Hallo readers,

It has been an exhilarating week with the Paralympics playing to packed houses in warm sunshine.  It all got even better on Monday night when the Chancellor of the Exchequer George Osborne was booed as he was about to present the medals in the Stadium. Given that this was the same George Osborne who recently announced that he intended to slash disability benefits, you would have thought that he would have hesitated before accepting this particular gig, or at least invented a last minute commitment to do some quantitative easing, rather than trying to bask in the kudos of a competition for the very people whose benefits he is slashing. I mean, would a fox get a big hello at a chicken convention? Would Mitt Romney turn up to catch the bouquet at a gay wedding? George affected a smirk amongst the cacophony of boos echoing around him,  but he looked pretty uncomfortable, and WTF suspects that whoever thought up this stunt for him will probably be out of a job come the weekend. As the Leader of the Opposition, Ed Milliband, remarked in the House of Commons, “The Paralympic crowd spoke for the nation”. WTF loved it but admits to some disappointment that the punters failed to follow through with a flurry of McFlurries (McDonalds supplies the foodstuffs for the Games and is a major sponsor). It would have been harder for George to have maintained that smirk with half a dozen soggy Smarties stuck to the shoulders of his £1,000 Saville Row suit, but such is the state of the economy that people probably could not afford to let their snacks go to waste, principle or no principle. Note to George. No-one likes you. People with disabilities really don’t like you. Stay inside the Treasury and try and work out how to get us out of recession, there’s a love.

Elsewhere, there was a cornucopia of sartorial horror at the Porchester Hall, London, home of the National Reality TV Awards. This is an entirely pointless event where orange talentless nonentities gather to be given prizes for being orange talentless nonentities by other orange talentless nonentities. Ten miles across London, disabled athletes who have pushed themselves to the edge of endurance were competing for their country, with men and women without limbs running races and playing basketball. Meanwhile, last week’s Z Lister, Danielle Lloyd, has given a tremulous interview to Closer magazine about coping with losing her breast implants. Those of you paying attention will recall that the implants had to be removed after a third augmentation went horribly wrong. Danielle is now forced to survive as a 32AA. Now that’s what WTF calls real bravery. Anyway, it was lucky there was a no smoking ban at the Porchester Hall because there was more plastic than at a Lego warehouse.

Which brings us to our Z Lister of the week, another Danielle, this time Danielle Mason. You might want to pop on your sunglasses at this point or adjust the brightness control on your screen. Or both.

Danielle is principally known as a glamour model, as a former prostitute (she confessed all on a Jeremy Kyle Show Celebrity Special) and as the half sister of Jessie Wallace (a.k.a Kat) off EastEnders. According to Danielle’s website, she too is an actress, but seems to have had only small parts in films that no-one has ever heard of, such as “Stagknight” and “I Want Candy”. When neither Pinewood, Hollywood nor Dollywood came calling, Danielle turned her talents to reality TV, including appearances on “My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding” with her fiancé, traveller and cage-fighter Tony Giles. To mark the birth of their son, he helped pay for a new pair of 34FF tits at a cost of £10,000. New mothers usually get an eternity ring or a necklace from the adoring fathers, but in the land of Celebritee it seems that a pair of fake tits is de rigeur. We can certainly get a good look at Danielle’s, and a lot more besides, in this horrific peek-a-boo sparklefest.  Mind you, if there is ever a national power failure, they could always use the dress as a lighthouse.

And now a sight as terrible as any sight in the history of sights. Here is Nancy Dell’Olio at the Royal Opera House in London for the GQ Awards looking….well, ghastly. Take a look.

Oh. My. Goodness. Me. WTF was not sure which is worse – the peek-a-boo breasts like spaniels’ ears or the dark orange face. She looks like a shabti from Tutankhamun’s tomb.

But then the spaniels’ ears or shabti debate was put beyond doubt by this photograph.

All together now, one, two three……

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!

If you have seen anything worse than this, then you are sad and sick and should be seeking immediate assistance from healthcare professionals. What on earth is this woman thinking? She is good looking with a nice figure but she keeps dressing like a strumpet. But that is the thing with celebrity. You keep having to up the ante or people lose interest in you. This is the second time in as many months that Nancy has flashed her side boobs. WTF just prays that it will stop very soon, because, truth be told, her nerves are just not up to any more of it.

And so to another edition of The Emperor’s New Clothes where we zip across the Atlantic and then back again. First then to the 9th Style Awards in New York and to Nicole Richie nearly wearing a dress designed by one of WTF’s bugbears, Anthony Vaccarello.

I have no doubt that many male readers will disagree with me, but despite Nicole’s shy knock-kneed pose, this is just trashy. Anthony is incapable of designing a dress that doesn’t bare acres of flesh, although at least onlookers are not put in immediate fear of an imminent minge moment which tends to be the case with his slashed-to-the-crotch creations. WTF is quite fascinated by Nicole’s hair which is reminiscent of the style favoured by Pebbles Flintstone.

We now travel from New York to the red carpet at the Venice Film Festival where deep hideousness was more abundant that canal water, starting with our second fashion victim Florence Welch wearing Miu Miu. If you are completely raving mad and want to wear this ensemble, you can buy the shirt for £475, the trousers for £635, the shoes for £595 and the bag for £815. Bargain.

 There is a matching jacket for these trousers (£1,190) but luckily visitors and Venetians on the Rialto were spared further retinal damage. Looking at Florence, you could be forgiven for thinking that she had just had a sudden growth spurt like a post-pubescent schoolboy, and although she is enviably slim and stunning, that shirt looks a tad tight for her. Since we are on the subject,  what is the relevance of the purple bag to the horrible dogshit-brown and white paisley shirt or the purple bag and/or the horrible dogshit-brown and white paisley shirt to the red and black fleur de lys trousers or the purple bag and/or the horrible dogshit-brown and white paisley shirt and/or the red and black fleur de lys trousers to the comedy Louis X1V shoes? Signorina Prada must be having a laugh. But WTF is not amused because if there is one thing worse than looking ridiculous, it is spending a fortune on looking ridiculous.

Still in Venice, here is model and actress Lily Cole looking frightful.

No really, WHAT ARE THOSE TROUSERS????  Just because she is in Venice does not mean she has to wear palazzo pants large enough to accommodate three Doges down each leg, and why are they so short? Meanwhile, a bird print is one thing, but wearing a whole aviary is quite another and the zoo theme seems to be continued with the zebra striping. Doubts must also be expressed about the bootees and the Eva Braun hair. A passing seagull crapping all over this outfit would certainly have spoken for the nation.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin. Once upon a time there was an beautiful Italian girl called Isabelle Adriani. Isabelle had a PhD in history and was fluent in four languages. She then became an actress and wrote fairytales for little boys and girls to enjoy, just like you children.  Then one day, Isabelle was invited to the first night of the Venice Film Festival. “I’ve been so busy writing fairytales that I just haven’t had time to buy a dress for the red carpet”, cried Isabelle. “Don’t worry  mia carina”, said Tinker Bell who had drunk rather too many fairy dust cocktails, “I will wave my magic wand and create a dress for you right this minute from those net curtains and I will sprinkle you with sparkles”. And so it was, children, that Isabelle went to the premiere….

Where to start?  Not only is it titsy, sparkly (with its own matching sparkly bag!) and frilly, it is also really horrible. The effect is like being smothered to death with buckets of candyfloss. Speaking of her tits, and how can you not, hers do not actually look like tits. Rather they resemble a couple of sun-tanned footballs. Can we please just settle this matter once and for all? Breasts are not circular and they are not meant to nestle under the clavicles. You would think that designers, lingerie manufacturers and plastic surgeons would know this stuff, but for some reason, they all had a note from their mothers and were not in school on the day that “tits, their size and shape”, came up in Biology.