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,

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,

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,

This week, the President of the US came to call and  did all the things he does best. He lied through his teeth on a variety of topics, including a claim that the streets were thronged with cheering fans, their love for him pulsating through the capital like electric shocks. He pushed his family forward at the taxpayers’ expense.  He insulted his host’s granddaughter-in-law, the Duchess of Sussex, and the Mayor of London, Sadiq Khan, even before his plane had touched down on British soil. He made a total fool of himself, displaying dizzying degrees of arrogance, ignorance and self-absorption. And we learned that he is aiming to get his hands on privatising the NHS, even though he denied it the day after he had said it, and two days after his Ambassador had said it. Business as usual for Trumpy. He then flew to Shannon Airport to hold a joint press conference with a bemused, and frankly pissed off, Leo Varadkar, the Irish Premier, where he embarrassed himself by suggesting that Irish Border issue was the same as America’s Mexican border issue (it isn’t), that Ireland wanted a wall (it didn’t), and that the Republic was somehow part of the United Kingdom (which it hasn’t been since 1937 – the clue being in the name Republic). After which, he went off with his entourage of schnorrrers, noch-schleppers and sycophants to his golf club at Doonbeg, thereby advertising another Trump property at other people’s expense.

Yesterday, he flew off to Normandy for the D Day Commemorations, where he delivered a ballsaching speech in a flat monotone with the look of wonder he has when reading something for the first time off a teleprompter, sniffing loudly for reasons that WTF can only guess at. Maybe he had forgotten his handkerchief. In keeping with the sombre occasion, remembering the bravery of the thousands of young men who stormed Omaha Beach on 6 June 1944, many never even getting as far as the shore, and others shot dead on the sands, Trump then granted an interview to Fox News’ Laura Ingraham, a woman so rabid that were she to so much as touch you, you would be running to the doctor for the antidote (massive injections in your stomach). Pictured against a background of row after row of little white crosses gleaming in the sunshine, Trumpy used the solemnity of the place to slag off Speaker Nancy Pelosi, Vietnam Vet Robert Mueller, Mexico, asylum seekers, and those Republican Senators who do not appreciate his threatened tariffs or his selling arms to his murderous Saudi mates by Executive Order. Because nowhere is inappropriate to kick your political enemies, even a graveyard for the fallen heroes you have crossed the Atlantic to extol, and the few surviving nonagenarians you have come to praise. Then it was back to Ireland for more free publicity for his club and a few rounds of golf.

The other lowlight of the trip was his ‘interview’ with Arselicker-in-Chief, Piers Morgan. WTF had always foolishly imagined that an interview was when you are asked a question and are held to account for the inconsistencies and evasions in your answer. That, however, is not the Piers Morgan way, which is to smirk whilst your Presidential pal makes stuff up on the spot. And so it was that Trumpy was presented as unable to fight in Vietnam because of his bone spurs (bought by Daddy Trump from one of his tenants), allowed to claim that he was ‘not a fan’ of the war because it was ‘far away and no one had heard of it’, unchallenged at his inability to distinguish between climate and weather, permitted to assert that transgender personnel should not serve in the military because they need a lot of post-operative drugs, whereas the military does not allow you so much as an aspirin, and got away with claiming that Mueller had to change his testimony even though Mueller never testified and therefore did not correct it (in fact, he was correcting Barr’s dishonest summary of it).  It was a wonder that WTF did not put her foot through the screen.

He has gone home now, there to sell his imaginary triumphs and oafish ignorance to his base of the uneducated, the uncivilised, the cretinous and the gullible. Those corpses at Omaha beach must be turning in their graves.  

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We start our review of the last seven days’ sartorial shit pile at Buckingham Palace and the State Banquet for Donald Trump and First Lady Melania Trump, wearing Dior. Oh, that’s the Queen in the middle, wearing Angela Kelly.

Donald looks like a plump Patagonian penguin in a truss and comedy trousers.

Why can’t he find a suit to fit him? That said, white tie and tails are pretty unforgiving when you are a 350 pound slob with a fat stomach and no class. The white waistcoat is supposed to be level with, or minimally below, the cut of the coat. But that would leave his gut spilling out like cake mix leaking from a loose-bottomed tin. Thus his tailor was obliged to extend the waistcoat almost to crotch level so as to contain the spilth, and make the coat so big that the sleeves are too long. And he isn’t wearing a wing collar.

Meanwhile, why are Melania’s clothes always so snug, hugging her augmented breasts tighter than a boa constrictor in a bad mood?

And why do her gloves have more crinkles than a jumbo pack of crinkle crisps? Has she never heard of the expression ‘fits like a glove?’

Also there, of coure, was entitled Barbie Doll and First Daughter Ivanka Trump, wearing Carolina Herrera. She is seen here with Cabinet Minister Liam Fox.

Ivanka has come straight from performing a matinee performance of Oklahoma!

And this is professional liar Sarah Sanders, Trump’s Press Secretary, with George V lookalikey, Prince Michael of Kent.

Yikes. Has she not heard of Spanx? That dress is so tight you can see her bellybutton. WTF is surprised that it didn’t split half way through the Strawberry Sablé.

And in her last WTF appearance as Prime Minister, Theresa May. accompanied by Prince William. No one has owned up to designing this dress. Good call.

If you have to show your tits and wear slashed shoulders, whether you are Prime Minister or not, you should ensure that you do not burn yourself  in the sun so that you end up with visible tan marks on your chest, shoulders and arms. There is very little less alluring than two-tone tits, especially when the tones are scarlet and milky white. Bare pink legs and red shoes only add to the prevailing sense of dismay.

Away from royalty, here are actress Priyanka Chopra, wearing Gahlia Lalav, and her husband Nick Jonas, wearing Ermenegildo Zegna.

These two have been getting on WTF’s nerves. Ever since they got married in a three-day extravaganza in India, they have been going on about their nuptials non bloody stop. They even pitched up at the Cannes Film Festival in wedding white, requiring WTF to rush urgently towards the nearest receptacle. And she was at it again last weekend, gushing away in The Sunday Times about her spouse and her BFF Meghan Markle. That said, she looks nice here, which is more than can be said of Nick, who is wearing what is best described as an aubergine satin boiler suit, showcasing bare ankles in black suede loafers. Perhaps it was his homage to D Day and the memory of Sir Winston Churchill, only Winnie had less hair and better shoes,

To London and the British Soap Awards where we encounter young actress and singer Tallia Storm, wearing Jetmira Bejtullahu.

We are experiencing a positive deluge of these fluffy shower puffs at the moment. This example is particularly foul, in that it has a tit-flounce, a mesh midriff, and a mullet. It makes Tallia look like Nell Gwyn having tumbled beneath someone’s carriage wheels in Pall Mall.

To a favourite event, the Country Music Awards in Nashville, Tennessee, and singer Meghan Linsey wearing who can even say what?

Meghan seems to have succumbed to a particularly nasty strain of impetigo, and the cameltoe is going to give her a beastie yeastie, requiring Canesten to be delivered to her home by tanker. As for the pink hair, WTF prefers not to speak of it.

To the Costume Designers Fashion Awards  in New York. Here is Queer Eye fashion guru Anton Porowski wearing Sies Marjan.

On first catching sight of this getup, WTF assumed that artisans across the world were donning rainbow overalls in solidarity with Gay Pride for Plumbers or some such, but it turns out to be just another truly ridiculous fashion item. How short are those trousers????? And why?????

Also present was top model Gigi Hadid, wearing Louis Vuitton.

What is that thing across her chest? Is it supposed to be a flying dolphin on a satin machine gun belt, like a silken baby-blue Rambo? There is just too much of everything and not enough of anything to like.

And finally, we have åctress Dania Ramirez at the premiere of the movie Dark Phoenix, wearing Leilu by Alex. Brace yourselves.

Boobage in abundance, her nips covered by X marks The Spot, like target practice at a military training camp. Meanwhile, that is one hell of a minge fringe.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Sue Peters, who brought this horror to her attention. They are by Pretty Little Thing and cost £25.

 Oh FFS! How much more of this nonsense must we put up with? It reminds WTF of the scene in The Full Monty, when Mark Addy wraps himself in cling film to try and lose weight whilst simultaneously consuming a Mars Bar. 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,

There are 313 Tory MPs in Parliament and yesterday, more than a third of them voted  for Boris Johnson in the first round of the contest to be the next Leader of the Party and the next Prime Minister. 114 people actually believe that this bloviating, bloated, bull-shitting, buffoon is the man to lead the United Kingdom out of the EU to somewhere over the rainbow, where troubles melt like lemon drops, high above the chimney tops, and everyone plays nicely by WTO rules. Jeremy Hunt, who has flip flopped on Brexit, the Single Market and a Second Referendum, who ran the NHS into the ground and who believes that abortions should be banned after twelve weeks, came in second with 43 votes and Michael ‘Yes, I’ve taken cocaine’ Gove, got 37. Dominic Raab, who wants to prorogue Parliament to stop it stopping Brexit, got 27. Next week, unless Johnson gets 157 votes, it goes down to the last two, at which point 160,000members of the Tory party get to choose. But it probably won’t come to that.

This contest has been notable for the appearance on radio and TV of pathetic shills for the main contestants, rather than the candidates themselves. In particular, Johnson has been kept firmly under wraps in order to stop him saying something stupid, dishonest or outrageous, which he does every time he opens his mouth, because, like the scorpion who stung the frog to death, even when was riding on his back across the river as he was unable to swim, it was his nature. And he has more baggage than a Samsonite warehouse – lies, more lies, abandoned spouses, P45s, deceived mistresses, a love child, yet more lies, possible drug use, crap decisions and a well-deserved reputation for being lazy and unprepared. Thanks to his winging it, Nazanin Zaghari-Radcliffe is still languishing in an Iranian prison, her sentence actually doubled. If he were to be interviewed, he would have to answer questions about these matters, so he remains hidden away like a surprise entrant into the Big Brother House. Only this is the House of Commons and a certain degree of accountability should be mandatory. At his Launch, he read from notes, something he never does, dodged six questions from journalists, and then scarpered. There is at least one benefit from his election – Prime Minister’s Questions will be brief.  Or perhaps he will send the appalling Liz Truss to speak for him. On Tuesday, Truss was eviscerated on the Today programme, babbling on about what a brilliant Foreign Secretary Johnson was (he wasn’t), what a great Mayor he was (he wasn’t) and how people were only picking on his alleged character flaws because he was so popular (they aren’t and he isn’t).

Readers, brace yourselves. By next week, Johnson could be your Prime Minister. His promise to negotiate a new deal is a lie, because he knows he cannot. His promise it will all be OK is a lie, because he knows that it won’t be. He says that we will leave on 31 October, but you know he will change his mind if he has to, and then deny that he ever said it. Either those 114 MPs, and the ones who will switch their votes to him next week, know that and don’t care, are so stupid they actually are willing to take him at his word, or want Brexit so badly they don’t care how they get it. Whichever it it, they deserve every obloquy going, because they are patently unfit to do their jobs, or indeed any job.

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We start our review of the week’s clothing cock-ups at the World Premiere of MIB International and actress Tessa Thompson wearing Rodarte.

Admittedly, this is a sci-fi movie sequel, or prequel, or whatever the hell it is, (Tommy Lee Jones is not in it, and so that is the end of it), but that sleeve is extremely silly and makes her look like the Ice Dragon in Game of Thrones.

Next up, we are at a MaxMara Women In Film event in Los Angeles, where we find lovely actress January Jones wearing, er, MaxMara.

Good hair. But the massively-oversized trouser suit suggests that she stayed out overnight and had to borrow the guy’s suit to avoid doing the walk of shame to work, and makes her legs look extremely stumpy.

Now we find ourselves at the Tony Theatre Awards in New York.  The women all looked great, which is more than can be said for the  next three gentlemen. First up is actor Michael Shannon wearing Martial Vivot. He is with his long-term partner Kate Arrington (who looks great).

Michael usually plays the tough guy, which is why it is surprising to find him wearing in this terrible suit with silk facings, like the night porter at a swanky Manhattan hotel.

And this is actor Reeve Carney, wearing who can say what? 

Reeve has come dressed as the Artful Dodger. Only he knows why, but he looks very silly and those silk trousers are downright disturbing.

And here is the third of the duds, comedian, actor and chat show host James Corden wearing Dolce & Gabbana, seen here with his wife Julia Carey, who is wearing J Mendel.

WTF is not a fan of a tummy triangle, but otherwise Julia looks lovely. Unlike her spouse, who has gone full Maria von Trapp with the silken drawing room curtains, not to mention the matching bow tie fashioned from the offcuts. Still, this made WTF laugh a lot more than James usually does.

This is actress Hilary Swank wearing Azzedine Alaïa at the premiere of her new movie, I Am Mother.

WTF’s mother never went about dressed in a low-slung, leather tit-harness, for which, lovely as she was, we can at least be grateful. It must be said that Hilary is a lot trimmer that WTF mère, but she still looks awful. Why are her tits almost down to her waist? Epic fail.

Now we have two more thespians promoting their work, in this case a dismal new movie called Murder Mystery, starring Jennifer Aniston, wearing Céline, and Adam Sandler. 

You see Readers, this is what Hollywood is all about. Jennifer, who is a fine looking woman, is done up to the nines, coiffed, made up, wearing a leather mini-dress and fuck-me sandals, Adam, on the other hand, looks as if he is about to walk the dog around Pacific Palisades.  Why is there one rule for him and another for her? And whilst criticism is alien to WTF’s nature, Jen is suffering from a horrible dose of foot-blotch, so that her feet are about ten shades lighter than the rest of her, like ankle socks.

And finally, we have singer Christina Aguilera in Las Vegas, where she is doing a series of shows, wearing a tracksuit with sparkles.

If Harry Enfield’s famed creation, Waynetta Slob, won the pools, this is what she would look like. And why does Christina have those little turds in a row on her head? #baffled

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Jan from Melbourne, who is still really furious about the incumbent Prime Minister, the moron Scott Morrison, who stormed to a wholly unexpected triumph in the recent Australian General Election.

Jan’s main ire is directed at the pollsters, who had confidently predicted a big win for Bill Shorten’s Labour Party, but who got it horribly, horribly wrong. As they did with Brexit. And with Trump’s 2016 election. You would think that after all those errors, they would hang their heads in shame, shut up shop, change their names by deed poll, and find new jobs as traffic wardens, but no – they are still carrying on. And earning as fortune. They’re crap and They’ve 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, 

Last week, the malignant virus that is ‘journalist’ Katie Hopkins, tweeted a vicious, Islamophobic, attack on London Mayor Sadiq Khan. No surprise there, of course. Hopkins hates Muslims, claims white people and Christian values are under threat, and would trample over her own granny to earn a spot on Fox News, especially as no media outlet will touch her with a disinfected bargepole over here. The capital city had endured another terrible weekend in which two people were stabbed and another one was shot. The Angel of Death wrote ‘This is Khan’s Londonistan’. As it happens, this ghastly spate of stabbings and murder appears to have no connection at all with Islam – the comment was therefore both spiteful and inapposite. But the Angel of Death is unconcerned with petty details like fact, not when there is a Crusade to undertake. And who retweeted this bilious drivel? None other than Donald J Trump. Never mind that what happens in London is none of his damn business. Never mind that US cities, including Trump’s home town of New York, have a much higher murder rate. Never mind that he is a shill for the National Rifle Association, which champions the right to bear arms, translated into the inalienable right to shoot dead perfect strangers, preferably kiddies, and to stockpile weapons, even though you have every sort of psychiatric problem and should not be able to buy a pea-shooter, let alone an AK47. Trump tweeted that Khan was ‘A national disgrace who is destroying the City of London’. (Note to Trump – the City of London is not the same as London. But then Trump does not know the difference between England and Britain, or Britain and the United Kingdom, or indeed between his ever-burgeoning arse and his elbow).

The tweet provoked outrage. Outrage at Trump retweeting the Angel of Death, and outrage at Trump having yet another go at a Muslim citizen of another country. Just to ensure that everyone was clear that this was an Islamophobic tweet, Hopkins tweeted her thanks to the President for his retweet, referring to London’s ‘Muslim Mayor’. Back home, the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary failed to condemn Trump’s interference or his racism, although politely distancing themselves from the actual language and the input of the horrible Hopkins. Only the Muslim Home Secretary, Sajid Javid, condemned Trump, as he had done on a previous occasion of an Islamophobia tweet, which probably explains why his invitation to the State Banquet on Trump’s visit was lost in the post. Meanwhile, many over here piled in, supporting Trump’s attack and condemning Khan as the worst Mayor ever.

But here’s the thing, Readers. Knife crime have soared since 2014 (two years before Khan was elected) and that is not unique to London – it is countrywide. Since 2010, the knife crime rates in the North East have risen by 33%; in Yorkshire and the Humber, by 77%; and in Wales, by 50%. But it is only Khan that gets the flack. Why do you suppose that is? London now has fewer police officers than it did in 2003 – 20,000 officers down since 2010. Forty youth clubs have closed. The Government has demanded savings in the police budget of £1bn nationally, including £334m in the Metropolitan Police which also has to find another £104m because of pension changes. Police stations have closed. God forbid that you should ever see actual officers on the street. But Theresa May (remember that she was Home Secretary for six years from 2010 to 2016) says there is ‘no direct correlation between certain crimes and police numbers’. Right. It is of course much easier to throw shit at a brown, Muslim, Labour, Mayor. Trump and the Angel of Death are pure scum, of whom nothing is to be expected except more lies, racism and filth. But everyone else should take a long hard look at themselves.

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We start our review of the week’s fashion fiascos with racing driver Lewis Hamilton at the Paris Men’s Fashion Week, wearing Valentino.

What is he wearing now? The words ‘fashion victim’ have insufficient nuance to sum up Lewis’ ridiculous sartorial choices. This time, his top makes him look like the late, lamented, Victoria Wood in Dinner Ladies, the jeans were bought in anticipation of his having a late growth spurt, and the trainers look plain manky.

Now to Los Angeles and the TrevorLive! charity gala, where we find model and actress Cara Delevigne, wearing Balmain.

This is just very silly. From the front, it looks like a sleeveless gilet sewn into an old net curtain, paired with saucy boots. The back, however, is worse.

From the back, it looks like Bridget Jones panties and an old net curtain. It is as if Cara were off to a Halloween party and couldn’t be arsed to make any effort with her costume.

Next up, we have Kate Moss’ little sister, model Lottie Moss, wearing Aadnevik at the Victoria and Albert Summer Party. Why she was there at all, WTF cannot say.

This is not a dress. Not even at all. It is an elongated bustier worn over a pair of panties, and it is foul. Lottie used her Instagram account to air her concern about her weight (seriously?), and obviously thought that wearing this would boost her confidence. She should stop worrying about her girth and start worrying about her taste. Or her stylist. Or both.

And now we go to the MTV Movie and TV Awards in Santa Monica, where an abundance of horror awaited us. We kick off with actor Nico Tortorella, wearing his school uniform and fancy loafers.

WTF takes the view that once a man is past bar mitzvah age, shorts suits should not occupy space in his wardrobe. Particularly when worn with gingham loafers and lashings of blue guy shadow. And he has been drawing on his legs with a magic marker.

Here is singer Spice, who won an award for some reality rubbish called Love and Hip Hop: Atlanta, wearing something frightful.

Only smurfs should have blue hair, and no-one, not even a smurf, should wear a tit-baring bodysuit resembling a trail of neon yellow alyssum.

This is another reality star, Lala Kent, who is in something called Vanderpump Rules. She is wearing affair.fff.

Lala has less VNA (Visible Nipple Activity) on display than Spice, but instead is giving us a major Minge Moment. Meanwhile, WTF is trying to work out whether Lala is wearing her shoes under the lace or over it.

Finally, we have entertainer and (winning) TV Host Nick Cannon, formerly Mr Mariah Carey, wearing Louis Vuitton. This is about as stupid an ensemble as WTF ever did see in her life. Brace yourselves.

What is going on? Why is Louis Vuitton making logo’ed bullet proof vests and gas masks with matching deck shoes? What are those truncated cargo thingies? And why is he wearing them all with a Mayoral chain? Someone at LV has been overdosing on Nicholas Cage as Big Daddy.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado WTF of London, who is aghast at the terrible barstools the five Tory Leadership contenders were made to sit on during the BBC ‘debate’ on Tuesday. As splendid Guardian columnist John Crace noted, “they looked like an ageing boy band. Take Twat”. There was a lot of man spreading as they perched gingerly on their stools like a bunch of old bores at the Garrick  Club Bar. They looked uncomfortable, the whole thing was uncomfortable, and on the basis that one had any faith left in democracy before the debate, it certainly would have gone walkies afterwards. Dismal. Depressing. 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,

Which of you can honestly say that you did not enjoy the footage of squeaky-voiced Ivanka Trump getting iced out at a G20 Reception in Osaka by an imperious, irritated, Christine Lagarde, Head of the International Monetary Fund? Nepotism Barbie had barged into a discussion between Lagarde, Mrs Maybe, President Macron and Prime Minister Trudeau, whereupon she made asinine and irrelevant remarks whilst waving her hands about and smiling in a way winning only to her pervy old dad. It was as if Barron Trump, her 13 year old half-brother, had attempted to interrupt a conversation between Stephen Hawking and Noam Chomsky. With one eye roll, Lagarde made it clear that Barbie’s aperçus were about as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit. And with good reason, because what on earth was she even doing there? 

Barbie is a Special Adviser to the President, aka Daddy. Prior to his election, she displayed no notable interest in politics, and had devoted herself to running her business flogging tat made in Asian sweatshops, and involving herself in various Trump enterprises and charitable foundations that are now attracting the attention of the District Attorney for the Southern District of New York. Now she accompanies Daddy everywhere, a veritable Zelig on every major occasion. G20, she is there. Meeting the Pope, she is there. A State Banquet at Buckingham Palace, she is there. Crossing the DMZ into North Korea, she is there. Popping up on a White House video to talk about trade talks with President Xi, she is there. The woman of whom her father said ‘If she weren’t my daughter, I would be dating her’ and who allegedly asked ‘is it wrong to be more sexually attracted to your own daughter than your wife?’ (answer – yes), is clearly being groomed to be President in 2024. Never mind that she knows nothing about anything. Neither did Daddy, and now he’s in the White House. 

Barbie does not get a salary because that would be contrary to the nepotism laws. But she is getting learn-as-you-don’t-earn experience. And her share of the Trump businesses grows exponentially, particularly the Trump Hotel in DC, where it is now mandatory to book a suite if you want to do business with the US Government. She and her equally dumb, entitled, husband, Jared Kushner, are hardly struggling – last year, they  declared an income of $165 million. Clearly Daddy thinks she could do any job. In his view, she could have run the World Bank because she is ‘good with figures’.  She would have been brilliant as UN Ambassador because ‘she is a natural diplomat’. It is a surprise that she has not been asked to Head up the Pentagon. The only good part of all this is that oleaginous, God-bothering, homophobic, Mike Pence, a man who has spent the last 30 months gazing at Trump with the devotion of a puppy given an extra doggie treat, could be denied his accession to the top job. But even that is scant consolation for the sight of Barbie playing the lovechild of Henry Kissinger and Mother Theresa. This is how far the United States has fallen. For shame.

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We start our review of the week’s fashion flotsam with WTF’s avatar, singer Ashanti, wearing Minge Maestro Michael Costello at the launch of her own collection for Pretty Little Thing.

Beyoncé goes trashy. There is a large helping of tit and, to be frank, that cross-strap  holding them is not up to the job, like a sprat to catch a bucketful of mackerel.

Next up, we have young actor Dacre Montgomery at the Netflix premiere of Stranger Things, wearing his jim jam jacket.

WTF is partial to a pyjama jacket, but even she has her limits, and this has motored way past them on the road to infinity. He looks like a cut-price version of Hugh Hefner.

À propos of not much, in this picture the late lamented HH looks amazingly like Joe E. Brown in Some Like It Hot.

And now we are off to Paris Fashion Week, where nonsense poured forth, starting with singer Zendaya Coleman wearing Dior.

We have not seen trousers over tights since the halcyon days of Princess Diana, and Zendaya’s trewsies look more like jodhpurs. But WTF’s chief disapprobation is reserved for the shrunken evening shirt, which is, on any view, a ridiculous garment, making her look like a perky penguin who did her washing at too high a temperature.

Oh no, it’s them again, Nick Jonas and his spouse, actress Priyanka Chopra, both clad in Dior.

Nick’s brother Joe is competing with him as to which one of them can be the most irritating Jonas Brother, Joe having married GOT’s Sophie Turner a few months ago, and again this week in Paris. So Nick has been forced to up his game and bounced along the boulevard dressed as a floral-bedecked plumber in army boots. His spouse looks elegant in bottle green, albeit with very pointy tits.

Here is actress Riley Keogh, Elvis Presley’s granddaughter, wearing Louis Vuitton.

If anyone knows what this is, and why it is so dog-ugly (sorry, canines), please post the answer in the comments section below.

And now a rare honour, last bestowed many years ago on Rita Ora – a double feature in one blog! Step forward, diva Celine Dion,. First, we find her wearing Off White.

Do not adjust your eyeballs. Celine is wearing a swimsuit, worn with a matching jacket designed for someone bigger and broader. It is as if Peter Dinklage raided Vin Diesel’s wardrobe. And that is not even the worst of it. Why is she not wearing anything over her nether regions?

And here is Celine again, this time wearing Attico, mom jeans and fluffy mules.

If Martha Monster went to a fancy dress party dressed as a creosoted twiglet en route to a Freemasons’ lodge night, this is what she would look like.

Finally, this is just horribly, horribly, horrible. Make sure you have a receptacle handy and the number of a mental health professional on speed dial. Ready? You won’t be. This is Geordie Shore strumpet Chloe Ferry ‘wearing’ a ‘swimsuit’ by Oh Polly. 

WARNING!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

Batle-hardened as she may be, on first seeing this photo WTF emitted a squawk like Polly the Parrot on steroids. Chloe has tits like a couple of cannonballs and more minge on display than a Bangkok sex club. Yurgle.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado WTF from Islington, who is in great indignation at the sudden infestation of London streets by tossers on electric scooters. Do they even know how preposterous they look?

Grown men and women should not be scooting about on scooters, period, and certainly not on public thoroughfares. They’re a hazard and they are really, really, annoying. Ditto silly people on skateboards. Go to the park if you want to ponce about on kiddie transport. It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, as they have been sparse of late and you know how WTF frets when she is denied sight of signs of life out there. 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, 

Luton’s answer to Nelson Mandela, Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, or, to use his nom de brutalité, Tommy Robinson, is a racist thug with more than a passing acquaintance with the inside of Her Majesty’s Prisons, having been variously banged up for assault, financial and immigration fraud, public order offences and, most recently, contempt of court. His criminal record is longer than the queue for the loos at Wimbledon’s Centre Court, and you could be forgiven for thinking that Robinson’s principal contribution to the justice system was in providing m’Learned Friends with frequent opportunities to top up their bank accounts. But to many, he is now seen as a fighter for freedom of speech and a victim of State oppression. Except of course that he is isn’t.

Last year Robinson was already on a suspended sentence for contempt of court, namely giving details about the ongoing trials of alleged paedophile gangs in defiance of a court reporting order prohibiting identification of the defendants or mention of their offences until the end of the trial, because there were other ongoing trials. And then, whoops, he did it again, this time in Leeds, where a gang of paedophiles from Huddersfield were on trial, again subject to reporting restrictions. Why did Robinson act in this way? Because these were gangs of Asian men of Pakistani heritage, and they were Muslim. The rationale of Robinson’s behaviour was that the British public needed to know that these trials were going on because they had been “hushed up” and the police were failing to act. Despite the fact that the police had indeed arrested the men, the crown Prosecution Service  had put them on trial, the trials being heard inside the very buildings Robinson was cavorting outside in his self-appointed role as a ‘citizen-journalist’.  Even people charged with disgusting crimes are entitled to a fair trial, and indeed they could walk free without one if there was a substantial risk of  justice being seriously prejudiced, thereby stopping the very thing that Robinson claimed he wanted, i.e. justice for the victims.

Robinson went to prison, was freed on appeal because of questions about the fairness of his trial, and was retried last week, whereupon he was again found guilty. Yesterday he did the Long Walk of Non Freedom back to prison for nine months, although he has already served most of that time. At which point the neanderthals who espouse his noble causes of stopping Brexit hating Muslims, and let’s-get-back-to-the-halcyon-(white, Christian)-days-of-1964, ran amok in Parliament Square, demonstrating their commitment to the rule of law and freedom of speech by attacking journalists, causing criminal damage, and breaking up anti-Brexit protests. Because nothing says law and order more than a group of fat, tattooed, yobs smashing things up whilst calling for Robinson’s release. Meanwhile, morons on both sides of the Atlantic claimed that the Luton Mandela had been denied a fair trial (he hadn’t), had been incarcerated while the paedos went free (they didn’t), is the victim of a Government conspiracy to get him killed in prison (he isn’t), had been punished for doing something the mainstream media do every day (they don’t) and had been denied a jury trial (which he had, but only because contempt trials are always tried without juries).

The great irony is that before his current incarceration, our hero had begged Donald Trump to grant him political asylum. That is the same Trump who was sued for raping a 13-year-old-girl (her case was later dropped), who said that if his daughter were not his daughter, he would be dating her, and who, in 2002, praised his billionaire pal Jeffrey Epstein for being a fun guy who loved beautiful women and who liked them young. The same Trump whose Secretary of Labour, Alex Acosta, had cut Epstein a plea deal in Florida in 2008, which allowed him to serve a year in prison but spending twelve hours every day in his office, despite many young girls claiming Epstein had raped and assaulted them. And now Epstein has been charged with more of the same, this time in New York. Are the MAGA morons throwing up their hands, loudly demanding that Acosta be dismissed and that Trump answer for his  previous friendship with Epstein? Of course not. It is only Muslim alleged paedophiles they care about.

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We being our survey of the week’s sartorial slurry singer Halsey wearing an Alyx Studio dress over a Bebe Agiurre bikini.

If an anaemic frog went to a fancy dress party as a Love Island contestant, this is what it would look like.

Next up, we have actor Jason Mamoa with his wife actress Lisa Bonet.

Lisa looks ethereal. As for her spouse, Jason sprang to fame as Khal Drogo in Game of Thrones and his nipple-baring shirt appears to have been inspired by his, er, nipple-baring, non-shirt in that series. 

To Paris Fashion Week and singer Christina Aguilera wearing Viktor and Rolf.

WTF rather admires this in a perverse sort of way as it has a certain insouciance. But it still looks like an old curtain with swearing on it.

And this is actress Araya A Hargate wearing Christian Dior. This one was held over from last week but it bears examination, so here it is.

Everything between the neck and the waist is excellent. But the ‘Allo ‘Allo hat is ridiculous, and as for the skirt, the last time WTF saw something like that it was wrapped around a couple of apples.

Away from Paris, we find former wrestler and now hardman actor Dave Bautista, wearing a most ill-advised ensemble.

Now admittedly Dave is what our Australian friends call a big unit, and so any attire is going to be a challenge, like wrapping a bag of butcher’s brawn in a Saville Row suit. But no one should ever wear a v-necked teeshirt under a suit jacket, especially a double-breasted jacket several sizes too small, and showcasing muscles like  melons.

This is model and actress Sririta Jensen wearing Elie Saab.

If only the skirt were actually a skirt, you know, in the sense that it encompassed her whole lower half, but it isn’t and it doesn’t. One is therefore obliged to worry about what one is seeing in the minge department, and although that shadow is in fact a pair of panties, appalled onlookers should not have been subjected to the stress of worrying about it in the first place.

To the ESPYS and American footballer Odell Beckham Jr wearing Prada.

WTF does not even know what this is. He looks like the lovechild of a postman and a kangaroo’s pouch.

And finally we have model and presenter Heidi Klum in ridiculous Louboutin boots.

Sometimes an item of clothing is just plain silly. And these boots are just plain silly. They look like a couple of maypoles. It is a surprise beribboned country folk are not dancing around her.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF stalwart and aficionado, Leslie from Lisson Grove. Rest your appalled gaze on these pantyhose, handmade by German artist Daniel Struzyna through the Etsy online store Tinkercast.

Leslie has two observations, both pertinent. First, he says the model looks as if she is leaking. And second, he says, Lord alone knows where the rest of the creature resides! Agreed. It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, as they have been sparse of late and you know how WTF frets when she is denied sight of signs of life out there. 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,

Here’s the thing. If you are going to be a stone-cold racist, at least have the indecency to own up to it. Don’t suggest that people should go back to places they have never been to, or have run away from and have become not just a citizen of your country, but an elected representative, and then pretend you are not a racist. Don’t whip up a crowd of imbeciles with a collective IQ in double digits and smirk happily as they chant your racist views, tweet what a great crowd they are, send your lickspittle out in front of the press to stick up for you, but then, as it dawns upon you that lots of people, including those whose votes you really need to get re-elected (and thus dodge the legal proceedings which might well land you in jail) think you and your imbecilic crowd are really, really, racist, then condemn that same crowd in whose adulation you basked like a hippo in a muddy lake. In short, don’t be Donald Trump.

Trump considers people of colour to be inferior to white people. Many years ago, he and his KKK-loving father refused to rent apartments to blacks and were twice sanctioned for it. He wanted the Central Park Five to be executed, even after they had been proved innocent. He claimed Barrack Obama was not born in the United States and a Muslim. (The evidence, like the proverbial cheque, was always imminent, but never actually produced). Black political candidates were unqualified, even if they went to Harvard or Yale. Black athletes who took the knee were sons of bitches. Black TV presenters were the dumbest men or women on television. And black politicians who criticised him were and are crazy, dangerous and enemies of America. All this we knew about. But this week, he went further. Four radical female newly-elected, Democrats in Congress, all non-white, were told they should go back where they came from, even though three of them were born in the US and the fourth has lived here since she was ten years old and naturalised at seventeen. That apparently was not racist because he was criticising their politics, their hatred of America, their criticism of the country that took them, or their parents, in. And so the GOP and Fox News backed him up because that is what they do. They failed to contradict the lies he was spewing about who the women were, what they wanted, and what they had said. But even the GOP struggled to watch a baying crowd chanting of Rep Ilhan Omar, born in Somalia, ‘send her back’, for fully thirteen seconds whilst Trump paused to emphasise the momentum of that chant. Because it was chilling. It was terrifying. It suggested to every immigrant, to every child of an immigrant, to everyone who was not white, that their place was not in America, whatever the colour of their passport and the wording on their birth or naturalisation certificate. It suggested that they had no right to criticise their country, whatever the First Amendment says. It suggested that if their politics differed from Trump’s, they might either find themselves chained to the armrest on a jet heading overseas or detained charged with treason. And to avoid that fate, they had to be supine. As servile turncoat Senator Lindsay Graham told reporters, it wasn’t that Omar was Somali because ‘I think a Somali refugee embracing Trump would not have been asked to go back’. So buy your MAGA hat, keep quiet and hope for the best. Or else.

You do not have to agree with the four women – The Squad – to deplore what is happening. Both Omar and Rashida Tlaib have made some deeply offensive  antisemitic comments. But you do not deport people for anti-Semitic statements, and certainly not in the name of the flag Trump is so keen to dry-hump at every opportunity. You do not question people’s citizenship and loyalties because their politics are different to your own. You either live in a democracy or you don’t. And a democracy does not threaten political opponents with deportation or suggest that the colour of their skin makes them lesser citizens. This time Trump backed down and sold his supporters down the river. But he will make it up to them. He  will say it again. Because he knows that stoking up their fears and their prejudices is the best way to retain the White House in 2020 – whatever the cost.  God Bless America – and God knows, it needs all the help it can get.

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We start our weekly consideration of curious clothing with pointless youth and professional son, Brooklyn Beckham, wearing Ralph Lauren.

What is Brooklyn Beckham actually for? Anyway here he is somewhere or other looking like a 1970’s history professor at a second-rate university. Hate the hair. Hate the splayed collar. Hate the tie. In short, just go away.

To Centre Court, Wimbledon, and Mirka Federer, wife of losing finalist, the wonderful Roger Federer, wearing Zimmerman.

During the match (which was totally tops), WTF received a communication from aficionado Katie from Golders Green, who was most unhappy with Mirka’s £750 frillfest, which, she said, seemed to have been stolen off a Victorian china doll. And she’s right. All Mirka needs is a bonnet.

Still in London, we are at the ITV Summer Party, graced by the presence of husband-and-wife combo and sometime X Factor Judges Robbie Williams and Ayda Field. She is wearing a dress by The Vampire’s Wife.

Robbie’s eyes are popping, as if something has been wedged up his rear end. WTF is more than happy with the diamanté butterfly brooches on his pinstripe suit, but not with the absence of something underneath the said suit, like a teeshirt. As for Ayda, whatever she is wearing, it looks very slithery and over-ruched, like something run up from granny’s old bedspread.

And now to the European premiere of The Lion King, where A listers and D listers mingled with the Duke and Duchess of Sussex. First we have British singer Raye,wearing Vivienne Westwood.

Dame Viv has good days and bad days. This is a bad day. Not only does the dress look like tinfoil, but it has very ridiculous crimped and crumpled tit covers, closely resembling the way you roast a chicken with a beer bottle in the cavity.

Next up, we have TV presenter, Maya Jama, wearing Rami Kadi.

It was all going so well from shoulder to waist until the explosion of frothiness reminiscent of waves on a heaving sea at sunrise. And there is the inevitable sight of arse cheek or what might be arse cheek. WTF will say it again – arse cheek should not be on show. Or make you think that it might be.

Then there was singer Pharrell Williams, wearing Chanel.

Lovely jacket. Silly shorts. And why is he wearing white socks? Bar mitzvah boy goes bonkers…..

And finally, superstar Beyoncé wearing Vietnamese designer Cong Tre.

Why is this even happening? She is stunning. She does not need to wrap herself up like a Ferrero Rocher with no knickers.

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado, Leslie (yes, him again) and from WTF aficionado WTF (yes, her again) and it can be taken very shortly. The Republican Party. See above. Enablers. Cowardly, disgusting fuckers. The GOP deserves every iota of contempt. It’s Got to Go. And hopefully it will go and very soon.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, as they have been sparse of late and you know how WTF frets when she is denied sight of signs of life out there. 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,

Usually the annual WTF Summer Stinker Poll is a politics free zone, but it would be impossible to publish anything this Friday without mentioning one of the most ridiculous weeks in British history. We all knew it was coming, but it is better to travel hopefully than to arrive. And this is what we arrived at.

Be still my beating heart. On Tuesday, we learned that this absolute buffoon, this charlatan, this barefaced liar, this adulterous, love-child-spawning, chancer,would shortly be ensconced in 10 Downing Street and poised to lead us to, and then over, the Brexit precipice. And like some two-bit southern Baptist preacher, he will get us there with optimism! And with enthusiasm! Believe and We Will Leave! Click your heels together three times and say ‘There’s no place like home’ and you’ll be there. Only in this case, home is shit creek with a serious paddle shortage.

On Wednesday, Donald Trump, another charlatan, pathological liar and adulterer, praised Johnson and boasted that people were saying (Trump-speak for he just made it up) that he was ‘the Britain Trump’. He is, but only in the ‘buy one, get one free’, sort of way. After a waffling speech better suited to Sports Day at St Trinian’s outside his new residence and before the world’s press, Johnson then assembled the most dismal Cabinet in living memory, a Hammer House of Horror of right-wing fervour, mediocrity, ignorance, mendacity, and sheer incompetence. Say hallo to dim-as-a-dead-lightbulb Priti Patel and to pipsqueak Gavin Williamson, sacked by Mrs Maybe for lying and leaking respectively. Blow a kiss to Esther McVey, who lied blatantly to the House of Commons. Wave to Dominic Raab, the former Brexit Secretary (for about twenty minutes), who never bothered to read the Good Friday agreement, but still felt free to opine on the vexed issue of the Irish border, and who admitted that he had only recently realised the importance of the English Channel. Doff your cap to Jacob Rees-Mogg, the Catsmeat Potter-Purbright of Westminster, who is the new Leader of the House of Commons and who is allowed to attend Cabinet by special Old Etonian dispensation. He talks in Latin and so people think he is ever-so-intellectual. And this dismal collection of numpties, nobodies, and ne’er-do-wells constitute the new Government. Our new Government. Kill me now.

On Thursday, as if signalling His displeasure with what was occurring in Britain, the Almighty (not Trump, Him Upstairs), sent us the hottest July day since records began and our already-suffering citizens sweltered and sweated while train lines melted, tarmac cracked and tempers flared, followed by thunder, lightning, flooding and all sorts. The frogs and locust are probably on their way. Get ready, Britain, for a roller-coaster ride – with no safety certificate.

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And so the main business – the Summer Stinker Poll!!!!!! All you have to do is to vote for the ghastly fashion disasters below, all of them vying for the coveted title of the WTF Summer Stinker 2019. None of that Single Transferable Vote nonsense here – just vote as often as you like, and for as many as you like, and tell all your friends and neighbours to do the same. Are you ready? Here they are, in first name alphabetical order, denoting no preference whatsoever on the part of WTF, the compiler of this shower of sartorial shite.

1. B Simone, rapper.

B pitched up at the BET Awards in a sheer condom with frilled boobage, an encrusted minge, and what looks suspiciously like a folded antimacassar around her neck.

2. Billy Porter, entertainer.

Frankly, anything that Billy has worn on the Red Carpet recently would have been eligible for nomination, but this suit from the Critics’ Choice Awards gets the nod because it is wrinkled like a sharpei’s bum and has a bow large enough to wrap around Broadway – twice.

3. Celine Dion, singer.

The last time WTF saw that many bones, they were in an ossuary. Extra minus points for the ridiculous shoulders, sunglasses worn in the dark, and the black leather cap like a pervy private.

4. Charly Arnolt, actress and WWE announcer.

Not so much a woman, more a fluorescent tangerine with globular tits. Just. Very. Bad.

5. Cynthia Erivo, actress.

Like an exploded candy-floss maker. The good news is that she is wearing panties. The bad news is that you can see them.

6. Gillian McKeith, TV nutritionist (right). Her daughter (left) is not a candidate.

Will this be third time lucky for Gillian?  She has been robbed of the award twice running. A polo-neck body, a fishing net in lieu of a skirt, a pair of foul velvet bootees, a cape made from an old curtain, and a toy crown do not an outfit make. Except for her.

7. Halsey, singer.

Halsey looks like an anaemic frog in a bikini. Great hair, though.

8. Kim Kardashian West, pointless celebrity.

Ouch! It is one thing to have straps over your nipples. It is quite another to have them so tight that there is spilth above and below, leaving Kim with imprimatur for days afterwards.

9.Lewis Hamilton, racing driver.

A distinguished former winner, Lewis is the ultimate fashion victim. Dressed like this, he should consider making an application to the Criminal Injuries Compensation Board.

10. Lil Kim, rapper.

As WTF remarked at the time, if a scaly anteater went to a fancy dress party as Lil’ Kim, this is what it would look like. The Chanel handbag resembles a wrecking ball and is stupid.

11. Linda Cardellini, actress.

A raspberry muppet with a mullet. And a bow, just in case there was the smallest danger of someone thinking that Linda was underdressed.

12. Lyali Hakaraia, designer and stylist (!)

He is wearing a prick-skimmer as a skirt, which is horrific enough, but more offensive still is the abundant man-cleavage. Button that coat, sir!!!! And then go away.

13. Nana Ghana, actress.

Nana is wrapped up like a birthday present, the fabric is cutting into her right boob, and she is wearing her bedroom mules. None of this makes any sense.

14. Nick Cannon, entertainer and TV host.

This is preposterous. Why is Louis Vuitton making bullet proof vests with matching gas mask and deck shoes? On what occasion would you wear them, other than during a civil war in Monte Carlo?

15. Olivia Munn, actress.

The material looks like the scum floating on top of polluted water and she appears to be micturating, courtesy of the minge waterfall.

16. Odell Beckham Jr, American footballer.

Odell is dressed as a Prada postman complete with sewn-in mailbag.

17. Patrick Starr, makeup artist.

Patrick! Bless him! He should be on top of a Christmas tree.

18. Perez Hilton, personality and celebrity blogger.

Look Readers, this man publishes a blog featuring the week’s worst dressed celebrities. As Jesus was wont to remark, Physician, heal thyself.

19. Poppy, singer.

This seems to be a Hell’s Angel’s nightgown with a tit-frill and spiked collar, while Poppy’s head appears to have been photoshopped onto it.

20. Post Malone, rapper.

WTF hates a tattooed face almost above all things, and she is also resoundingly unimpressed by the preponderance of baby pink studded leather WITH MATCHING BOOTS. Even more unpleasant is the fit of the trousers with built-in crotch-snuggle.

21. Shawn Everett, sound technician.

Shawn is another distinguished former winner of this competition, and now seems he is making a bid for a double crown (a feat previously achieved only by Bobby Norris in his assorted cock socks), dressed as an extra from Game of Thrones.

22. Tiffany Young, actress.

This is part pantomime boy, part Minge Moment and the voile boots are very, very, silly.

OK Readers, now it’s your turn. WTF has made the selection. Now you get to select from that selection. You can vote as many times as you like, and as often as you like, and the polling form allows you to leave unpleasant comments to go with your votes – or you can comment in the usual manner below. The results will be published next Friday. See you then. Be good.

Hallo Readers,

The Britain Trump completed the first full week of his hopefully short-lived tenure as Prime Minister and in truth, it did not go that well. In England, the East Midlands and the North West are under water, following torrential rain, as if heralding what was to come in the early hours of Friday morning,

 namely the people of Brecon and Radnorshire in Wales telling him where to stick his party, his candidate and his plan for a no-deal Brexit. In truth, it may have had quite a bit to do with fact that the former Tory MP, Chris Davies, had pleaded guilty of fiddling his Parliamentary expenses, prompting his constituents to get up a petition and recall him. This necessitated a by-election and the Conservatives selected……former Tory MP Chris Davies. Good call, chaps.  The voters did not accord a welcome in the hillsides to Davies, and little wonder. If you send back a steak in a restaurant because it is rancid, you do not serve the same steak second time round. As a result, they voted for the Liberal Democrat candidate Jane Dodds, who won by 1,425. She, had done a deal with both the Greens and Plaid Cymru, overturning Davies’ 8,000 majority. It also did not help Johnson that the Brexit Party split the Brexit vote. Be that as it may, his Parliamentary majority is down to 1, and this from an area that voted to leave in 2016. That was probably because they were promised a very favourable deal by….oh yes. Boris Johnson. And his majority could go down to zero shortly, because another Tory MP is thinking of defecting to the Liberal Democrats.

The new PM did a grand tour of the Union this week, albeit  that he, as Leader of the Conservative and Unionist Party, is about to preside over the demise of the Conservatives AND the Union, all in the name of a Brexit he does not really believe in. The EU had already told him where to shove his plan for a renegotiated Brexit. In Scotland, Ruth Davidson, leader of the Scottish Conservatives, told him to where to shove his plan for a no-deal Brexit, and he had to sneak out through Nicola Sturgeon’s back door, having been booed by unfriendly Scots at the front door. In Wales, the Welsh Government told him where to shove his plan for a no-deal Brexit. Johnson left one hundred well wishers standing about in the rain (it rains a lot in  Wales, that is why those valleys are so bloody green) and did not speak to them or the public, although he did cuddle a Welsh chicken, pissing off the press who were huddled into a shed like battery-hens, unlike the fine specimens on show. In Northern Ireland, he played political footsie with the Democratic Unionist Party, whose allegiance had been purchased by Theresa May for a billion quid, but was told where to shove his ‘no-backstop, no-EU negotiations’, demand by both the leader of Sinn Fein and by the Irish Taoiseach, Leo Varadkar. 

Johnson and the First Girlfriend, Carrie Symonds, have commandeered the bigger flat at 11 Downing Street, which has four bedrooms, leaving the nominal occupant of that building, Chancellor Sajid Javid, crammed into the smaller two bedroomed flat at 10 Downing Street – despite the fact that Johnson and Symonds have no children, whereas the Saj and his wife have four. Maybe Johnson needs the space for when his kids by his former wife come to stay, not to mention the love child, and any other ones he may have, but whose existence he refuses to confirm or deny.  Be that as it may, the happy young couple should not rush to pick out new wallpaper and drapery just yet- they may not be there very long.

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We start our review of the sartorial silliness of the last seven days with actor and talk-show host James Corden, out and about wearing Gucci.

Just recently, James has gone mega-poncey in Gucci. Readers may remember his appearance at the Tony Awards in a floral Gucci suit and now he is parading about in a £1,600 striped cardigan looking like a nautical deckchair. By the way, WTF would wager a tenner that James could have bought something similar in H&M for £16.

To the London premiere of Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon A Time in Hollywood  Once Upon A Time in Hollywood where we find actress Lena Dunham wearing Arlington 16.

It is of course always possible that Lena was wearing this for a bet. Because the other possibility is that someone actually told her that she looked good dressed as a Mae West tribute act.

And here we are at the US premiere of the same movie with actor Eli Roth.

Here are three unpleasant items of clothing, made all the more unpleasant by their being worn together. John Travolta would have turned down this outfit for Saturday Night Fever and he was not even a star then.

Here is singer and presenter Kristen Chenoweth wearing something absolutely vile.

Aqua Barbie is alive and well and sporting silver bootees.

Peaky Blinders starts a new series shortly and this is Charlene McKenna at the launch party, wearing Manley Studio.

These are another three revolting individual items of clothing, but the worst is the jacket with its pussy peephole and built-in valance. What possessed her to wear this? She could call upon the nearest exorcist – stat.

Here is actor Michael B. Jordan looking like a right prat.

What fresh hell is this? From the chest down, he looks great. From chest to neck he looks ridiculous. No one, and that is no one, can wear a boat neck sweater over a white shirt. 

And now another trio of terribleness, beginning with actress Jackie Cruz  at the premiere of the final series of Orange Is The new Black, wearing LouLou.

What on earth is going on here? She is like a cappuccino in panties.

Next to Comic-Con and actress Ajiona Alexus in Dany Mizrachi.

Ajiona, who is a young Janet Jackson lookalikey, is dressed as the lovechild of a funky chicken and a swimsuit model and the effect is not pretty. The netting on the bodice is the wrong shade for her skintone and looks like a tan-line.

And the last of the trio, octogenarian Joan Collins.   wearing something whose designer has rightly gone to ground. Scroll down slowly…..

The top is pretty, which is more than can be said for the mullet wig, but that is a full-on minge moment. The encrustations are not up to the job, making her appear to have had a particularly savage waxing. They clearly ran out of wax lower down as the feathers are distinctly patchy.

And finally – the moment you have been waiting for. The winner of the WTF Summer Stinker Poll 2019 is……drumroll! ‘Stylist’  Lyali Hakaraia.

Lyali had a ferocious four-way fight with Perez Hilton, Lewis Hamilton and Gillian McKeith and edged victory by half a percentage point. Yikes! But you will agree that he is worthy winner.

This week’s It’s Got To Go is again from WTF aficionado Leslie from Lisson Grove but wow, what a corker. This might be one of the most revolting things WTF has ever seen, and she has seen a few.  Trust me on this. Are you ready? You won’t be. Here are the Cantaloupe Panties. Easy now.

Leslie says ‘in all fairness Nick Jones really should have the kudos for this humdinger….. Scientists have devoted their lives to creating an internet which shares wisdom, intelligence, information, and generally makes the world a better informed place —— however, occasionally something like this peeps through. I doubt if this will pass your “Hayes” test but honestly, if (in my grindr days) I met someone wearing these babies, I’d head for the hills.’ Agreed. I feel ill. It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Put a smile on WTF’s face by keeping those comments rolling in, as well as your splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. WTF is having a break and will be back on 31 August. Be good x