Last Friday, the whole of BBC1 was devoted to Comic Relief Red Nose Day, in which so-called comedians and celebritees do silly things with the aim of inducing the Great British Public to open its wallet and give generously to help kiddies at home and abroad. The slogan is “do something funny for money” but this lot do something unfunny for money as you will see when you click on the link to see the “highlights”. Personally WTF finds Comic Relief about as funny as a barbed wire enema and she particularly hates the horrible smugness of nearly all those concerned in what is essentially an exercise in self-congratulation. Hence you have the ghastly Simon Cowell pretending to marry David Walliams with pretend wedding guests Amanda Holden and Dermot O’Leary and anyone else who takes the Cowell shilling. Oh how we didn’t laugh. And then punters forgive the tidal wave of shit that Simon inflicts upon them weekly and say “Oh yes, Simon, he’s a good bloke really… let’s waste 3 hours every weekend watching warbling wannabees murdering I Will Fix You”. Or there is priapic little Harry Styles, on a break from nobbing every female celebritee from here to Timbuctoo, cuddling a sick kiddie whilst exorting us to reach for our credit cards. So yes, it is great that they raised £75m but what does it say about us as a society that people will only give to charity if some third-rate comic flashes his arse or Jessie J has her head shaved? Did the great philanthropists of the past refuse to build a hospital or endow a school unless someone delivered a ballsachingly unfunny monologue? I think not. The only conceivable way that anyone should ever take part in this egothon is if they could just pay the participants to stop it and go away. WTF is reminded of the glorious Marx Bros Movie Animal Crackers and the following exchange between Capt Spaulding (Groucho) and Ravelli (Chico):
Ravelli: Oh, for playing we getta ten dollars an hour.
Spaulding: I see…What do you get for not playing?
Ravelli: Twelve dollars an hour.
Spaulding: Well, clip me off a piece of that.
Ravelli: Now, for rehearsing we make special rate. Thatsa fifteen dollars an hour.
Spaulding: That’s for rehearsing?
Ravelli: Thatsa for rehearsing.
Spaulding: And what do you get for not rehearsing?
Ravelli: You couldn’t afford it…Heh…you see, if we don’t rehearse, we don’t play…And, if we don’t play…That runs into money.
Readers of last week’s post would have paid a lot of money to stop both the Teletubbies theme tune (it gets into your head like a computer virus and then lingers, horribly) and the appalling Nadine Merabi in her minge dress. This week, we have the ghastly Madonna – how much would you pay for her to push off? Here she is at the GLAAD Awards dressed as a Boy Scout.
Now the official explanation for Madge’s get-up is because GLAAD is campaigning against the Boy Scouts’ ban on gay scoutleaders and participants but you just know that Madge’s favourite cause is the same one that it ever was, namely Madge. And, to the best of WTF’s knowledge boyscouts whether gay, straight or bisexual do not wear black fishnets or driving gloves. Not with their uniform, anyway.
Also attending the GLAAD Awards was Patrick McDonald, fashion consultant and self-proclaimed dandy.
Who consults Patrick and what do they consult him about? WTF cannot see that Patrick could offer any meaningful advice to anyone other than on what to wear at an Oscar-Wilde-on-Hard-Drugs party and she has taken particular exception to the bowler hat perched at a jaunty angle.
Say hallo to Hollyoaks actress Jazmine Franks in a most ridiculous ensemble at the Radio and Television Society Awards
WTF has never watched Hollyoaks (which is Brookside for the mentally challenged) and therefore has never seen Jazmine in action, but even the next Meryl Streep could not get away with this shiny and unflattering shorts suit exposing chunky fake-tanned legs and white feet. Not that even Miranda Kerr could wear this horror but it demands a flat stomach and thin thighs, neither of which Jazmine has. Worse still, those crisscrossed diamond thingies forming an arrow pointing at her the crotch are very disconcerting. Just. Very. Bad.
This is 18 year old TV reality “star” Courtney Stodden at a fashion show wearing, actually WTF has not got a clue what she is wearing but this is not her wedding dress because she is already married.
Courtney was only 16 when she married actor Doug Hutchison, then 51, provoking the sort of outcry which makes careers in 21st Century Celebritee La-La Land. Doug (who starred in The Green Mile, X-Files and Lost) had been married twice before whereas Courtney, apparently a devout Christian, was a virgin. WTF knows this because the blushing bride gave a stomach churning interview describing her wedding night and how she “was aroused for 24 hours straight”. Despite this auspicious start to married life they are going to marital counselling (broadcast on Couples Therapy on VH1) to resolve the problems caused by the age gap between them. Being a devout Christian has not stopped the third Mrs Hutchison from wearing her breasts at chin level and a tacky pube-skimming skirt. Meanwhile whoever spray-tanned Courtney’s spindly little arms and legs should offer an immediate refund because her limbs have more shades of brown than a Mark Rothco painting and her face is whiter than her gown.
Here is Hollywood actress Diane Kruger wearing Thakoon A/W 2013 at the L.A. première of her new movie The Host.
Here is the quintessence of everything WTF hates in a dress, insofar as this can be called a dress. Peek-a-boo. See-through. Side boob. No knickers. What’s to like? (Answer – the Jimmy Choo sandals which are foxy). The dress is basically a lace pinny with tit.
It is said that the only things in life which are certain are death and taxes, but there is something else so certain that you could put your house deeds on it. WTF refers to Readers’ favourite Nancy dell’Olio and the certainty that she will regularly pop up in public dressed like a trollope.
Nancy has a very high opinion of herself. Only this week she gave an interview to the Daily Telegraph in which she recounted how the producers of Strictly Come Dancing had told her “Your aura is palpable. Your absence makes itself felt almost as much as your presence – the public had become obsessed with you”. If the public was obsessed it was only because she danced with the grace of a gazelle with its feet tied together. Nancy also described Nigella Lawson as “entertaining but still too fat”. There is an art to seducing men, apparently, and Nancy has it whilst Nigella does not. Presumably, this art involves orange makeup applied in the dark with a trowel, a leather skirt split to the crotch and straining over Nancy’s stomach like a skirt suffering from acute constipation, a jacket trimmed with half a dead animal (and there seems to be more dead animal in her red LV bag), an incomprehensible pearl thing, patterned fishnets and tart’s trotters on which Nancy is wobbling like a weeble, positively bow-legged with the effort of trying to walk on ugly and ridiculous 6 inch Louboutin heels. There was a time when Louboutin was classy, but that is now a dim and distant memory. If only the same were true of Nancy. Oh by the way, Nigella has her own glittering career and has been happily married to a multi-millionaire for 10 years. Nancy is single. Just saying…
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Post your comments and be sure to come back next week. Be good x