Hallo Readers,

This has been a remarkable few weeks. Jimmy Savile, top DJ and television personality for about 40 years, died last year and was eulogised by one and all. He was lauded as a devout Catholic and a tireless worker for charities, raising millions of pounds. Beatification looked nailed on. Now, shockingly, it appears that he was an appalling serial paedophile with keys to children’s wards in the very hospitals and institutions for which he was raising funds. He preyed on the most vulnerable whose cause he claimed to champion.   It is now said that the BBC knew all about his proclivities, or at least turned a blind eye to them, and that many of his colleagues either joined in, stayed silent or actively assisted in a cover up.  Then it emerged that Newnight had an exposé of Savile all ready to roll last November until the story got dropped for no clear reason. Meanwhile,  a fawning hagiography of the vile old pervert went ahead as part of the BBC’s Christmas schedules. It was left to ITV to broadcast its own investigation into Savile about a month ago. Now there is nothing the media loves more than a story about the media and there is absolutely nothing whatsoever that the BBC loves more than a story about the BBC. WTF went to university with a few types who ended up at the BBC. They mostly exhibit a degree of smug self-satisfactiont hat makes David Cameron look like Job.   When a BBC type finds out that you don’t work for the BBC they look at you with the sort of pity accorded to abandoned puppies on those RSPCA Christmas Ads. So stories on the BBC about the BBC screwing up just run and run. There was the Andrew Gilligan scoop about the sexed up dossier that persuaded many people that we should invade Iraq. There was the Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand saga, two men who are about as funny as shingles, suspended for crude on-air insults of elderly Andrew Sachs, Manuel off Fawlty Towers.  There was John Sargent, the BBC’s portly, fish-faced but charming former political editor, not being voted off Strictly Come Dancing even though he had more left feet than a centipede.  (Debate raged whether he should step down and allow some orange soapstar a chance to win the coveted prize instead and honestly, that one went on for bloody weeks). And now Savile. Who said what? Who stopped whom? What did the Director-General know and when did he know it? Last Monday at 10 30 pm we had a Panorama Special on BBC1 investigating Newsnight. Simultaneously Newsnight on BBC2 had a story about the Panorama Special investigating Newsnight. No doubt BBC3 will soon produce a Panorama Extra-Special Special investigating Newsnight’s programme about the Panorama Special investigating Newsnight. It’s like those Russian dolls opening endlessly into one another…..

Let us turn to happier matters with our Z Lister of the week, and not just any old Z Lister but the doyenne of the species. I refer to glamour model, reality star, horsewoman, author and (devoted) mother of three Katie Price, aka Jordan, who turned up at the premiere of the new Bond movie, Skyfall, dressed like this. Well, I say dressed…..

A naturally pretty woman, Katie has spent her career destroying her looks in the name of profit. Here we have the quintessence of modern British pulchritude; the fake hair, the Scouse brow, the trout pout (put her on a plate with a few toasted almonds and a sprig of dill and you would not knw the difference), the gigantic fake tits, now in their fourth or fifth reincarnation, the obligatory tattooed thigh and a great deal of exposed skin the colour of  Chateau de Fanta 2012. Katie is not known for class and this hideous outfit, part cigarette girl, part Madrid Red Light district, part St Trinians, is doing nothing to break the pattern. But then Katie has not spent much time worrying about what people think. She has had a series of disastrous relationships, including a romance with lothario footballer Dwight Yorke, by whom she had a son, marriage to sweet-but-thick Peter Andre by whom she had two more children, a brief rebound marriage to cross-dressing cagefighter Alex Reid (yes, him again) and an engagement to Argentian male model Leandro Penna. This last liaison was somewhat hampered by the fact that he didn’t speak English and she didn’t speak Spanish. WTF doubts whether either of them learned to say more than “It’s my turn in front of the mirror” and “ooooh…aaaah…that’s nice”.  The day after the premiere, Katie announced that she and Leandro had broken up and the war of words has already started in the press  with Leandro saying that he dumped her and calling her crazy and Katie saying Leandro is (TAKE IN USUAL COPY)  and their respective bank managers rubbing their hands and purring with undisguised glee. They say that Katie never got over Peter but you have wonder whether she has got over Alex. After all they both have alter egos. Katie’s is Jordan and Alex’s is Roxanne. I mean, look – they even dress alike.

How can you love a man with lipstick on his teeth? So to sum up – we have Katie aka Jordan dressing like a cross-dresser and Alex aka Roxanne dressing like Katie aka Jordan dressing like a cross dresser. It’s like Newsnight and Panorama all over again.

With great sadness we must move onto Julianne Moore.

This hurts. Badly. WTF loves Julianne but she looks terrible in this dress. WTF’s hatred of the see-through skirt is well documented but this outfit just does nothing to enhance either her figure or her (lovely) face. The overwhelming impression is of an extra from Zorba the Greek in a dinner lady’s tabard and kinky sandals. Sack the stylist – now!

This is Nicollette Sheridan formerly off Desperate Housewives. Apparently they wrote her out because the producers found her such a pain. Or maybe it was her dress sense…

WTF presumes that on receiving a last minute  invitation to the Children’s Diabetes Foundation, Nicollette phoned up an old mobster of her acquaintance and asked to borrow his silk dinner suit. She then converted the trousers into a long skirt and slashed it to the thigh. Equally, it is possible that this was meant to be an unslashed skirt but she stepped on it with her stiletto and ripped it to the thigh. Either way, there is too much thigh and too much jacket. The sleeves look long enough for an above-average orang-utang.

Now we have one of the most frightful women ever to feature in these posts, event producer Susanne Bartsch at the launch for Martin Margiela for H&M.

Actually, make that Susanne Barf and S&M. Admit it – you just want to stick her up against that wall and throw things at her. After all, the glittery X marks the spot. If Herman Munster turned into a cross dresser and went commando this is what s/he would look like. Come to think of it, Ms Barf looks a bit like Roxanne, Alex Reid’s alter ego.  Maybe she and Alex could get together now that he is back on the market.

For this week’s Emperor’s New Clothes we have two shockers. First up, Mena Suvari who was also at the Martin Margiela for H&M Party wearing, er, Martin Margiela for H&M. You would have to pay WTF a hell of a lot of money to go out in public wearing this.

You have got to be kidding me. It’s like sunglasses for your tits. The skirt is fine, the shoes are boring, and WTF is that bag? I suppose that it could always double as a mirror. Although you would have to avoid from the neck down. Roxanne would like to wear  this….. head to H&M Alex!

Next, what must be one of the contenders for Turkey of the Year. Here is Naomie Harris, star of Skyfall, in Marios Schwab.

In this age of the Equality Act can you still be referred to as a Bond Girl? Do you have to be a Bond Person? Be that howsoever it may be, nothing can excuse this excrescence. Naomie is a very beautiful girl, but this is just terribly, terribly terrible. Older readers may recall a piece of 50’s movie nonsense called Trapeze starring Burt Lancaster, Tony Curtis and Gina Lollobrigida about…trapeze artists. Gina was Lola, and this was her costume…

Actually, Gina was wearing a lot more than Naomie and at least she had a sort of pelmet over the crotch. Naomie just has a bit of fringing. Not-so-super Marios has added a double layer of gauze just to fool you into thinking that this is a dress. But you know what – it isn’t. It just isn’t. There has to be something wrong with a dress which is smaller  than a circus costume. Just saying…..  

OK Readers, over to you. Hit the comment button….