consented’.

Nobody understands what Trump is doing, but according to Sarah Sanders, his Press Secretary, God intended Donald Trump to be President.  She said ‘I think God calls all of us to fill different roles at different times and I think that He wanted Donald Trump to become president. ..That’s why he’s there and I think he has done a tremendous job in supporting a lot of the things that people of faith really care about.’ And because St Donald the Pure has appointed pro-Life judges and attacked birth control organisations, people of faith (Christians) are willing to overlook  his faults. But what’s in it for God? 

We know the Lord is forgiving, but He seems to be content for Trump to flout his Handbook altogether. Trump is an adulterer, (Hebrews 13:4 ‘Marriage is to be held in honor among all, and the marriage bed is to be undefiled.’.) Adultery goes with lust ( Galatians 5: 16 ‘..you will not gratify the desires of the flesh.’) He claims to weigh 236 lbs (but that’s just his head), although he is obese, existing on a dirt of congealed fats (Ezekiel 16:49 – ‘Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy’). He hates spending his own money (Hebrews 13.3 “Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have’). He spends hours watching TV rather than working (Proverbs 6:6 “Go to the ant, you sluggard! Consider her ways and be wise.”). He constantly loses his temper and hits back at people (Romans 12:19 “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God.’).  He envies others (genuinely) richer than him (Proverbs 14:30, ‘..envy is rottenness to the bones.’). He believes that he is smarter than everyone (Jeremiah 9:23-24, “…Let not the mighty man boast of his might…but let him who boasts boast of this, that he understands and knows Me…”) And of course, he is a compulsive liar (Proverbs 21:22 ‘The LORD detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy’.)

If the Good Lord did decide that Donald was His man, He must have either have a very warped sense of humour or He was feeling particularly pissed off with humanity. To be frank, WTF would rather He had rained down a few plagues, even the frogs and the locust, rather than visit Trumpy upon us, but, as we are regularly reminded, the Good Lord moves in mysterious ways. And none more mysterious than this…..

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We start our review of the week’s sartorial cesspit at the Screen Actor’s Guild Awards (the SAGs) in Hollywood and actor Michael B. Jordan, wearing Louis Vuitton.

The suit fits him like a glove, but the leather floral kiddie-harness is preposterous. Timothee Chalamet wore a black sparkly one, and now this. Should you wish to reproduce this at home, remove the straps from a floral backpack, discard the backpack, wear the straps across your chest and save yourself a fortune. But you will still look like a prat.

WTF has never seen GLOW,  a show about lady wrestlers, but its quartet of its leading ladies wore some dreadful clothes on the Red Carpet.  First up, we have Kate Nash, wearing Manish Arora.

Mary Poppins does bondage. 

Second is Alison Brie, wearing Miu Miu.

WTF is wrestling with this for a number of reasons. Alison looks like the lovechild of a cockroach and the Angel of Death, while those wings take up lots of room. Unless Alison was sitting in aisle seat, two people had to spend the whole ceremony getting poked in the eye every time she moved. Stand by for legal action….

Third, we have Kimmy Gatewood wearing Nathaniel Paul.

Nathaniel is taking the piss. A bodice goes under a blouse, not over it. And save for the flashes of white and the red lippy, Kimmy’s hair, face and dress are all the same colour, making her resemble a perambulating peach.

And finally, we have Marianna Palka wearing Madame Adassa, this time at an After Party.

Sadly, Marianna is putting the sag into SAG and has substituted a flowery minge mask for a pair of panties. These felonies are compounded by pink bedroom mules, blue-bandaged arms, and an orange spray tan of which Donald Trump would be proud.

Casey Thomas Brown from The Kominsky Method.

This Harry Potter-inspired getup looks like it came straight from the school drama cupboard, but WTF’s chief disapprobation is reserved for the wonky bow tie, something she hates almost above all things, and what appear to be a pair of walking boots.

The lovely Lupita Nyong’o, wearing Vera Wang.

Lupita! What on earth did you say to your stylist to piss him or her off? This is essentially a corset with coat-sleeves and some leftover Christmas lights worn as a skirt. You had better apologise PDQ or Heaven knows what he or she she will pick out for your Oscar outfit.

Angela Bassett wearing Georges Chakra.

Angela has come dressed as a titsy tea cosy.

Anthony Ramos wearing David Hart.

This is a truly terrible suit, like those luminous planets you put on kiddies’ bedroom ceilings which glow in the dark. WTF’s adored great nephew has some, but he is two. The aforesaid suit also has enormous lapels and too short trousers, and poor Anthony is also wearing brown shoes and the world’s biggest bow tie, like a pair of foxes’ ears worn as a hunting trophy.

Away from the SGAs, we have Bollywood star Ranveer Singh wearing something quite mind boggling.

Ranveer is a very cool dude but no one, not even him, can carry off head to ankle leopardskin and golden bootees.

And finally, we find ourselves at Paris Fashion Week where we encounter singer Celine Dion, wearing Alexandre Vauthier.

Donald Trump could take those shoulders and use them for his Wall, or barrier, or whatever he wants to call it this week, but the real horror is the sheer tit bandage displaying a great deal of distressingly bony chest.

This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF of Islington who has got the dead raving needle about lack of gym etiquette, to be summarised as follows.

* Tossers sitting at machines, not huffing and puffing as per the supposed programme, but reading or sending emails and texts.

*Tossers speaking loudly on the phone whilst exercising, especially on a bluetooth or, even worse, with the loudspeaker on.

*Tossers with headphones singing along loudly but tunelessly in unexpected and unnerving bursts, like Ozzie Osbourne with croup.

*Tossers emitting loud grunting noises like a hippo giving birth, just to show everyone else how hard they are working.

*Tossers in the pool doing backstroke at 1 mph and causing a mini tsunami.

It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers, 

So this is where we are. Either US Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh is a good, God-fearing, man who is being persecuted by all or any of the Democrats, Bill and/or Hillary Clinton, lefties, the Fake News and a variety of crazy, mixed up, middle-aged women. Or he is a liar, a gambler, a sleaze-bag, a former drunk and a man who, 30-odd years ago, pinned one girl down on a bed, tried to rip off her clothes and put his hand over her mouth to stop her screaming, all the time laughing uproariously with his best mate. So who is going to decide, and on what basis are they going to decide, which is the real Brett Kavanaugh?

No-one really believed that yesterday’s Judicial Hearing, which heard evidence from the principal accuser, Christine Blasey Ford, and from Kavanaugh, but no witnesses, including the man who allegedly witnessed the assault on her as he was in the room, would affect whether Kavanaugh would be confirmed. Before it began, Senator Hatch, a man so old and decrepit that he is walking around merely to save himself funeral expenses, pronounced that Ford was ‘confused’. Senator Graham, who has gone from Trump critic to Trump butt-plug in a matter of months, declared that he was not going to ruin a man’s life based on something that happened three decades ago. And Trump described the whole thing as a ‘Democratic con-job‘. And so the Republican majority got in a nice, mumsy, lady prosecutor to quiz Ford, who gave plausible, clear, calm, evidence. Kavanaugh came out fighting in the way that  Russell Crowe came out fighting in Gladiator. He shouted. He cried. It was all a conspiracy. He dodged questions, talked over the questioners, snarlingly asked them questions and complained that his life was ruined. He told a nauseating story about his little daughter telling her sister that they should pray for the lady who was saying nasty things about Daddy. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde it would take a heart of stone not to vomit. 

This was not a genuine enquiry into the truth. It was a chimera.  Senators on both sides showboated with one eye on the mid-terms and the other on the TV cameras. Everyone expressed outrage at everyone else’s behaviour. Having listened to Ford in the morning, the Republicans spent the afternoon assuring an angry, out-of-control, lachrymose, liar and probable sex pest, that he had been appallingly treated and that he would make a wonderful Judge. It was a more of a circus than the Circus Maximus in Gladiator – no proper enquiry into the facts, no attempt to compel witnesses to give evidence on oath or to be investigated by the FBI. They don’t care if and what he did to Ford or to anyone else. They don’t care if he’s lying. They want him to roll back social liberalism, they want to keep Trump happy, they need to be seen to win. How very dare these rabid menopausal women cause this wonderful family man with his neat little wife and his cute little daughters all this distress for something that happened so long ago, even though what happened so long ago shows that his temperament, his character and his failure to accept responsibility make him wholly unfit for the lifelong job he is about to be given? Maybe they’ll say she was credible but it was actually someone else who attacked her, although she was 100% sure it was him. Maybe they’ll say they just can’t be sure. But unless several GOP Senators decide to stand up, this will be just one more punch in the face for women.

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Let us start our review of the week’s fashion follies with Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge, at a friend’s wedding in Norfolk last weekend, wearing Catherine Walker and a Juliette Botterill headpiece.

Seriously?  Kate is 36 years old. The late Queen Mother would have sneered at this.  And what on earth is that thing on her head? It looks like one of those swimming caps worn by Florida matrons doing acqua-aerobics in Boca Raton.

Next up we have model Rosie Huntingdon-Whiteley in Milan, wearing Attico.

Rosie is gorgeous but that is no excuse for appearing in public as the subject of a David Attenborough ornithological special.

Here is actor Anthony Ramos wearing something very shiny at the Hollywood premiere of A Star Is Born in which he appears.

Shiny is not the half of it. Who needs a mirror when you have this suit gleaming  like a giant snooker ball? And why is he wearing that terrible shirt, resembling the fuzzy patterns on the TV screen when the aerial fails?

This is our good friend, rapper Nicki Minaj, wearing Fendi.

Dear, dear, dear. Her cups runneth over. Or in this case, under. Underboob AND visible nipple activity (VNA). Dear, dear, dear.

The Abominable Snowman, with tits. There would be an extreme draft in the chest area. This outfit is by Fendi, by the way. In case you had not already noticed.

Former actress, former TV personality, still-a-celebritee-but-why? Kelly Brook with her French fiancé, Jeremy Parisi.

Kelly is wrapped in a particularly revolting bedspread. That is bad enough. But it could not be any more unsuitable for someone with a fuller figure and her embonpoint is more puckered than Brett Kavanaugh’s mouth. First we have the Duchess looking like the Queen Mum. Now we have Kelly, aged 38, resembling Hyacinth Bucket. What is occurring?

WTF favourite celebritee, Lizzie Cundy, wearing Design by Josh.

Design by Josh is Josh Birch-Jones, aged 13. Young Josh is clearly a fan of Harry Potter because he has dressed Lizzie as a sparkly witch with her own Halloween cloak. As he is only 13, it is possible that Josh has not quite got the hang of the concept of fake tits, but clearly Lizzie’s preposterous plastic puppies need more room than afforded by this sheath.

This is reality star David Potts wearing an outfit by OppoSuits (it costs £56).

The suit is terrible and if he has to wear it all, which he didn’t, he needs to take a size up. WTF is however more bothered by the ridiculous pose, the too-short trousers, and the fact he is wearing more makeup than the Superdrug warehouse.

Finally, here is Cheryl, formerly Fernandez-Versini, formerly Cole, née Tweedy, sort-of-singer, wearing Zuhair Murad. TO SOMEONE ELSE’S WEDDING.

This excrescence should not be worn anywhere, ever, unless Cheryl is planning to appear as Gypsy Rose Lee in a remake of Gypsy. But to wear this jewel-bedecked condom with Minge Fringe and yeti pubes at a wedding is simply unacceptable.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your top comments and your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x

Hallo Readers, 

Of all the things that enrage WTF about Brexit, which is pretty much everything, is the new era of do-it-yourselfery, where anyone with barely two brain cells to rub together can pontificate without bothering to learn more about the issues than listening to Nigel Farage on LBC and perusing @ravingmad on Twitter. Everybody now has an opinion. The problem is that an opinion which is not based on fact is not an opinion at all, it is simply verbal flatulence.

Be that howsoever it may be, you would expect rather better of a Government Minister. A Minister should be on top of his brief. In particular, the Minister dealing with Brexit should have some understanding of the issues. And one of the biggest issues around Brexit is the Irish Border. Before peace broke out in long-suffering Northern Ireland, the border was manned by armed British soldiers. Then came the Good Friday Agreement in April 1998. One of the main features of that agreement was a normalising of relations between North and South, with the consequence that citizens of both countries could cross the border freely without having a revved-up squaddie pointing a machine gun at them. And for twenty years, people have crossed the border every day without hindrance. But once we Brexit, that border becomes the only land border between Britain and and the EU, so if we are not in the Customs Union, how is that to be managed? May’s deal, which hit the buffers so spectacularly last month, was for a backstop, which meant that we could never leave, even after the transitional period ending in 2022, unless the thorny problem of the border had been resolved. So if you are in charge of Brexit, the Good Friday Agreement is required reading. A bit like the Bible if you are a priest. Or the script if you are an actor.

The former Secretary of State for Buggering Off, Dominic Raab, occupied the role from July 2018 to November 2018 and then flounced off in protest against the draft deal he himself had negotiated. This week Raab appeared in front of the Parliamentary Northern Ireland Affairs Committee, and was asked whether he had read the Good Friday Agreement. Raab replied ‘Um, I haven’t sat down and started at the beginning and gone through it.. But of course at various points of the negotiations when issues have been raised, it has been an important opportunity to delve into the different aspects very carefully’. In other words, no, he hadn’t. Raab has law degrees from Cambridge and Oxford. He must have read hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pages every week during the course of his studies and then in practice as a lawyer. But with the fate of the nation in his hands, he couldn’t be arsed to read thirty-five pages. The Committee members looked as if they had been slapped in the face with a fish. Raab added ‘It’s not like a novel, you sit down and say ‘do you know what, over the holidays, this is a cracking read’. Yeah, you’re right, Dom. Maybe they should have asked Dan Brown or John Grisham to have a go at drafting it. Then you might have got to the end during your tenure and you might have had a clue what you were talking about. Abject.

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We start our review of the week’s obnoxious outfits with celebritee Kim Kardashian at the amFAR Gala in New York wearing vintage Versace.

Yurgle. Her embonpoint must enter the room five seconds before the rest of her. Ridiculous. And talking of ridiculous, she is not barefoot, she is shod in invisible shoes by Gianvito Rossi.

Ridiculous.

Last week was the Superbowl in Atlanta, and two days beforehand, NFL stars gathered for the annual NFL Honors. This is one of WTF’s favourite events because you always get a lot of men looking very silly. Like Alvin Kamara of the New Orleans Saints, wearing Gentlemen’s Playbook.

There is silky. And there is shiny. And then there is this. He looks like an illuminated, lavender, Christmas tree bauble.

And here is another NFL player, Deshaun Watson of the Houston Texans. wearing a RichFest jacket. You can’t see the Gucci black trousers and OffWhite x Nike trainers. But trust me – they are there.

There is a lot going on here, and none of it good, not least the red collar like the Head Porter at a ritzy hotel in Biarritz. 

Next, we have singer Dua Lipa,wearing Armani Privé.

We are all waiting for the sheer trend to go away and we are still waiting and it looks as if we may be waiting for some time. Armani designed this with the skirt prettily lined, but Dua removed it for the express purpose of flashing her arse, which, in WTF’s view, is not a good enough reason.

Here is actress Jennifer Connelly at the premiere of Alita – Battle Angel wearing Louis Vuitton. As usual.

In effect, this is like a comedy suit of armour made out of an old shopping bag and displaying Jennifer’s somewhat spindly legs.

To London and Scottish singer and celebritee Tallia Storm, wearing who can even say what this is, at the premiere of Lego Movie 2.

Here is a WTF Rule. If it is cold enough for a fur jacket, it is too cold to flash your tummy. Especially in a PVC bralet and matching trewsies. And if the PVC trewsies were not bad enough (and they are, they really are), these also have instant minge access with one zip running around the groin and another running from bellybutton to crotch.

Say hallo to actress Rosamund Pike at the premiere of A Private War, wearing Hermès.

This is a bizarre blend of Annie Get Your Gun and Sonny Corleone in his vest and braces (suspenders to our US friends). WTF was unaware that boob tubes were still a thing, but if they still are, they shouldn’t be.

Rosamund should call the other Hermes, the one without the e-grave, and order them to deliver this load of tat back to the Hermès with the e-grave, and for that Hermès to stick it where the sun don’t shine.

Here we are at the Vanity Fair BAFTA party and British designer Joshua Kane,  wearing himself.

Quite apart from Joshua’s ridiculous appearance, like a bespectacled Cavalier (the ones from the 1600’s, not the doggie breed), it is most unnerving to see a man with ladies and gentlemen wandering across his bits.

And finally this is actress and WWE announcer Charly Arnolt wearing something that looks like she isn’t wearing anything at all.

If Donald Trump ever took to cross-dressing and wanted to walk around giving the impression that he was naked, this would be the perfect outfit. Carly’s spherical tittage is as improbable as Donald’s staff giving off-the-record briefings to reporters that he does not use a tanning machine and his tan is down to  ‘good genes’. As if. The only thing that is genetically orange is an orange. 

This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF stalwart Andrew Purcell from Texas who has brought this utterly revolting thing to WTF’s attention – the fake camel toe panties. Yes really.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! IT IS BAD!!!!!!!

AND HERE IS ANOTHER WARNING TO GO WITH THE FIRST WARNING!!!!!

 

Andrew writes ‘Let me provide you with a brief respite from The Brexit Bunch. This has “Its Got To Go” written all over it.  In a universe that allows Donald Trump to be President, I guess there’s room for… “Fake Camel Toe Underwear”‘. No Andrew, there isn’t. There really isn’t. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers

Until recently, Boris Johnson was not known for his ability as a conjurer. As an adulterer, certainly. As a liar, definitely.  As someone lazy and unwilling to read his brief, without question. But not as a conjurer. However, one is never too old to be surprised, usually unpleasantly, and Johnson’s ability to make money disappear into thin air (not dishonestly, just by being utter rubbish at his job) has been highlighted by the detailed breakdown of the £53 million spent during his tenure as Mayor of London on the Garden Bridge, a nonsensical leafy white elephant that was supposed to provide pedestrian access across the Thames by Temple Station. We all knew that Johnson could waste money – remember the £331,000 spent on three water cannon that were never deployed and were sold for £11,000? But at least there were three actual water cannon, albeit that they were never actually used because Theresa May, then the Home Secretary, blocked it. In the case of the Garden Bridge, there is not so much as a slab of concrete or a potted plant to show for it. The whole thing was a monument to Johnson’s ego and the old-pals act that allowed family friend Joanna Lumley to gain access to the Mayor and persuade him to commission her long-held dream of an oversized folly, London’s version of Kubla Khan’s Stately Pleasure Dome (And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree); except that Kubla Khan paid for his one himself. The design exercise was slanted in favour of architects Thomas Heatherwick, although they had never built a major bridge; of the three firms asked to tender designs, only Heatherwick got the tip-off that the bridge was supposed to be a garden bridge and not an ordinary bridge. Contracts were handed out like goodies at a kids’ birthday party. The Garden Bridge Trust was set up and fully staffed.  It was like a giant bran tub of business opportunities. 

They say that it is an ill-wind that blows nobody any good, and never was this so true as in this case. Thomas Heatherwick & Co were paid £2.7m. Designers, planners, engineers, consultants and technical specialist company Arup was paid £12.4 million. French contractors contractors Bouygues Travaux Publics and Cimolai SpA were paid 21.4 million, including £2.1 million for ‘costs suffered … and charged to the Garden Bridge Trust for the demobilisation of staff, offices and repatriation of plant and labour’. £1.3 million was spent on boreholes and looking for unexploded bombs. Some bloke got £330,000 for designing the leafy bits that were going on top of the bridge. £166,000 was spent on designing the website. The Garden Trust management ended up with £1.7 million in salaries for not raising enough money to build the thing they were being paid to oversee the building of. And of course m’Learned Friends did not miss out – they pocketed £2.3 million, laid in the Krug and purchased new Ferraris and charming holiday cottages in scenic spots. Even the bloke who paid £3,200 to play table tennis with Johnson is getting his money back. But Readers, do you know who aren’t getting their money back? The taxpayers. The council tax payers. The People in London (who are both council tax payers and tax payers). They all shelled out for something that isn’t there, and continue to shell out for Johnson’s pension as Mayor and his salary as an MP.  If only he had never materialised. At least the Garden Bridge looked nice.

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Our weekly survey of sartorial shite takes us to the Grammys, where shockingness was in abundance like summer fruit in an orchard. We begin with Kylie Jenner, wearing Balmain Haute Couture.

This appears to be a candy pink designer straitjacket, worn with very unflattering trousers and pink Marigold washing up gloves.

More pink, this time on Tayla Parx,  wearing granny’s bedspread. 

Let us hope that Tayla’s granny is not suffering from the cold, what with her granddaughter swiping her cuddly bedcover (or is it a slanket?), and pairing it with colourfully-hued sneakers. 

 Ben Harper  wearing who can even say what this is?

Ben is of African-American and Cherokee ancestry on his father’s side and his mother is Jewish, but for reasons best known to himself, he turned up dressed like a greeter from a Tijuana flophouse. 

Meghan Trainor, wearing Christian Siriano.

WTF tried to think how this could be any more unflattering and then gave up. Meghan looks like the abominable snowman with tits…. and boy, she seems miserable. 

And now an outbreak of Trump twattery, starting with the ridiculous Ricky Rebel, wearing Andre Soriano.

Andre Soriano specialises in designing ridiculous outfits for ridiculous non-persons to ensure that they get their picture taken at events such as this one. Ricky is a campaigner for LGBT rights. Has he ever had a chat with Mike and Karen Pence and the #MAGA mob, all of whom think he is going to burn in hell? WTF would not advise Ricky to walk into a Trump Rally dressed like this or he might never get out alive.

And here is serial offender Joy Villa.  Joy usually wears Andre Soriano on these occasions, but this time she is wearing Desi Designs.

Oh for Heaven’s sake.  Is she appearing in some sort of Alt-Right version of A Midsummer’s Night Dream?

Post Malone, wearing Ashton Michael and matching bootees by Scott Wayne.

Something very unpleasant is happening in the crotch department, the pink belt is camper than a Village People revival and only Barbie should be seen in pink boots. And probably not even her. Meanwhile, if there one thing WTF cannot abide above all things, even above a neck tattoo, it is a face tattoo.  WHY??????

Katy Perry, wearing Balmain Haute Couture.

Katy has an innate genius for getting it wrong. Like here. Balmain has managed to make her look like Mr Blobby.

Leon Bridges, wearing Bode.

Apparently, this suit is covered in badges of places in Texas, his home State, that mean something to him. That is as maybe, but he looks like a boy scout who has outgrown his trousers…. 

Stylist Jeannie Mai, wearing Balmain.

Yawn. Next. 

Cardi B’s younger sister, ‘social media star’ Hennessy Carolina, wearing not enough.

Like a tangerine Pantomime boy. The pointy minge guard is excessively …er….labial.

And Cardi B herself, wearing vintage Mugler Haute Couture.

In the immortal  words of Cheese, a character in one of WTF’s favourite films, Barry Levinson’s  Tin Men, “there’s definitely some sort of sickness that runs in that family…..”

Andra Day, wearing Cheng-Huai Chuang.

If Phoebe from Sesame Street went to a fancy dress party as a stripper, this is what she would look like.

Finally, here is music engineer and distinguished former winner of the WTF Summer Stinker 2016,  Shawn Everett, looking like a right idiot. No change there….

WTF is struggling to understand what is going on here, but has concluded that Shawn is very excited about the upcoming finale of Game of Thrones and has come dressed as Ser Gregor Clegane, aka The Mountain.

This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF aficionado Humfrina who is aghast at the horror that is the Marks  & Spencer Love Sausage. Yes really.

As Humfrina observes, this speaks for itself. M&S decided to mark Valentine’s Day by marketing the Love Sausage. Ooh er missus…. This is more a case of Carry on Up The Khyber than Casablanca and It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

The British Body Politic, which had been ailing for some time, has finally succumbed to massive organ failure and is currently on life support, hooked up to those machines that go beep, beep, beep, like you see on the telly. The left side of the Body Politic started leaking, with eight constituent elements becoming detached. The diagnosis was a lethal mixture of Corbynitis, acute-non-Brexititis and antisemitism. On the right side of the Body Politic, three constituent elements detached themselves. The diagnosis was acute-non-Brexititis, extreme-anti-Moggery and a dislike of Mrs Maybe and her intolerance of immigrants various. Doctors in white coats are running one way shouting ‘we are a broad church’ whilst other doctors are running the other way shouting ‘we’ve got the malign bits out and now we can heal’. When the medics cannot even agree on the diagnosis, let alone the treatment, the prognosis is not good.

It has been a long time coming. In the Labour Party, Trots various called MPs who appeared to support a second referendum and/or the existence of the State of Israel, traitorous Blairite scum and urged them to leave the party. Now that they have resigned, they are being called traitorous Blairite scum for leaving. In the Tory Party, the three MPS who opposed Brexit were described as the enemy within and saboteurs. Now they have resigned, they are being attacked for deserting the party that needs them. There is no pleasing some people. And it is clear that in the days to come, others will follow, both Labour and Conservative. The Body Politic is bleeding out and there is a shortage of needles, suturing thread and anaesthetic. 

Antisemitism has plagued the Labour Party for a long time, and Corbyn stuck a few plasters over the wound rather than wield the scalpel. On the day seven MPs resigned, to general crowing cries of good riddance from some, and weasel words from others, the party readmitted Derek Degsy Hatton, a rabid Trot from the 1980’s who did his best to run Liverpool into the ground. Sadly, Hatton’s triumphant return only lasted two days before he was suspended over an alleged antisemitic tweet from 2012.  You couldn’t make it up, and you wouldn’t want to.  As for Brexit, there is no sticking plaster large enough to cover that wound, no kidney bowl deep enough to hold the pus leaking from it. There is no point calling for the crash cart. The patient is acystolic. Beep, beep, beeeeeeeepppppppppppppppp. Time of death March 29 2019.

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We start our review of the week’s fashion flotsam with singer Paloma Faith wearing No 21.

Oh dear. Oh very dear. Paloma looks like one of those cheap bathroom sets you can buy for £10 – bathmat, toilet mat and loo seat cover. We can but pray that no-one tried to wipe their feet – or worse- on her.

Next up, we have artist Lyali Hakaraia.  WTF has no idea what the hell this is. No idea at all.

WTF does not mind a man in drag as long as he looks good and has a certain swagger, but Lyali does not just look like a sack of shit, he looks positively creepy. He is wearing a prick-skimmer as a skirt, which is quite bad enough, Lord knows, but worst are the nude shoes, beloved by so many of the Royal Family, particularly St Kate of L K Bennett. WTF’s advice to Lyali is to button his coat and bugger off.

Kim Kardashian wearing vintage Thierry Mugler.

Easter is edging ever closer, but that does not excuse Kim going around dressed as a hot cross bun.

And look how tight those straps are. Her cups runneth over. The whole thing looks extremely painful and when she disrobed at the end of the night, the imprimatur must have lingered for days.

We now go to the Brits, the poor man’s UK version of the Grammys, where nonsense was all around. Let us begin with singer Sam Smith ,wearing Raf Simons.

Whoever told Sam that he looked good in this suit was not his friend. The colour is nice and the lace shirt is fun, but there is moose knuckle on display beneath the ill-fitting, Norman-Wisdom-style, way-too-short jacket, and the trousers are in a Mexican standoff with his ankles.

Singer Leigh-Anne Pinnock from Little Mix, wearing Suzanne Neville.

One can understand why Leigh-Anne wants to show off her body, because she a fab figure, but she has pitched up in public looking like one of those Hawaiian dancing girls that greet you in the lobby of a Honolulu hotel and drape you with leis. 

Singer Olly Alexander.

Like a public schoolboy dressed up as Edward VI in the school play. Dismal.

Singer Grace Carter, wearing a flasher mac.

Was there no cloakroom at the event?

Singer Lily Allen , heading to the after party in her undies and a blonde wig.

WTF had the misfortune to read an article in which Lily described how she had to have her nipples waxed (ouch!) before donning this outfit, which appears to consist of a pair of Spanx Power Panties underneath a deceased flamingo. The whole thing is very cut-price Diana Dors. (Did you know Diana Dors’ real name was Diana Fluck? Just saying…)

Performance artist Daniel Lismore, wearing dunno what.

If Yosemite Sam went to a fancy dress party as a space-age Turandot, this is what he would look like.

And finally, Montana Brown. celebritee and ‘star’ of that pile of steaming poo, Love Island, wearing Cherry Williams London.

WTF compliments Montana’s waxing technician, who has removed everything with great thoroughness. She is however forced to be somewhat sterner with Cherry Williams, whose poor handiwork has resulted in Montana sporting a shocking wedgie…. #nomorearsecheeks. Pretty please.

This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF aficionado WTF who is deeply appalled by this Burberry hood. You want bad taste. Look no further than the Noose Hood, premiered during London Fashion Week.

What the actual fuck? When did hanging become fashionable? When did a noose become a fashion accessory? What the hell is wrong with these people? What next? An axe sticking out of someone’s head? Burberry has withdrawn this nonsense but it should never have seen the light of day in the first place. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

The President of the United States is a liar (8,500 proven lies since taking office two years ago), a racist, a shyster and also happened to be the colour of a nuclear tangerine, but such is the new normal that most people no longer bat an eyelid one at anything he says or does, however obnoxious, disgusting or ridiculous. But things are changing. After two years of supine right wing nutters controlling the House of Representatives, the Democrats have power and are holding a series of hearings questioning Michael Cohen, Trump’s former lawyer, who has now turned on him. Cohen is an unsavoury blend of Tom Hagen, the Corleone lawyer in The Godfather, and Ray Donovan, the eponymous Hollywood fixer on the telly. Cohen came to public notice last year when he claimed to have paid porn star Stormy Daniels $130,000 of his own money, unknown to his client,  in order to silence her claim that she and Trumpy had made the beast with two backs a decade earlier. It then turned out that Trump had known about it, although he had previously denied it. Next we learned that Trump authorised Cohen to silence Stormy, repaying him in a series of cheques. Trump then claimed that Non Disclosure Agreements were standard for billionaires like himself, and he had not breached campaign finance laws by paying her off to make himself look like a loyal husband and father to the electorate.  The current version of the story seems to be that although Cohen pleaded guilty to campaign fraud at the behest of Individual 1, (aka Donald J Trump), there was no crime. Because people, especially lawyers advised by other lawyers, always plead guilty to non-existent crimes. Cohen also pleaded guilty to lying to Congress about a possible Trump Tower in Moscow. In the campaign, Trump claimed that he had never had any interest in Russia. Cohen said on oath last year that any interests were over before 2016. (In the US, it is a crime to lie to Congress. Here, lie to Parliament and they put you in the Cabinet). Cohen also coughed to a number of other shystery  activities like tax evasion, and is off to prison in May to do a three-year stretch.

When Cohen gave public evidence to the House Oversight Committee on Wednesday, he had names, dates and documents, and for nine hours, he sang his little heart out. He had the cheques reimbursing him for Stormy. He had mortgage application forms showing Trump lying about his assets. He had papers indicating that Trump got someone to buy his portrait at a charity auction for $60,000 and then repaid him from his charitable foundation. He described tax fraud and a cornucopia of criminality. The Republicans on the Committee had one tactic – calling Cohen a liar and a convicted criminal. The problem is, he agreed with them. Their outrage at his calling Trump a liar was delicious and dispiriting to behold in equal measure. 

There now appears to be a glimmer of light at the end of the stinking rancid tunnel into which Trump has dragged us. It sometimes takes a crook to nail another crook and the nails were going into the coffin like an undertakers’ workshop. Committees various will now be all over Trump’s business dealings, his tax returns and his  bank accounts like a rash. Trump’s money man, Alan Weisselberger, who has immunity, is testifying in public on Wednesday.  And we still have Mueller’s report and further investigations by the New York authorities to come. Settle back in your seats. Bring popcorn. This is going to be fun.

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We’re off to the Oscars to consider a dozen shocking specimens from the Red Carpet and the various after-parties. We begin with singer Pharrell Williams, wearing Richard Mille and a Chanel necklace, seen here with his wife Helen Lasichanh. Helen looks fine.

Ah! There was a time when Pharrell graduated to long trousers, but he has lapsed back into shorts again, looking like an extra from Apocalypse Now.

Another singer, Leona Lewis, wearing Christian Siriano.

The colour is pretty but the shape is baffling and the fabric is hideous. The best that WTF can suggest is that this is a negligee with its own built – in headboard. And can women please stop sticking their leg out à la Angelina Jolie? It’s boring now, and it cannot be good for your hips.

Actress Maya Rudolph, wearing Giambattista Valli.

Leona is wearing the headboard. Maya is wearing the bedspread.

Let’s complete the bedroom trilogy with Chadwick Boseman, wearing Givenchy.

Had this been a jacket, it would have been lovely. Except that it isn’t a jacket, it is a sort of frock coat – cum- dressing gown, worn with a long black scarf which swoops past his groin almost down to his patellae. Even Donald Trump doesn’t wear his ties as long as that. All in all, there are too many things dangling at random.

Awkwafina, wearing DSquared2.

The scarf makes her look as if she has no neck, the hair makes her look as if she has no shoulders, the trousers make her look as if as she has no feet and the shine of the material could illuminate a whole street. Whoever did the cutting, and then the fitting, must have imbibed a few before picking up the scissors and the pins.

Model Heidi Klum, wearing Elie Saab.

You can always count on Heidi to wear something terrible on Oscars night, and this is no exception. She looks like a crow that has survived some very botched chest surgery.

Rita Ora, wearing Alexander McQueen.

Well of course Rita was amongst the worst dressed. When is she not? The top half is 19th century Wyoming saloon floozy and the bottom half is 21st century minge mask.

Megan Pormer, wearing Iris van Herpen.

Good question. Who the hell IS Megan Pormer? To be brutally frank, lovey, if you turn up on Oscars night and you have to tell people who you are, you shouldn’t bother turning up at all. This outfit falls into the category of get-yourself-noticed-at-all-costs, complete with deeply unnerving faux-pubes. And if WTF were going out (un)dressed like that, she would want to hide her face as well.

Designer Tommy Hilfiger wearing Tommy Hilfiger, and his wife, designer Dee Ocleppo. 

What a tosser. Keen Readers may recall that last year Tommy put Lewis Hamilton into a lairy tartan kilt and he now has used the off cuts to make himself this ridiculous suit, worn with dainty velvet slippers like George IV before he got gout. As for his spouse, what is that thing in her hand? It looks like a golden walkie-talkie.

Actress Linda Cardellini, wearing Schiaparelli. 

Good grief. It’s Red from the Angry Birds Movie in a mullet skirt.

Supermodel Kendall Jenner, hardly wearing Rami Kadi.

OK, Readers with your eyes out on stalks, Kendall is stunning with amazing everything, but this is not a dress, it is a loincloth complete with an imminent minge moment. There is more pelvis on display than in a midwives’ midterm test paper.

And finally, Billy Porter wearing Christian Siriano.

It’s magnificent and mad at the same time. If Scarlett O’Hara went to a fancy dress party as Fred Astaire AND Ginger Rogers, this is what she would look like.

This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF aficionado Yvonne from Jedburgh who brought this horror to light, as featured in a tweet from S Rifai (@THE_47th)

It’s like something out of Jurassic Park. Over to S Rifai’s for his/her observations ‘You get married, have a kid, you read him a story every night until elementary school, you support him through HS, be there throughout his formative and teenage years through all the ups and downs..and one day he comes back to lunch wearing this thing’ Agreed. They’ve Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Those of you who are kind enough to read this blog regularly will know that WTF is obsessed with the death of shame in public life. This week brought two more stark examples to recoil from.

First, Fiona Onasanya MP recently was absent from her duties on behalf of the people of Peterborough. Not to have a baby. Not because she was ill. No. Onasanya was in prison, having been convicted of persuading her brother falsely to claim that he had been speeding in her car, thereby perverting the course of justice. Onasanya, who was a solicitor, now has the dubious distinction of being the first serving woman MP to go inside. She was released last week on parole, and is obliged to wear a tag on her ankle, which must play havoc with the House of Commons’ security scanners.

Because she was only sentenced to three months, (she served half of it), Onasanya does not have to give up her seat,  a condition applicable only to those sentenced to twelve months or more. As a result, a convicted criminal is free to vote on legislation and to pontificate on whatever point she chooses in the Chamber. Admittedly most politicians are liars, but they have not been banged up, they do not go bleep every time they walk in and out of Parliament, and they have not inhabited the equivalent of Cell Block H. Does Onasanya intend to resign? Of course not. After her conviction, she compared her tribulations to those of Jesus. WTF is not very conversant with the New Testament, but she is fairly certain that if He had been caught speeding on his donkey along Nazareth High Street, he would have ‘fessed up and not got Peter or John to take the blame for it.

And then there is the one-man wrecking ball that is Chris Grayling MP, Secretary of State for Transport. When we last left him, he had awarded a £14m emergency post-Brexit ferry contract to a new company with no ferries, something which he did not see as a problem, not at all, not even when the company’s standard terms and conditions turned out to have been copied from a food delivery business. On the contrary, Grayling insisted that there had been proper due diligence. A month after the furore, the contract was scuttled when it became apparent that the company had no ferries AND no financial backing. However, these were only the foothills of the fuck-ups of which Grayling is capable, and he was just warming up. This week, it emerged that the Government, (that means us, UK Readers, our money, our taxes, handed over to imbeciles to squander), had to hand £33m to Eurotunnel in an out-of-court settlement in compensation for its future loss of business, were the emergency ferries Grayling had commissioned, not that one of the companies involved actually had a bloody ferry, ever to set sail across the Channel to dodge the 100 mile queues consequent upon a no-deal, no Customs-Union Brexit. Grayling did not even go to the Commons to justify this latest calamity, and sent the Secretary of State for Health instead, who was then roasted like a saddle of lamb. Is Grayling about to resign? Not a bit of it. Apparently, the City of Calais has made it clear that he is not wanted there. He isn’t wanted here either. Sadly, we are stuck with him.

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We begin our sartorial survey with a trip to Paris Fashion Week, and actress Amber Heard, wearing Giambattista Valli.

Whilst better than some of Heard’s recent attire, this is still terrible. It is like recovering from a stomach infection and then succumbing to thrush. The dress looks like a very elderly flamingo on its way to the knacker’s yard.

Also wearing Giambattista Valli, actress and singer, Janelle Monáe.

She has got a fez on her head, like the late, lamented, comedian Tommy Cooper, and she appears to be wrapped in a collapsed parachute, displaying some fetching décolletage.

This is former model Elena Perminova, now married to squillionaire oligarch Alexander Lebedev. Elena is wearing Balmain.

Elena is very beautiful and has a pair of legs to die for, but this dress is a dud. It is basically no more than a vest and a quilted fanny flap. And what happens if she were to wear it to the theatre? There will be an encroachment into the seat on her right. People get upset at having their space invaded in this way. Just saying…

Here is actress Shailene Woodley, also wearing Balmain.

The 1980’s are back. We have former Home Secretary Amber Rudd calling a black MP, ‘coloured’ (see below), and now Balmain is marketing these hideous acid-washed jeans that sag around Shailene’s hips like a denim sack.

Away from Paris, we have American TV squeaky person Kristin Chenoweth, wearing who can even say what?

We had Megan Pormer with faux-pubes last week, and now we have more faux-pubes on Kristin. These are worse because they appear to be more, er, hairy. Kristin has also shown a certain cowardice in wearing little flesh-coloured shorties and bra, which match each other but not her skintone, which puts the tan into tangerine.

We now encounter young actress Baillee Madison, wearing Emporio Armani.

What the hell is this? She appears to be sitting in a sea of snot. This is just terribly terribly, terrible. In fact, it left terrible some distance back and is now travelling through ‘what the actual fuck’?

Meet Canadian actor Avan Jogia, wearing Sies Maran.

If a teddybear went to a fancy dress party as Freddie Mercury, this is what it would look like.

And finally, a truly horrible sight. Two of the cream of British womanhood, although in their case they are closer to skimmed milk, glamour models and celebritees, Rhianne Saxby and Sarah Longbottom. Rhianne is in black. Sarah is in white with her right nipple on show.

WARNING – NIPPLE ALERT!!!!!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!!

Fake hair, fake tits, fake tan and lips like rubber tyres. See through. Nip slips. Horrible.

This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF aficionado Linda from South London, who took great exception to former Home Secretary, now Secretary of State for Work and Pensions, Amber Rudd, using the word ‘coloured’ to describe Diane Abbott MP, a black member of the Labour Shadow Cabinet. The irony is that Rudd was actually trying to defend Abbott against the bucketful of abuse she receives from psychopathic racist wankers various, as well as sticking up for other female MPs.

Unsurprisingly, Abbott took a poor view of Rudd’s  use of the word ‘coloured’, describing it as ‘telling’. Rudd probably did not meant use that word but, honestly. The word has not been in accepted use for decades, and a Cabinet Minister has no business speaking it aloud on public radio. Or at all. Every time Rudd opens her mouth, she puts her foot in it.  She’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Here is your Brexit update as at 11 30 pm on Thursday 14 March 2019.

Parliament does not want to Brexit with Mrs Maybe’s deal. It has now said so twice. No one wants her crap deal, not even Mrs Maybe – it is about the only thing everyone agrees on. Parliament does not want to Brexit with no deal, but that vote was only advisory and without legal force. Parliament does not want to ask the EU to put everything on hold until 2021, or to delay Brexit until May 2019, or to ask for a delay whilst it works out what other sort of Brexit we can have, or waits for a miracle involving loaves, fishes and duty free wine. And Parliament does not want to hold a second referendum. Parliament does want to ask the EU for an extension to Article 50, and voted for a Government motion to this effect by 413 votes to 202. Pipsqueak Stephen Barclay, the Brexit Secretary, spoke in favour of the motion, urging ‘It is time for this House to act in the national interest, it’s time to put forward an extension that is realistic’. He was so unconvincing that he failed to convince himself, because he, and seven other Cabinet Ministers, then voted against the very motion he had just been supporting. A ninth Cabinet Minister, the Chief Whip, whose job it is to get MPs to support the Government, abstained. You would not send this lot out to buy you a packet of Polo Mints and a box of Kleenex. They would either come back with some Cheesy Wotsits and a roll of quilted toilet paper, or they would resign on the way home and bugger off with your change.

Meanwhile, Labour, which is supposed to now be in favour of a second referendum in circumstances that nobody actually understands, including them, ordered its MPs to abstain on the motion for a second referendum because ‘the time isn’t right’. They are probably waiting for a sign from Heaven, a star above Westminster, or perhaps a clap of thunder and some  lightning bolts. Several shadow ministers, whom WTF would not recognise were they sat in her kitchen eating carrot cake, resigned after voting against the motion, on the basis that the last manifesto had promised that Labour would respect the Will of the People. Several others voted for the motion.

So to sum up – we have no approved deal, we have no idea what deal we want, and even if we wanted it, the EU would not give it to us. We might want a second vote, but only in circumstances where there is no ‘r’ in the month and the moon in alignment with Jupiter. The right wing lunatics want no deal at all, even though everyone else agrees that this is a really shocking prospect. And there is no guarantee that we can have an extension to Article 50, particularly as we don’t know what we would do with an extension if we got one, and nobody has a fucking clue what is going on. Mrs Maybe’s big idea is to ask for a third vote on her crap deal. Einstein observed that the definition of insanity was to keep doing the same thing and expect the outcome to be different. On that basis, it is time to call for the Prime Ministerial straitjacket. She has not only lost her voice, she has lost her reason.

However, Readers, be of good cheer. Piers Morgan, the man who is so far up Trump’s arse that even his shoelaces have disappeared from view, has the solution! He tweeted it on Thursday night. ‘I’ve given this a lot of thought & come to the conclusion that only one person can now sort out this ridiculous Brexit mess: @realdonaldtrump. He’d take no sh*t from the EU, or Parliament, or anyone. And he definitely wouldn’t lose his voice. Mr President, my country needs YOU’. Mrs Maybe, it seems, is not the only one who needs a call from the men in white coats.

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Let us escape from the asylum for a brief moment and contemplate the fashion follies of the week, starting with the aforesaid Theresa May off to Church on Commonwealth Day, wearing a Daniel Blake coat and Liz Felix hat.

WTF aficionado Tom from London discovered this assault on our eyeballs. How bad does she look? What is that hat? Why does the coat have leg-of-mutton sleeves? Daniel Blake and Liz Felix are clearly both diehard Remainers. What about those gloves, and the matchy-matchy clutch, and the chunky jewellery? As WTF aficionado Jen sagely observed, our Prime Minister would do better spending less time accessorising, and more time sorting out Brexit. Meanwhile Tom also sent in the portrait of Lady Margaret Hawkins from the late 16th century to show where May got her inspiration. Are the two ladies related? They certainly have the same grim expression. Bravo Tom!

Next we have socialite and DJ, Paris Hilton, wearing Christian Cowan.

Paris is not sporting rabbit ears – that is part of the backdrop –  but the rest of the ensemble is so comical that it would not be surprising if she were. There is a cornucopia of crapulence to behold, including the Afghan hound bunches, the hideous, too-long, onesie, and the criminally horrible handbag. When your pooch is better dressed than you are, it is time for a radical rethink.

Also also wearing Christian Cowan, model and now TV presenter Heidi Klum. 

Heidi is dressed as Gonger from Sesame Street. Extra minus points for those painful-looking sandals.

To London and the Global Awards 2019, where we come across singer Mabel McVey, wearing Natasha Zinko.

Here is a WTF Rule. When you have to stand with your hand over your crotch to avoid a Fanny Flash, there is something wrong with your outfit. And with you for wearing it. Quite apart from that, the dress is ugly and it doesn’t fit.

Here is Orange is the New Black actress Natasha Lyonne, wearing Marc Jacobs.

Some of us lived through the Eighties, and have no desire to go back there, sartorially speaking. The shoulders are ridiculous and the whole thing is very Princess Di.

This is Khloe Kardashian wearing LaQuan Smith. Well, I say ‘wearing’….

Mingetastic. Indeed it is all there to be looked at, with more gynaecological detail on view than a week’s CCTV footage from a knocking shop. 

And finally, we meet French actress Angelique Boyer, wearing a reversible dress by George Figueroa. She started off the night wearing this side of it.

Then she turned it around. To this.

Thanks to aficionado Jonathan from Bloomsbury, who kindly brought this outfit to WTF’s attention. The front was moderately respectable. The back was not even a back. She looks like a sparkler with belly button and tits.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Rona from Hackney, who complains about the horror of the unisex toilet. Such is the excellence of her rant, that WTF repeats it in full.

‘So I’m dining out in a delightful restaurant and the moment has come to visit the powder room. Cue what should be a restful and fragrant interlude of indulgent femininity – the chance to literally powder one’s nose, reapply lipstick, perfume, adjust clothing, have a cry or a giggle or a gossip. But now it’s unisex and what woman wants to do all that in the company of some bloke she’s never met, or worse, has met? Not to mention the horrors of some, I repeat some, gentlemen’s toilet habits, which, shall we say, are less than fastidious. So what we have is a stripped back-to-the-essentials experience that needs to be got through asap. This is the very opposite of civilised and, sadly, it is yet another example of the slow erosion of those little rituals which can make everything seem so much more pleasurable.’

Indeed. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

When WTF was at about ten, she used to ensure that she sat next to a boy called Andrew B whenever baked beans were on the school lunch menu. This is because WTF hated baked beans with a vengeance, (and she still does – they’re so slithery). Andrew B, on the other hand, loved baked beans, and, to be fair, every other form of comestible, and so he wolfed down the aforesaid beans and everyone was happy. Until one day, Andrew B was unwell, probably from a surfeit of foodstuffs, and so he was off school on baked beans day, which left WTF without a convenient receptacle to put them in. As a result, they remained uneaten on her plate. WTF was told to eat them up. She refused (always the bolshy little bastard, even aged ten) and she was kept at the lunch table until 2 30 and refused permission to go and play with her friends. But the beans remained uneaten and, for once anyway, she went hungry.

Mrs Maybe’s Brexit plan reminds WTF of those school baked beans. She promised to deliver us fish and chips, mushy peas optional. Instead, she is serving up spam fritters and baked beans. Not only that, but she is telling us that spam fritters and baked beans are much better for us that fish and chips, that we will really, really, love spam fritters and baked beans, that fish and chips are off the menu, and that it is spam fritters and baked beans or nothing at all. At first, people held out for fish and chips. But as time ticked by, and hunger started to gnaw at their entrails, spam fritters and baked beans become more appealing, even to those who cannot abide the thought of them. The clock hands are edging ever closer to 2 30 and the prospect of no lunch gets worse and worse. And so, a few people are starting gingerly to fork tiny bits of spam fritter and baked beans into their mouths, wincing with distaste to be sure, but swallowing them nonetheless, because they feel that they have no choice. The plan is now that enough people will be hungry enough and desperate enough by the next vote to go down the spam fritters and baked beans route rather than the air diet route. As a strategy, it sucks. But it is all she’s got. She is wholly dependent on running down the clock.

Mrs Maybe chose to supplement this you’ll-eat-it-and-like-it approach with a side order of it-isn’t-my-fault-it’s-Parliament’s-fault. On Wednesday, she appeared for about eight nanoseconds on live TV and told the British people that she was trying her best to deliver spam fritters and baked beans but those bloody MPs in Westminster were busy barricading the door to the larder. WTF had always understood that the whole point of this sorry Brexit exercise was to give power back to Parliament, instead of sneaky little unelected Europhiles calling the shots. Now it appears that Parliament’s exercise of powers is a Bad Thing. So what the hell have these last three years been about? Thanks, David Cameron. Thanks for nothing.

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We start the review of the week’s wanky wear with singer and Oscar nominee,  Lady Gaga, wearing Rodarte.

Blonde bombshell meets biker girl meets French maid. Ooh la la…

Now we have actress Alex Borstein from The Magnificent Mrs Maisel, wearing something very terrible.

From the neck up, it’s fine. From the neck down, there is horror in abundance. The shirt is straight out of a Victorian bordello, the trousers do not flatter and have clearly been designed for someone about a foot taller, while the chain belt takes WTF back to the days when she was a teenager and was banned from the dining room at home because her dad was enraged with the scratches inflicted on the backs of the Mahogany chairs by WTF wearing one around  her chubby waist.

The rest of our sartorial silliness comes from the i-Heart Radio awards, starting with singer John Legend, wearing Paul Smith.

Those trousers are decidedly snug. They must rub harder than an enthusiastic  brass-rubber on a sponsored brass-rubbing weekend. And WTF has long railed about too-short jackets à la Norman Wisdom. Even Norman did not wear white shoes, and quite rightly so, because no grown man should wear white shoes unless he is either playing sport or is a medical professional.

Next up is singer and actress Madison Beer, wearing Ester Abner.

MINGE ALERT! This is a Minge Moment waiting to happen and the bajingo blind is patently not up the job. It has been very windy of late. One gust and it will be Open Sesame. There is also a preponderance of over-upholstered tit.

Meet actor Raahsud Dunn, wearing Giovanni Testi.

WTF likes a laugh as well as the next person but the jacket does not fit and its swirliness is giving her the spins. But the main concern here is the trousers. Why is one leg higher than the other? Is he a freemason? Love the sparkling slippers though……

And now, superstar singer Taylor Swift, wearing Rosa Bloom.

Taylor looks like a member of the chorus line in a revival of 42nd Street.

Here is singer Poppy, wearing Viktor and Rolf.

If Ozzie Osbourne ever fancied wearing a frilly nightie, this is the one he would go for. As for the trainers, WTF prefers not to speak of them. Meanwhile, Poppy’s head, complete with a turd top-knot, looks to be superimposed on her body, as if displayed on a spike after an execution, like  in Game of Thrones.

Finally, singer Tiffany Young wearing Jean Paul Gauthier.

If Tinkerbell went to a fancy dress party dressed as one of The Three Musketeers, this is what she would look like. Those things on her legs are amongst the worst legwear WTF ever did see in her life  And she has seen a few stinkers over the years…

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Abbie Doran from East London, making a splendid debut with these monstrosities from the ‘swimwear collection’ offered up for public delectation by Missguided. Ready? You won’t be.

Abby writes: If these catch on, there’ll be a thrush pandemic that could cause Canesten to go into administration to keep up with the demand for some clotrimazole relief! They look genuinely painful…

She is right. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers

You remember Sidney Carton. He is the hero of A Tale of Two Cities, set at the time of the French revolution. He is  deeply in love with Lucie, but she is in love with, and was loved by, French émigré Charles Darnley, who is really a French aristocrat and heir to the evil Marquis St. Évromonde. When the Marquis is murdered, Darnley goes over to France in 1792, is captured and is condemned to the guillotine. Carton, who just happens to be a Darnley lookalikey, takes his place so that his friend and Lucie can be together. As the book ends, Sidney is about to get the chop, but is consoled by the good he is doing. ‘It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known’.

Theresa May is an unlikely Sidney Carton, but on Wednesday night she offered to put her head on the block if her party promised to vote for her Brexit plan, the one that has already been voted down twice by a weird combination of the dastardly Old Etonians, led by le Duc de Boris and le Marquis de Mogg, the rude mechanicals led by Marc Francois and Andrew Bridgen, a truly terrifying rabble from Northern Ireland, and the sans-culottes that are Corbyn’s Labour Party. As a rallying cry, ‘Vote for my crap deal and I promise to go back to Maidenhead’  may not have the ring of ‘Liberté, égalité, fraternité, ou la mort!’, but the clock is ticking and the copywriters are out of time. We were supposed to be out of Europe at 11 pm today. But we are still arguing how – and if – to do it.

The Northern Irish lot remain staunchly opposed, as do most of the European Research Group, of which Le Marquis is Chair. This includes Fatboy Francois, who declared that he would not support the deal were someone to put a shotgun in his mouth. WTF would settle for a ball-gag and some extra-adhesive masking tape. The same goes for Bridgen, a man whose expertise on European politics led him to assert that as a Brit, he was automatically entitled to an Irish passport. (Er…no). However, le Duc and le Marquis have suddenly embraced the very plan they have already voted against and which they attacked for reducing us all to slave-nation status. This change of mind may have less to do with the merits of the deal and more to do with the prospect of the removal van in front of No 10 Downing Street, as May, her chunky Wilma Flintstone jewellery, and her long-suffering husband, climb aboard and ride off into obscurity, leaving the job of Prime Minister up for grabs.

So this is where we are. Our heroine is willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, but even that inducement may not work. Which leaves us up the creek without a canoe. Forget Brexit Means Brexit and the promised Land of Milk and Honey. We are facing Crap Deal or No Deal, and Boris Johnson as Prime Minister, a man who would sell his granny for sixpence and even deny her the right to take her dentures. Far from re-asserting our place in the World, we have become an international laughing stock. England used to tell Irish jokes. France used to tell Belgian jokes. Now the World is telling British jokes. Remember Project Fear? This is Project Fucking Terrifying.

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We start the weekly review of fashion faecal matter, beginning with singer Rita Ora wearing Denim on Denim by Diesel.

This is what happens when you cross a sheep and a pair of jeans. If it is cold enough for a fleecy coat and boot-spats, it is too cold for a denim romper, the shirt tails emerging from a micro-skirt like denim minge-flaps. And sunglasses in the dark – only if you have a sty.

This is actress Ginnifer Goodwin at Paleyfest, wearing Zuhair Murad.

This ill-fitting mess looks like cosy thermal long-johns, only it is designed by Zuhair Murad, not Damart. Indeed, it is likely that Damart’s wares would have provided more support for Ginnifer’s boobage, and would not have sagged around the patellae like grandpa’s neglected sleepwear.

To the Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards, where we encounter Hiphoppers Migos, wearing Alyx Studio. All of them.

What kiddies’ choice was this? Weird things are happening around the knees, perhaps to prevent the droopage we have seen on Ginnifer. And why are they wearing clown shoes? 

Here is singer and actress Jennifer Hudson wearing Hanifa.

My Little Pony has turned her hooves to designing trousers. Sadly, they do not fit.

Finally from the Awards, here is actor Shameik Moore, wearing who can even say what this is?

The designer of this horror has kept himself or herself anonymous. Good Call. It looks like khaki vomit with a double helping of carrot.

Welcome back to WTF’s favourite diva, Mariah Carey wearing Balmain.

Mariah is 5’6″ but this Balmain creation barely passes muster as a top, as the rear view, almost literally, demonstrates.

Mariah favours towering stilettos like these bejewelled Louboutins, which means that she can only get from A to B by clutching onto the hand of a beau or paid minion. Sadly, she has chosen pantyhose in the wrong hue and so shiny that her legs look like a couple of uncooked sausages.

Actor and entertainer Billy Porter has appalled us quite a few times this year, and here he is well up to his low standards, wearing a kaftan by self-styled ‘kaftan queen’ Travis Ostreich, a jacket by Palomo and trousers by Vassili.

The colour combo is striking, but everything is so glaring that you would want to find Rita Ora and offer your life savings for her sunglasses. And that jacket clearly started off life in the kiddies’ department at Bloomingdales.

Finally, to Rio and Brazilian TV presenter Sabrina Sato wearing Tomo Koizumi.

Well this is colourful. Plus wearing a couple of feather dusters means that she sweep up as she walks…..

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado WTF of Islington, who has taken against Theresa May’s coat. She is sick of seeing the Prime Minister, for now anyway, wandering around the place dressed like a pastel Paddington Bear.

This horrible shapeless garment is actually a padded jacket with a detachable elbow-lenth coat over it. It is by Italian designer Herno and it could be yours for a mere £750.

Like May herself, It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers, 

Here is your Brexit update. It is still a clusterfuck. Everything is as bad as ever, only worse. Everybody hates everybody else and no one trusts anybody. Everyone is stabbing each other in the back. We may or may not be leaving the EU shortly. We are still an international joke.

At times like this, one looks for comforts wherever they may be found. And where better than the rotund, puce-faced, Mark Francois MP, Deputy Chair of the Tory European Research Group. Francois claims to be a military man. He talks about the Army not teaching him to lose, as if he had engaged in man-to-man combat with ISIS fighters and rough types various from Afghanistan. In fact, Francois was once in the Territorial Army, in some unspecified role, probably running the laundry or peeling the spuds. Even Dad’s Army would have rejected him. Whilst others around him succumb to the Maybe Deal for fear of losing Brexit altogether, Francois stoutly continues to hold out for a No Deal. Sadly, on Wednesday, he and his colleagues were outfoxed by the Cooper Bill, which would compel the Government to go back and demand more time from the EU. This passed by one vote, at which point Francois gave a splendid impression of a pan of exploding offal. He ranted. He raved. The veins in his forehead bulged like giant tadpoles. It was like Krakatoa, Essex-style. Fearful colleagues crouched low in their seats to avoid the likelihood of being showered with fragments of Francois. ‘And it went through in the end, Mr Speaker, by one vote…Someone shouts from a sedentary position 52-48. There’s a difference between a majority of 1.4million and one.’ Er, yes, matey, that is because the electorate of Great Britain is bigger than the membership of the House of Commons. It is called representative democracy. But Francois was on a roly-poly. ‘So all I would say to the Right Honourable Gentleman opposite and his parliamentary colleagues is the public won’t be impressed by this. Forgive them Father for they know not what they do….’

Granted that Francois was annoyed by this unexpected turn of events, but invoking the final words of Jesus during the Crucifixion, particularly this close to Easter, was seen by some as presumptuous. We have barely had time to get our heads around the concept of Francois as the lovechild of the Duke of Wellington and Ross Kemp, aka Grant Mitchell off East Enders. Now he has morphed into the Messiah. Only last week, Francois was vowing never to support May’s deal, even were they to put a shotgun in his mouth. Now he is calling for a cross and some nails. This obsession with martyrdom in the Brexit cause is positively disturbing, but if that is what he wants, who are we to stop him? Mind you, he is what the Australians call ‘a big unit’. If they are going to nail him up, they had better order in some super-strength timber. And some extra-large nails.  

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We start our review of the week’s crappy couture with Cabinet Minister Liz Truss, probably the dimmest woman in Government, off to a meeting at No 10 Downing Street. WTF has no idea what Liz is wearing. None at all.

This is a sort of check jumpsuit thingy. It is far too tight around the chest, giving her a mono-boob, exacerbated by the ridiculous belt, and it is crinkling everywhere like a sharpei’s bum. Clock the jaunty red shoes, carefully selected to match her Ministerial red folder in a failed attempt to make her look interesting.

To the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and singer Harry Styles, wearing Gucci (of course). He is holding the hand of Fleetwood Mac legend Stevie Nicks, 70, who looks awesome.

This is what happens when you put a Little Lord Fauntleroy doll into a boy band. This is your fault, Simon Cowell. Yours.

Also in attendance were actor (Silvio Dante in The Sopranos) and musician (E Street Band) Steven van Zandt,  seen here with his actress wife Maureen van Zandt, (who played Silvio’s wife Gabriella). In real life, they have been married for 27 years. 

Steven is bedecked in purple like a Roman Emperor, even his scuffed suede shoes. Ever since he went through a car windscreen many years ago, leaving his scalp badly scarred, Steven has favoured some form of head cover, and it must be said that the bandanna is the outfit’s only redeeming feature. Which is the saddest statement ever.

Here are two rank examples of Sheer Tedium from the GLAAD (Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation) Media Awards. First off, actress Olivia Munn wearing Yanina Couture.

As WTF aficionado Navid gasped, ‘She’s so naked’! You have to be desperate for attention to venture out and about with a couple of peacocks nesting on your nipples. And what happens if she had to raise her arm to hail a taxi or fend off someone with Harvey Weinstein-style intentions?

And second, young actress Alexandra Shipp, from X-Ray Apocalypse, wearing Reem Accra.

This dress is ranker than a skunk during a deodorant manufacturers’ work-to-rule. WTF particularly deplores the crotch-to-knee mourners’ curtain, and the vomitous floral pattern, as if a fox has thrown up in a flowerbed.

WTF has a very soft spot for actor Kiefer Sutherland, he of 24 and Designated Survivor, but even she finds this ensemble difficult to forgive. Indeed, the Pope would struggle.

You only ever hold your jacket like that when it is too small, although the colour is good on him. But then we come to the blue aviators, the lounge-lizard scarf, the terrible jeans crumpling over his knees and those shoes!!! WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE SHOES? Did he steal them off a dosser dosing in a doorway? Those shoes are not so much distressed as devastated. As are we for having to look at them.

We next call in at the NAACP Image Awards to find more birdies, this time on actress Tracie Ellis Ross, wearing Marc Jacobs.

It is entirely, gloriously, bonkers. You need to have massacred one hell of a lot of birds to have put this dress together.

And we now encounter two more shocking examples of Sheer Tedium. First actress Kate Beckinsale, wearing Minge Maestro Julien Macdonald.

WTF just knew this was one of Julien’s because (i) it has more holes than a colander (ii) it is see-through (see (i) above) and (iii) it has the mandatory minge shield. 

Oh and (iv) you can see Kate’s arse. Arse cheeks are as staple a feature of Julien’s work as lining is in nearly everyone else’s. 

And finally, actress Cynthia Erivo wearing Mario Dice.

There may not be a law against candy-coloured lace, but there should be. One look at Cynthia and the jury would not even bother to trek back into their room for tea and biscuits before delivering a guilty verdict. Only her ugly panties spared us from a full-on Minge Moment in a sea of sugary pink ruffles, like a flamenco flamingo after wandering over a landmine.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes (quite separately) from WTF aficionados Mary, Ruth-Anne, Honsca, Humfrina and Alessandra, all of whom have spotted this appalling horror of horrors. Meet the Janty (jean panty – geddit?), which costs a mind-boggling £235.

Ready? You won’t be…..

This is good news for waxing technicians and bad news for everyone else. Denim sans panties sounds very uncomfortable and wearers should have a tube of Canesten nearby at all times. Twitter came up with some excellent observations on the topic. Brandy Jensen tweeted that she was looking forward to her first jeast infection, while Mean-Moe Green referred to the risk of jamel toe. This whole design is overpriced and is horribly Mingey and It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Imagine your mates, a fund manager, an architect and a journalist, advise you that your right leg has to be removed. Yes, it would be radical, but they are very enthusiastic in recommending amputation. The advantages would be tremendous. The new leg would be so much better than the old one. You would be running marathons within months of the operation. Cut it off! Honestly – would we lie to you? We’re your mates. You’ll be fine! On the other hand, your GP and your consultant are sceptical. Yes, there are problems with your right leg, but they can be fixed without chopping the bloody thing off. But your mates have told you not to trust experts, as they are all part of a globalist conspiracy. So after some soul-searching, you agree to the operation and set the date.

The trouble is that as the date for the operation approaches, you start to doubt your chosen course of action. The awful consequences of your decision become clearer. For example, there is not a hope in hell that you will be running a 5 kilometre park run, let alone 26.2 miles. The cost of the operation is revealed as enormous, far higher than you were told. And your pals, the ones who said they would never lie to you, have been lying through their teeth. So why the hell would you go through with it? Switzerland’s Supreme Court just quashed a referendum result because it was achieved through misinformation. Why can’t we do that?

On Wednesday night, WTF was squirming with mortification and embarrassment as Mrs Maybe was sent off to eat a solitary supper whilst the EU Grandees debated whether to allow her more time to go through with the operation.  How the hell had we got ourselves into this position? How had we made such a utter ballsup of it all?  How did we allow a collection of shysters, charlatans, toffs and idiots to lead us into the emergency ward? And why are they still insistent on cutting off their leg to spite their face? The ones who know they’ve been sold a pup, but are committed to it anyway. The ones who insist they have got what they voted for, even though they did not foresee this or knew that were being lied to and voted anyway. The ones who say gamely that yes, they will never walk properly again, and it will agonising and painful, and this is not what they signed up for, but it is better than keeping the leg, because no leg is better than a bad leg. Our only hope is that this will continue to drag on until, in true British fashion, we get fed up with the whole thing and ditch it out of sheer boredom. Thank Heaven for Julian Assange giving us something else to talk about in the weeks to come…..

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We turn to our review of the week’s Red Carpet rubbish, starting with actress Scarlett Johansson at the photo call for her new movie The Avengers: Endgame, wearing Tom Ford.

Love, wear a jacket or don’t wear a jacket, but if you do wear a jacket, wear one with two sleeves  and a proper front, rather than just a tit topper. As Lady Bracknell remarked, this shilly-shallying is absurd. And unsightly with it.

Here is singer Cardi B, wearing Ralph & Russo.

Jennifer Lopez goes to Ascot in mint green. Except that they would not let her into the Royal Enclosure dressed like that. And her shoes are two sizes too big.

Meet the newly-weds, model-turned-candlemaker (yes, honestly) Char Defrancesco and designer Marc Jacobs, both wearing suits by Huntsman. Marc’s tie and footwear are by Gucci.

Many congratulations to the happy couple, but oh, the irony. One of the world’s leading designers gets married in a pair of comedy trousers, like a bottle green Charlie Chaplin. At least they cover up the butter-pat bootees.

This is actress Shay Mitchell at a makeup launch event, wearing Nedo.

Like a fluffy pink bird in a bustier, a medieval silk diamanté doublet and no hose. Horrid.

To CinemaCon in Las Vegas, where we encounter actress MacKenzie Davis, wearing Paco Rabanne.

This is the lovechild of a lumberjack and a Rosie for Autograph Marks and Spencer nightie. With white Ali Baba slippers. It is very strange, and the sleepwear appears to have gone down with smallpox.

Also present was actor Henry Golding, wearing Valentino.

It does not matter how handsome you are. No one, not even Henry, can get away looking like a blood-soaked warehouseman.

Still in Las Vegas, we call in at the Academy of Country Music Awards, always a cornucopia of clothing horror, beginning with singer Carrie Underwood wearing Nicholas Jebran. She had a baby only three months ago.

As noted above, WTF dislikes one sleeve on a two-armed woman, but she could have lived with the dress had it not been for the sparkling crotch carpet runner.

Next up, singer Jake Owen ,wearing a Nudie suit and Boot Star gold boots.

The suit is like a verdant meadow at midnight, but hell, it is a country music thang, so Jake might have got away with it had it not been for those pointy gold things on his feet. A man in gold shoes? Never, unless he is C-3PO.

Here is singer Cassadee Pope, wearing Vitor Zerbinato.

Good abs, bad dress. And the side view is even worse.

This is a bed sheet worn as a shroud, and Cassadee is threatening an imminent Minge Moment, not to mention an imminent rectal revelation.

And last from the Awards, Maren Morris, wearing Christian Siriano.

Maren’s heels are so high that she is tilted forward in order to stay upright; the same thing happened last year at the CMT Awards. She is also wearing a pleated table napkin with matching tablecloth-train, like the drapery for Char’s and Marc’s wedding breakfast.

Finally, to the CanneSeries Festival in, er, Cannes, and the photoshoot for the new series of the Rook  starring Olivia Munn, wearing Schiaparelli.

Elsa Schiaparelli was the designer whose signature colour was shocking pink, the colour of the backdrop against which Olivia is posing. Elsa also had a perfume called Shocking by Schiaparelli. This apparel is just plain shocking, reminiscent of polluted water, while those hanging things suggest that the lovely Olivia is suffering from incontinence.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado and stalwart de luxe Andrew Purcell from Texas who has discovered these absolutely foul “Goth Crocs”, yours for only £190.

Crocs are ugly. These ones are ugly and downright dangerous. Imagine one of those in close proximity to your footsies when travelling to work in rush hour. Ouch. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers

It is true that any conclusion in the Mueller Report short of condemning Trump to spend the rest of his life in Sing-Sing, preferably suspended by his testicles, would have been a profound disappointment to many, WTF included. So initially, she experienced feelings of deep dissatisfaction when Attorney-General Bill Barr, a man wedged so far up Trump’s arse that he is applying for permanent residence, ‘summarised’  the report into collusion and obstruction by Trump and his election campaign, a report two years in the making. According to Barr, you would have thought that Trump was Mother Teresa and St Francis of Assisi rolled into one portly orange parcel. No collusion! No obstruction! Witch-hunt! Presidential Harassment! 

Unsurprisingly, the actual report, albeit redacted by Barr with his trusty colour-coded  sharpies, turned out to be rather more critical than we had been led to expect. Yes, there was no conspiracy between the campaign and the Russians so as to justify criminal charges, but Trump knew he would benefit from Russian interference on his behalf, and encouraged it, and that his written answers to questions posed to him, and the evidence of some of the witnesses, were somewhat unsatisfactory. Equally, despite Barr’s earlier assurances that Mueller had been unable to conclude that there was no evidence of obstruction, Mueller found that Trump did his best to obstruct the investigation, (he gives eleven instances), including encouraging people not to co-operate, and urging White House Counsel Don McGhan to get the Deputy Attorney-General to sack Mueller (and then instructing him to deny that he had told him). His attempts at orchestrating obstruction were largely  thwarted because his subordinates ignored his instructions. everyone, including Trump and his Press Secretary, told blatant lies. The policy of the Justice Department was not to prosecute a sitting President, which puts a different complexion on Mueller’s task. Mueller says in terms that had there been evidence exonerating the President the report would have adduced it. But there was no such evidence. That is not total and complete exoneration – it is the opposite.

So here’s the thing. The Attorney-General, a man whose sworn duty is to protect the Constitution of the United States, lied about the report’s conclusions a fortnight ago and lied again yesterday morning, conveniently holding a press conference before the report was actually published. He sees it as his duty to shore up the pile of putrid corruption that is the sitting President, rather than to enforce justice.  The Republican Party is intent upon shoring up the pile of putrid corruption that is the sitting President, rather than to enforce justice. Fox News sees it as its duty to shore up the pile of putrid corruption that is the sitting President, period. And so it is that a liar, a cheat, a fraud, a man devoid of morality, decency, or shame, continues in office and may well win a second term. In just over two short years, Trump and his enablers have succeeded in perverting and undermining truth so that it has ceased to have any relevance to a large number of his fellow citizens and to the party which he heads. Winning is all that matters. Stopping abortion, cutting taxes, attacking immigrants, preserving gun laws, keeping  control of the Senate – who cares how it is achieved? It is enough to make you turn your face to the wall and weep.

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We begin our review of the week’s fashion flotsam with ghastly First Daughter Ivanka Trump, wearing Alex Perry on a state visit to Abidjan. Senators Chris Coons (D) and Arselicker-Supreme Lindsey Graham (R) are on either side of her ridiculous cape.

Bloody hell. Apart from the fact that it is hugely inappropriate for a State Dinner, there is the small matter of Ivanka resembling Superman in something tight and titsy in a most unpleasant shade of vaginal pink. Kudos to WTF aficionado Trevor from Truro who pointed out that Ivanka was a dead ringer for the Girl in the White House from Tim Burton’s Mars Attack.

Next, we have actress Lucy Boynton wearing Marc Jacobs.

Lucy looks very fluffy and flouncy, like a Christmas Tree Fairy in a nightgown and matching choirboy’s ruff. 

Next to a reception in the Whitney Museum in Manhattan and actress Diane Kruger, wearing Michael Kors.

Diane has legs to die for, but this outfit is just silly, tiny shorts under a jacket last worn by the Big Bad Wolf in a dramatisation of The Three Little Pigs and a shirt with a collar the size of a pair of garden shears.

We are in Paris at the première of Gloria Bell with Julianne Moore, wearing Valentino.

Julianne is wearing a mattress topper. With bare legs and bootees. It is just terribly, terribly terrible and white is SO not her colour.

And now are at Coachella, the wanky poseurs’ music festival in Indio, California, where celebrities pose wankily in wanky clothing. Like singer Billie Eilish here wearing Vuitton, looking wanky.

Indio is in the desert and IT IS HOT. So why is Billie wearing furry trousers like Grover from Sesame Street and a heavy LV jerkin?

Next up actress Amandla Stenberg wearing Levi’s.

She looks like she is having a good time, but then she doesn’t have to gaze at a column of denim off-cuts masquerading as a top. We do.

And finally from Coachella, the husband and wife combo of actor Evan Ross and singer Ashlee Simpson.  Ashlee is wearing Zimmerman.

Ashlee looks fine, which is more than be said for her spouse, who is wearing some preposterous long-jacket-and-cropped-trousers-thingy, showcasing spindly shins and huge trainers. He looks like Magwitch from Great Expectations.

To London and the premiere of the movie Once Upon a Time in London where we encounter The Voice singer Kalon Rae. Who knows what he is wearing?

Kalon has come dressed as Boy George dressed as Mother Goose. Every item of clothing is hideous, made more hideous  at being worn together.

Brace yourselves! Real horror lurks in the horrible form of TV nutritionist Gillian McKeith and her daughter, Afton McKeith.

The Crowns are an argment for regicide. Acton is only 19 so perhaps she could hide behind her mother’s skirts on this one. The problem is that her mother is not wearing a skirt, not even of any kind, and is instead flashing her thighs under a fishing net tied around her waist with a minimum of effective coverage. And what the fuck are those boots, like a couple of fat purple ferrets?

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from Tim Brannigan, via WTF aficionado Yvonne from Jedburgh, who highlighted this ridiculous new concept – the shirt-stay from a firm called Sharp & Dapper. Should you be raving mad, you can buy it for £20.

Kill me now. No one is suggesting that men should wear the body brought to you decades ago by Donna Karan to avoid shirt-spilth, but who would want to go to these lengths just to avoid it? And imagine stripping off for a moment of passion and revealing yourself to be trussed up like an Easter turkey?  No, sorry. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Have a wonderful Easter and/orPassover and/or break. WTF is going to do the same in sunny Cornwall because there are short pickings over the holiday period, but she will be back on 26 April. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again in a fortnight. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

You may recall that Donald J Trump paid a brief (but not brief enough) visit to the UK in July 2018, intent on insulting as many people as possible within a four day period, and rebounding around the parameters of decency like a pinball played by a tipsy teenager. Ding! He told Theresa May that she had done Brexit all wrong and should have listened to him (it turned out his strategy had been to sue the EU). Ding! He praised Boris Johnson and said he would make a great Prime Minister. Ding! He was late for tea with Her Majesty, keeping the nonagenarian standing in the hot sun for about 20 minutes, and whilst purporting to inspect the troops, jaywalked in front of her like a pedestrian with Alzheimer’s. The blimp in a nappy with a mobile phone that flew, oh so briefly, over Parliament Square had a better grasp of diplomacy and international politics. Now he is coming back for a proper State Visit, where we roll out the Red Carpet and do that ceremonial stuff we Brits do so well. Her Majesty will schlep down to the airport to greet him and they will ride back in a procession together. He will get a White Tie State Dinner, where the menu is written in French (he can ask Melania to translate – she understands about half a dozen different languages and can say ‘yes’ and ‘chain migration’ in all of them). However, this visit will be different to the usual State Visit. Usually, the State Visitor also gets bed and breakfast at Buckingham Palace, but there is no room because the East Wing is being repaired. Usually the State Visitor addresses both House of Parliament, but that probably won’t happen either, as in the eyes of our Speaker, he is less welcome than a turd in a punchbowl. President Trump is also known to be wary of spending any time with Prince Charles, fearing that HRH will lecture him about climate change and organic lettuce. And he will not get to ride in the Golden State Coach, which, being wooden and very old, cannot be rendered  bulletproof and is probably too weak to withstand Trumpy’s ever increasing girth. In fact he and the coach are probably the same shape, which could confuse everyone no end. Especially him.

On Tuesday, Foreign Secretary Jeremy Hunt announced the impending visit with a flourish. You would think Jesus Christ was coming to call. Hunt gushed ‘The transatlantic relationship has been the foundation of global peace and prosperity for many years – and great things are yet to come!’ Really? Within 24 hours, Trump was regurgitating an allegation first made two years ago,  accusing President Obama of getting UK Intelligence Services to tap his phone and to ‘spy on him’. In 2017, GCHQ had demanded an apology and even Fox News retracted the claim and suspended the pundit who had advanced it. Now, even as the chefs gather to decide between Canard à l’orange and Hamberder aux frites avec sauce de tomates style Heinz, and whilst Mrs May combs the shops for another appalling and ill-fitting sack to wear for the dazzling occasion, the putative guest was lobbing insults at us and pissing all over the ‘special relationship’ Hunt has been bigging up only hours earlier. Instead of telling him to stick his State Visit where the sun don’t shine, the craven Hunt has been complaining about denying the orange moron-in-chief the stage to spread his racist, sexist, embarrassing, ignorance in our Houses of Parliament.

So here’s the thing Readers. We keep being warned that there will be food shortages after Brexit. Let us start those shortages early. Stockpile your eggs! Horde your soft fruit! Let us start getting everything nicely smelly and squidgy for June and show this terrible man what a real British welcome looks like.

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We start our review of the week’s awful apparel with singer Ashanti at the premiere of her movie ‘Stuck’ wearing Honyada. 

Ashanti is wrapped in a shiny cheap garbage bag displaying a gargantuan amount of tit and a large amount of leg, and is on the verge on giving us an imminent Minge Moment. Again. Ashanti should take this garment, put it in a real garbage bag and dispose of it – for good.

Next we go to  the premiere of Avengers: Endgame  where we find alleged ‘actor’ Vin Diesel, wearing what appears to be a tree bark.

Wearing camouflage to look like a tree is one thing. Actually wearing a bloody tree is quite another thing. WTF was put in mind of Macbeth where the witches warned him that he ‘shall never vanquished be until Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill shall come against him’. It looks like Great Birnam Wood is on the march.

Also there was the insufferable Gwyneth Paltrow, wearing G Label. 

Look, Gwynnie has a great pair of legs but that is no excuse to forget to wear some sort of bottom half to your outfit. She looks as if she has had her trousers removed as a jolly jape, the fate facing the unfortunate Paul Pennyfeather in Evelyn Waugh’s Decline and Fall.

To the Time 100 Gala and actor Dwayne Johnson wearing Ralph Lauren.

Everyone else came in evening wear. Dwayne came dressed as an old Dralon armchair.

It gets worse. Here is actress Julianne Moore wearing Chanel at a Chanel do.

WTF does not know what has passed between Julianne and her stylist recently, but the two of them need to make it up, and soon.  If Dwayne is the sofa, Julianne is the cushion cover. And the valance.  And the ventilation system. As for the boots, they fall into the category of downright mystifying, like the Bermuda Triangle and the decision to broadcast Mrs Brown’s Boys.

It grieves WTF to have to do this, but now we must consider the case of former First Lady Michelle Obama, seen here with actress Sarah Jessica Parker, wearing thousands of pounds of horrible Balenciaga, including quite revolting thigh boots which cost $3,900.

Michelle has rarely put a foot wrong, but here both feet and the long legs appended thereto should be charged with causing severe retinal damage and unauthorised possession of a hologram. Those are as foul a pair of boots as WTF ever did see in her life. Michelle could have saved herself thousands of dollars by buying herself a couple of  gold shiny wine gift bags and standing in them.

As for the golden chartreuse sheet, it is a shocker.

Finally, here is Kourtney Kardashian at her fortieth birthday party in LA wearing vintage Versace.

Kourtney’s cake was in the form of a naked Kourtney in the bath, so that guests, including her own family and her kids, could literally eat her ladyparts. And if that isn’t revolting, WTF doesn’t know what is. But not nearly as revolting as Kourtney having to avoid a Minge Moment by fastening her dress to her stomach with a bit of visible tit tape like a blob of masticated chewing gum.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Shonda from West London who brought this excrescence to WTF’s attention – a beanbag onesie. Yes really. People would genuinely be happy to look like they have an arse bigger than Kim Kardashian’s in 3D closeup just so they can have a sit down when the mood takes them without bothering to find, you know, a chair.

Frankly, WTF would rather remain standing between now and the rest of her life than have any part of this madness. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

This week, Julian Assange was sentenced to 50 weeks’ imprisonment in the UK for jumping bail. In 2012, he walked out of a London Magistrates’ Court having been granted bail on an extradition hearing to Sweden, where he was to have faced allegations of rape and sexual assault. Assange and his adoring supporters argued that the women had been put up to making these complaints in order to lure him back to Sweden so that he could be extradited on to the US, there to be charged with all manner of things as a result of publishing secret documents on his website, Wikileaks. Despite the fact that Sweden’s extradition treaty with the US prohibits extradition on the basis of  “a political offence” or “an offence connected with a political offence.” Having got bail on the basis of gullible sureties forking out a fortune, he promptly sought refuge in the Ecuadorian Embassy, and remained holed up there, flushing his friends’ bail money down the drain in the process, getting on his hosts’ nerves, and acting as if he were the lovechild of Nelson Mandela and the Man in the Iron Mask. Eventually, his hosts grew so tired of him that they opened the front door and begged members of the constabulary to come in and take the bugger away. And so it was that Assange found himself in the dock seven years after he first skedaddled, The taxpayers wasted £16 million over seven years in posting coppers to keep an eye on the front door to prevent Assange doing a runner, money that could have been usefully deployed elsewhere.

Throughout this sorry episode, Assange has always behaved as if he were the victim. What infuriated many people, WTF included, was the total contempt he and his supporters showed for the women making the complaints, including the one who alleges that she awoke to find him having sex with her without a condom when she had previously made it clear that she would not have sex without his wearing one. In Sweden, those facts, if proved, constitute a rape; and on any view, a woman cannot give consent to sex if she is asleep. The other complainant thought that he was practising safe sex, when he was not. The second woman’s complaint is now time barred, but a rape charge can still be brought until 2020. However, the two women have been denigrated and sneered at as “honey pots” who have been put up to it to destroy Wikileaks. They were identified and hounded. Because Heaven forfend that a woman should dare to complain of rape or sexual molestation against a Hero of the Left.

Now that Assange is out of the Embassy and languishing in a real prison, the US now want his extradition on a deliberately light charge of computer fraud, doubtless to avoid objections that he might face the death penalty on a more serious charge, which might scupper the chances of getting him over there. Sweden also wishes to renew extradition on the rape allegations. As to this, WTF is quite clear. The original Swedish charges were dropped only when prosecutors there felt that it was pointless to pursue them as long as Assange was still in the Embassy; if revived, its request should be given precedence and acted upon. If he is guilty of rape, let the Swedes prove it. On the other hand, the UK courts should refuse the US request. The present US Attorney General is not to be trusted, and no sane person would believe a word that President Trump says, (except perhaps when he said “I love Wikileaks” about 200 times during the 2016 Election Campaign, although he now claims he to know nothing about it.) The irony is that had Assange gone back to Sweden in the first place, he would have had a better chance of avoiding that trans-Atlantic trip. Which serves him right.

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We begin our survey of the week’s fashion flops with singer Adam Lambert, wearing Libertine Plus.

Adam is wearing a collection of chinoiserie fabrics resembling the interior of an Asian flophouse, and he has also seriously overdone it on the eyeshadow.

Next to the Tribeca Film Festival and actress Nana Ghana wearing Aliona Konova.

Nana looks as if she has been gift-wrapped. The fishnet tights are OK but not with red fluffy pantouffles.

Also at Tribeca was young actor Charlie Plummer, wearing Loewe.

WTF is at something of a loss to describe what is occurring here, and is unsure whether that is a shirt hanging down to Charlie’s knees or is part of the suit, but the whole thing is very schizophrenic-merchant-banker-goes-cottaging, and not in a  good way. 

This is blogger Margie Plus wearing ASOS.

Look, this is not a fat thing. This is a looking-like-shit thing. There needs to be more shirt – a whole lot more. Like a metre more. Margie also needs to learn about suntan lotion, factor 50, and slather it on because she is more flushed than a public toilet.

This is actress Chloe Sevigny wearing Chanel at a Chanel party thrown by Chanel.

WTF has no knowledge of Chloe’s financial circumstances, and she can only speculate that either she is saving money by buying clothes in the kiddies’ section ,and hoping no one notices, or that Chanel is seriously taking the piss. Or both. This is a Minge Moment waiting to happen, unalleviated by the presence of a small white frill around the hem as found adorning lamb chops in fancy restaurants. We now call in at the NFL Draft, where we encounter player Devin Bush Jr. wearing who can even say what?

This adult harness thing has got to stop. Soon. If not sooner. If adults want to get trussed up in their bedrooms, that is fine. But Devin is not in his bedroom, he is on the public stage, and looking like he is going on to the bondage parlour.

And two more guests, Vince Wilfork (left) and De Angelo Williams (right).

Vince is dressed  like a Keralan fisherman with a sense of humour, whilst De Angelo resembles an extra from Strictly Ballroom.

To the Billboard Awards 2019 in Las Vegas and singer Taylor Swift wearing Raisa & Vanessa.

The colour is pretty but it’s so ruffly, as if an Andrex puppy has run amok with a roll of toilet paper.

Next up, young actress Kiernan Shipka, wearing Dior.

You cannot see any VNA (Visible Nipple Activity). But the fact that you think you can is bad enough, not to mention downright unnerving. There is also VBA (Visible Bellybutton Activity). And the dress is also hideous.

And finally, welcome to makeup artist Patrick Starr, wearing I don’t even know what.

If a Ferrero Rocher went to a fancy dress party as Patrick Starr, this is what it would look like.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Jan from Melbourne, who is extremely indignant at the appalling behaviour of tourists taking photos of artworks on their phone in museums and galleries. Things have got worse than ever, as Jan points out that people now hold their phones aloft to take some sort of snap, thereby blocking the view of someone like Jan, who (a) is a short-arse and (b) is boringly old fashioned enough to want to look at the fucking picture. Why can’t these people buy a bloody postcard and stop clogging up access to magnificent works of art? It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

What can be more British than the birth of a Royal Baby? The whole thing is steeped in years of tradition. For example, hours after pushing out something the size of a football, the Royal Mother is supposed to appear on the steps of the Lindo Wing of St Mary’s Hospital Paddington, perfectly coiffed and made up in a fetching frock, Royal father by her side, and cradling the new infant before a swooning crowd of  journalists shouting inane questions. Saddoes from the shires sleep out for several days awaiting The Moment, and then cavort in front of the cameras swigging Prosecco and making a tit of themselves. Said baby, who looks like every other baby, only richer and in a more expensive blanket, has a ridiculous title conferred on him or her by the Monarch and is thenceforth known as Prince X or Princess Y or the Earl of Snodsbury. Moronic Sky News presenter Kay Burley runs around screaming ‘It’s a Boy’ or ‘It’s a Girl’, depending on whether it’s a boy or a girl. A collection of Royal Experts, posh women called Araminta and craggy chaps in Barbour jackets, pontificate on Royal etiquette, talking bollocks for hours at a time. And the arrival of the said baby is posted on an easel in the grounds of Buckingham Palace, even though everyone already knows about it because it is all they have heard about for the last 24 hours on TV, radio, newspapers and social media. This is what puts the Great into Great Britain. Allegedly.

This time, things took a slightly different turn. Meghan Markle and Prince Harry, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, had a baby boy, but the place of birth was not made public. The proud parents did not appear in front of the cameras for two days, and when they did, the father carried the baby for a brief photocall inside Windsor Castle, whilst the mother wore her hair loose and looked pretty but tired. The baby is not going to have a title and is to be known as Archie Windsor. He looks like a baby. Only richer and in a more expensive blanket and a knitted hat. More to the point, one thing is decidedly different about young Archie. He is mixed race. What everyone really wanted to know was how dark was he? (Answer – it’s hard to tell). Because for all the celebration about Modern Britain and mixed marriage, the fact that the bride is (a) mixed race (b) American (c) an actress (d) divorced and (e) a feminist, means that she has been given a decidedly rough ride. She’s difficult, she’s demanding, she’s independent, SHE WON’T WEAR PANTYHOSE! Well she isn’t one of us, is she? She isn’t an English rose. She isn’t even rose-coloured. So prejudice creeps out. BBC broadcaster Danny Baker decided to tweet a ‘joke’ picture of two posh people accompanying a baby chimpanzee, with the tag ‘Royal Baby leaves hospital’. He later deleted it, tweeting ‘Once again. Sincere apologies for the stupid unthinking gag pic earlier. Was supposed to be joke about Royals vs circus animals in posh clothes but interpreted as about monkeys & race, so rightly deleted. Royal watching not my forte. Also, guessing it was my turn in the barrel.’  The apology, not that it was an apology, did not prevent his dismissal, and quite right too. Comparing a mixed race child to a monkey is a racist gag, and the National Broadcaster should not employ someone who thinks, even for one nanosecond, that it is funny. It is the same mindset that prompted football fans to throw bananas at black footballers during the 1980’s, a trend that is sadly making a comeback. And this is why for all the cooing and the gurgling and the public Prosecco, little Archie will never be regarded in the same way as his cousins, William and Kate’s children. Many parts of this country are not relaxed about a mixed race royal, whether mother or baby, because we are still a small-minded, petty, prejudiced, island people and Brexit is making it much, much, worse. Enjoy your son, Harry and Meghan. And enjoy your P45, Danny Baker. You earned it.

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This week’s sartorial survey sees us off to the Met Gala in New York. The theme this year was ‘camp’, as if this would distinguish 2019 from any other year. As we Jews ask on Passover ‘why is this night different from any other night?’ This Gala brought us a feast of utter nonsense, some of it awesome but insane, starting with WTF favourite,  actor Billy Porter, wearing The Blonds.

Do not adjust your eyeballs. This could not be any camper if Village People reformed and did a gig at New York Gay Pride. If only those wings really worked and he would fly far, far, away……

Girls actresses Jemima Kirke and Lena Dunham, both wearing Christopher Kane.

WTF admits to a sneaking admiration for Jemima’s outfit, like a bouncy black PVC beetle in a swim cap, but is a lot less keen on Lena’s ensemble, which gives the impression that she is being groped by a pervert in washing up gloves.

Beyoncé’s sister, singer Solange Knowles, wearing Ferragamo.

Solangé, as WTF likes to call her, is wearing a python nappy-jacket with a disturbing trompe l’oeil effect in the groin department, and hideous matching thigh boots. Many snakes have died in vain. Where is the RSPCA when you need them?

Actor and singer Jared Leto, wearing Gucci.

Cardinal Richelieu loses his head. And gains a new one.

Model Caroline Trentini, wearing Viktor & Rolf.

This is not camp, it is macabre. Viktor & Rolf seem to have been inspired by Walt Disney’s 1929 short, Silly Symphonies – Skeleton Dance.

Model and actress Emily Ratajkowski, wearing Peter Dundas.

Emily is wrapped in a silver cobweb loincloth with an imminent nip-slip. 

Singer Harry Styles and Gucci designer Alessandro Michele, both wearing Gucci.

Harry has borrowed his mum’s blouse and teamed it with some comedy trousers. As for Alessandro, if Jesus went to a fancy dress party as a Christmas cracker, this is what He would look like.

Model Gigi Hadid, wearing Michael Kors.

To mark the final series of Game of Thrones, Gigi turned up dressed as a White Walker.

Aspiring lawyer Kim Kardashian, wearing Mugler.

As WTF aficionado Ruth remarked, ‘she doesn’t even look human, she’s like a mannequin’. Either that or a giant caramel with tits just emerged from the shower….

Actor Cody Fern, wearing Maison Margiela.

Er….OK. This can best be described as man in tan suit (do you remember the trouble President Obama got into for wearing a tan suit?) and sky blue cowboy boots goes bank-robbing.

Diva Celine Dion, wearing Oscar de la Renta.

WTF could have lived with this yeti-meets-Las-Vegas-showgirl schtick had it not been so mingey…. what lurks beneath those tassels? And why do we even have to ask?

Vogue Editor-at-Large Hamish Bowles, wearing Maison Margiela.

Gonzo goes grand…..

Singer Katy Perry, wearing Moschino

There is lighting up a room and there is looking like a prat. Katy left looking like a prat behind some five miles back and is currently floating around in the stupid stratosphere.

And finally, actor Michael Urie wearing Christian Siriano.

If this doesn’t give you nightmares, nothing will. Michael has come as Ken AND Barbie.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Sarah from Southend-on-Sea,  who is indignant at the marketing of moisturiser for the post-menopausal minge. Over to you, Sarah…..

‘Watching crap TV last night, I nearly choked on an olive when confronted by an ad for menopausal moisturiser for one’s nether regions. Initially, I wondered why the viewers of ‘Wheeler Dealers’ would be interested in this (my excuse was that I had lost control of the remote when I went to get more wine). I then wondered why the know-it-all-but-perfectly-moisturised woman in the ad was about 30. Yes, 30. I know that can happen but it is hardly the core demographic. We want older ladies in vests with a cardigan looking very pissed off’.

WTF is in full agreement. It’s Got to Go.

 

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, which have been in somewhat short supply of late. Keep them coming or WTF gets into a panic that you don’t love her any more. And don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Alabama, the land that time forgot, has just passed a law which, in effect, bans abortion. It was voted for by twenty-five white male senators and signed into law by hatchet-faced Governor Kay Ivey, clad appropriately for the occasion in crimson, the colour worn by women in the now-not-so-mythical land of Gilead in Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. It is the most draconian state anti-abortion law in the United States, admitting of no exception for pregnancies resulting from incest or rape, although mothers whose lives are at “serious risk” posed by the pregnancy can be exempted. The bill was steered through by Senator Clyde Chambliss, 50, a civil engineer with three daughters, whose grasp of the workings of the womb appears to be somewhat vague. According to Sen. Chambliss, a woman can still take steps to end a pregnancy as long as she doesn’t know that she is pregnant. “..anything that’s available today is still available up until that woman knows she’s pregnant. So there is a window of time, some say seven days, some say ten. There is a window of time that every option that’s on the table now is still available. So she has to take a pregnancy test, she has to do something to know whether she is pregnant or not. You can’t know that immediately. It takes some time for all those chromosomes and all that that you mentioned. It doesn’t happen immediately.’ In other words, as long as you can get rid of your baby before you know that you are expecting a baby, you are fine. But once you know that you are pregnant, you have to go through with the pregnancy. And the doctor who would perform an abortion could end up serving a maximum of ninety-nine years in prison. Meanwhile, if you are a victim of incest, your assailant can get a maximum of ten years. Ten years for incest and ninenty-nine years for trying to help the victim of incest. Sen. Chambliss explained “When God creates the miracle of life inside a woman’s womb, it is not our place as human beings to extinguish that life.” 

Other states are going down the same path, including Georgia, which bans abortion on detection of a foetal heartbeat (this can be after only six weeks), Kentucky, Mississippi, Ohio and Indiana. The reason is clear. Their ultra-conservative, neanderthal Republican politicians know that the measures are in conflict with the landmark decision of Roe v Wade, the 1973 decision in which the Supreme Court held that abortion was a woman’s constitutional right. But now the neanderthals are in the ascendancy, having struck a devil’s bargain with Donald Trump before the 2016 election. They would support this venal, adulterous, mendacious, crooked, irreligious, sack of shit and he, in turn, would deliver Supreme Court judges who would strike down Roe v Wade. Trump openly promised them as much and has since appointed two Supreme Court justices for that express purpose – Neil Gorsuch and the bloated, lachrymose, hysterical, liar and alleged sexual assailant, Brett Kavanaugh. And now Roe v Wade  will end up in the Supreme Court very soon. Perhaps the Alabama law is a little too extreme even for the majority of Catholics on the Court, but other states will produce something a little tighter, a little less brazen, and women will be forced to go abortion shopping in other places to avoid bearing children they do not want, cannot afford or who have been placed inside their bodies by acts of criminality and violence. Because apparently God wants it that way. Indeed Fox News buffoon and Trump sycophant Tucker Carlson said last night that forcing a woman to go through a pregnancy caused by rape was “honourable”. 

And so it is that a minority of the population ensures that the US can be turned into a Taliban state with such ease and political venality. WTF’s principal anger is reserved not for Trump – this is one of the rare occasion where he actually told the truth – but for the idiot Republican Senator Susan Collins of Maine, who claimed to be a champion of a woman’s right to choose,  but who was persuaded to vote for Kavanaugh on his assurance that he would not overturn Roe v Wade, thus facilitating his appointment. Collins is the female version of the late King Hussein of Jordan – given a 50/50 choice, she will inevitably fuck it up. This is on you Senator. You were conned – again. A woman colluding with the removal of women’s rights. Congratulations.

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We start our review of the week’s fashion flotsam at the Cannes Film Festival and actress Julianne Moore, wearing Louis Vuitton.

She is wearing a bathroom set. A bathroom set. Why, WTF cannot say. 

Here is Austrian model Nadine Leopold, wearing Nicholas Oakwell Couture.

Look, WYF likes a laugh as well as the next person, but the word “couture” here is just taking the piss. A corset and a pair of cami-knickers, paired with a sheet like a member of the KKK in his scanties, is not couture. Not even at all.

Another model, Brazilian Alessandra Ambrosio, wearing minge maestro Julien  Macdonald.

This is very typical of Julien’s oeuvre, i.e. there is not enough of it and there is always the imminent danger of a sighting of a body part that is not supposed to be on show.

There is a new movie about Sir Elton John, Rocketman, in which he is played by actor  Taron Egerton. Elton is wearing Gucci, including the uber-sparkiy sun- specs, whilst Taron is wearing Etro.

 Taron’s suit is reminiscent of William Morris wallpaper.

Elton’s suit is a lovely colour but something very horrible is happening around the crotch department, another distressing example of the dreaded elephant vagina syndrome.

Next up, actress Li Yuchun, wearing Balmain.

The lovely Li is clad as an ostrich in a strait jacket. And she is looking very pissed off as a result.

Away from Cannes, we go to Hollywood Model and actress Carla Howe at the Fashion Nova x Cardi B Collection Launch.

This is like a nightmare scene at some animal slaughterhouse where dead animals abound – bits of tiger, python boots (are those the same Ferragamo boots Solange wore last week to the Met Ball?) and a large side helping of tits?

Also present was the ghastly Perez Hilton, also wearing Cardi B collection.  

This is a man who runs a worst dressed of the week column. Physician heal thyself… Forget the purple Poseidon look and the bum bag, the generous gonadaget is making WTF shudder. Yurgle.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Ruth-Anne Beckett. Just when you think that denim-abuse can get no worse, it does. And then some. Have a large sick bucket issue handy whilst inspecting the jean speedo sold by online retailer Shinesty known as the “jeado”, also known as the Daytona Dong Sarong. Easy now…..

These crimes against the eyeballs, not to  mention the goolies, are a blend of denim and spandex and cost $39 95. They are shocking. Shocking. And will no doubt cause a beastie yeastie. It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments,  and don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers,

Game of Thrones came to an end this week but there is no need for fretting and withdrawal symptoms! Welcome to a thrilling new story, Shame of Thrones, a tale of political machinations set in the mythical kingdom of Westminsteros. In SoT, Theresas used to command the loyalty of her troops, the Sullied and the Stupid, who supported her sworn mission to break the wheel and to free Westminsteros from the yoke of slavery imposed by the rulers of Euros, the evil twins Ser Claude and Ser Guy, who have kept Westminsteros under their thumbs for decades. But Theresas has proved to be a disappointment and Westminsteros still labours under Euros’ rule, as a result of which, yokels and yobboes various have become increasingly frustrated at her hapless failures and broken promises. Theresas’ claim to the Iron Throne has become more and more hopeless, and rebellion is in the air; she has already been forced to do a walk of shame down Whitehall, naked as the day she was born, whilst pelted with milkshakes and rotten eggs, and has also had to beg Ser Guy and Ser Donald for more time to make proposals for Westminsteros’ independence, and to come up with the readies to buy its departure. Her dragons, Andrea and Esther, have now deserted her and are breathing fire all over her HQ, torching thousands of innocent citizens and stirring up apathy and anger in equal measure, and evil dwarf Sajid and the King of the Long-Gone Past, Jacob, hatch a scheme to defenestrate her. At which point, Theresas realises that the game is all over and agrees to go in June on terms which are yet to be announced at the time of writing. And the scramble for the Shame of Thrones begins anew…..

And you know what Readers? This is not fiction. If you pitched it to HBO, you would be shown the door PDQ. Hordes of GoT fans spent this week bitching that the ending wasn’t good enough, and that they had wasted hours of their life for nothing (as if they would otherwise have been occupied finding a cure for cancer, or writing a symphony, or something), but had you served them up this scenario, they would be out burning Westminsteros to the ground. Almost three years after the Referendum, we are the joke keeping Euros, sorry, Europe laughing. WTF is reminded of the scene from the original Trainspotting, when Renton, the Ewan McGregor character, rants that “It’s Shite Being Scottish. We’re the lowest of the low”. Try being a Brit today, Renton. At least you could escape occasionally with an armful of heroin. We, on the other hand, have to watch helplessly as the Westminsteros politicians continue to bitch, backstab, and make a total ballsup of the whole Brexit exercise. As a result, the European Elections, which took place in the UK yesterday, will probably be a cakewalk for Nigel Farage and his vile Brexit party, and quite a success for the Lib Dems, both of whom at least have actual, clear-cut, positions. What the hell Labour and the Tories believe, or want to do, or how they propose going about it, no one knows, and, sadly, fewer now care. And why Theresas wants to stay on for even another half an hour is a mystery. She is now despised on all sides, apart from her loyal husband Ser Philip of May and Larry the Downing Street Cat, and even Larry’s position is under review. If she were to leave sooner rather than later, at least she can avoid having to spend any time hobnobbing with Donald Trump, who arrives, with his whole disgusting family, for a proper State visit in the first week of June. And if that isn’t an incentive to call Pickfords and start packing up the china, WTF does not know what is.

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We start our review of the week’s fashion farragoes with Georgian-Greek singer Tamta, representing Cyprus in the Eurovision Song “Contest”, wearing a most extraordinary ensemble.

Here we have the carapace of a black beetle wrapped around a Minge Chandelier. Appalling. As was the whole evening. The UK would not even win it if no one else entered. It is time for a boycott on the grounds of political prejudice and rigged voting, never mind anything else.

To the Royal Wedding last Saturday of Lady Gabriella Windsor (what do you mean, who?) and some toff. Bizarrely, Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York, scraped onto the guest list, wearing something whose designer is unknown. Good call.

Without the Mark of Zorro capelet, the dress would not be too bad, but honesty compels WTF to note that Fergie needs to take a size up. At least one size, and maybe two.

Here is actor Cody Fern in Australia at the premiere of America Horror Story: Apocalypse, wearing Maison Margiela.

This is a French Horror Story. WTF hates VNA (Visible Nipple Activity) almost above all things, whether they are male nipples or female nipples. WTF does not want to see Cody’s nipples, and she is willing to bet a few quid that many others share that view. And he is wearing those foul Margiela Tabi boots. Enough already with the camel-toe boots.

To the continuing nonsense of the Cannes Film Festival and actress Deepika Padukone, wearing Giambattista Valli Haute Couture.

It may be Giambattista Valli Haute Couture, but it is essentially a giant lime green shower puff worn with a swimming cap. Good sandals though.

More bath-time fluffiness with Ukrainian model Alina Baikova, wearing Zuhair Murad Couture.

This is even worse than Deepika’s green dress, because it has a ridiculous bodice and a mullet skirt. She looks like a over-coiffed, blue-rinsed poodle.

Next up, we have distinguished French actress Isabelle Adjani, wearing Alexandre Vauthier and a stupid straw hat.

If a village idiot went to a fancy dress party as Jane Austen, this is what he would look like.

Here is French singer Kiddy Smile, wearing Nicholas Lecourt Mansion.

Kiddy, né Pierre Edouard Hanffou, is wearing an unforgivable floral dress with fluted shoulders and a large triangular tit window, and he has dyed his head orange to match. There is not enough brain bleach in the world to disperse this image.

Still at Cannes, but off the Red Carpet, we have American actress Eva Longoria wearing Atelier Zuhra. She was there in her capacity as a L’Oréal Ambassador. Whatever that may be.

Eva looks like the love child of an Art Nouveau lamp and an Iguana.

Finally, we have Orange Is The New Black actress Dascha Polanco wearing Philipp Plein. This one is going straight into the nominations for the WTF Summer Stinker 2019, together with Monsieur Kiddy.

This is a circus clown outfit worn with a Flamenco frock. All that is missing is a red nose and bow tie that squirts water in your eye.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado The Justified Sinner, who has taken great exception to the amount of silly high street fashion on offer, including this preposterous crop top sold by ASOS.

This is basically a child’s vest worn by an adult with good abs. Just imagine if it catches on and flabby flotsam start walking around Luton Airport like this? It doesn’t bear thinking about and It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, and don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x

Hallo Readers, 

Theresa May did resign last week, as predicted, but she did not take WTF’s advice, which was to get out of Dodge before Monday, when the flatulent orange fantasist that is Donald Trump lands here on his State Visit. Instead, she will resign officially on Friday 7 June after the Donald and his offensive offspring have gone home. Even then, she will stay in Number 10 until her successor is chosen, which will be around the middle of July.

All political careers end in failure but in Mrs Maybe’s case, the word failure is far too kind. Something else is required, like farce. And what a legacy she has left us.  A gaggle of ghastliness now jostles to succeed her. If you were looking to cast a remake of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, you need go no further than the Gang of Twelve, although by the time you read this, some other bumptious nonentity will probably have thrown his or her cap into the ring (WTF had to change the number from eleven even while writing this). Boris Johnson is the bookies’ favourite but he is currently facing a private prosecution for misfeasance in public office (that infamous bus banner lying about the £350 million that would go to the NHS if we Brexited), and might find running the country  from inside a cell a trifle tricky. Then there is the man who stabbed him in the back, last time round, fish-faced Michael Gove, and Andrea Loathsome, who was to face May in the run-off in 2016 until she threw it all away by pointing out that Theresa had no children and therefore lacked the commitment to make the future better. Or there is Jeremy Hunt, the man who ran the NHS into the ground and is now Foreign Secretary, Dominic Raab, the man who champions female equality but is not a feminist, the rebarbative professional Scouser Esther McVey, who is never happier than when depriving people of their benefits, and charming and ever-so-posh ex-Army officer Rory Stewart, who appears to be the only one who is even fairly sensible, and therefore is automatically ruled out. The others are all so insignificant that WTF cannot even be bothered to insult them.

If it was embarrassing to be British last week, it is even worse this week. Huge swathes of the UK voted for Nigel Farage’s Brexit party (basically UKIP with different nutters). Huge swathes voted for those parties who wanted to stay. The Tories crashed and burned. Labour crashed and burned. Neither had a clear and discernible Brexit policy or any obvious means of putting any policy into practice, even if they had one, which they don’t. Labour chucked out a leading light, Alastair Campbell, for voting Liberal Democrat (so did WTF, but her membership has lapsed and had not been renewed), because that party promised a referendum, which Labour did not. Corbyn then announced that the Party would now support a second referendum, which it would not have done had so many people not voted for the Liberal Democrats to start with. Oh, and they might let Campbell back in. And they wonder why people are disenchanted with politics.

So this is where we are. Half our Members of the European Parliament are there to ensure we leave ASAP. Our probable new Prime Minister is a unprincipled liar, whose opportunism got us into this mess in the first place, but who is facing a private prosecution for being a liar. And we are still an international joke. Welcome to post-May Britain.

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We start our review of the week’s clothing cloaca with celebritee and cosmetics billionaire Kylie Jenner, wearing Minge Maestro Julien Macdonald.

Julien has wrapped Kylie in £12,000 of sparkly orange peel. Yes really. Kylie has compounded the offence with stupid plastic shoes and lots of bad fake tan, whilst appalled onlookers are in fear of an imminent Minge Moment. In other words, it is business as usual for both of them.

Here is actress Sharon Stone at a charity gala for the Museum of Contemporary Art in LA, wearing who knows what.

WTF at first thought that Sharon had dyed her hair, but it is in fact a scarf matching her box clutch, as she is trying to distract us from the fact that she is wearing a macramé hanging basket holder.

And now to Cannes where we digest the last of the preposterous Festival for 2019, and the associated nonsensical events where people go to preen. It is all very bad. Like Australian model Shanina Shaikh, wearing Georges Hobeika at a Chopard event.

WTF can but conclude that Shanina was taking part in an couture re-enactment of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. All she needs is an apple.

Also there were singer and actress Li Yuchun and Giambattista Valli, who designed her ensemble.

The dress is part of Valli’s one-off range for H&M, and it is fine if you want to look like a mullet Barbie. As for Giambattista, there is no excuse for wearing white socks unless you are playing tennis and his trousers look like a floppy concertina.

On the proper Red Carpet now, where we meet model Meredith Mickelson at the premiere of Rambo: Here We Fucking Go Again, wearing Rami Kadi.

The good news is that she is wearing some sort of titsy swimsuit. The bad news is that she is wearing it under a plastic ground sheet. Great sandals though.

And the star of the show, actor Sylvester Stallone, looking a bit crap.

Look, no one looks like they used to look. Sly is 74. However, his face is fuller of plastic that the LA landfill site. As for the outfit, there was probably a very good reason why he is wearing a dinner jacket and bow tie with the sort of white slacks usually seen on cruise directors. It is just that WTF does not know what it is.

And finally, lovely French actress Marion Cotillard wearing Balmain.

This is officially a pity because Marion is gorgeous but this outfit is not. She looks like she has come to the Red Carpet straight from a spin class, and those bootees are just dog ugly.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Leslie Verrinder, who has brought these vile trousers to her attention.

If you think they look like chicken drumsticks, that is because they are meant to. But why would you want to wear something that makes it look as if you have been farting into your trousers for the past week? It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, and don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x