Well, thank goodness that we got the Margaret Thatcher funeral out of the way. The whole thing was getting on WTF’s nerves. The Daily Mail was on a search and destroy mission to root out anyone who spoke ill of the dear departed Leader, school teachers, police officers, Lefties, anyone and to get them sacked. Senator McCarthy would be drooling. There was a ridiculous furore about whether to play all 5o seconds of Ding Dong the Witch is Dead, and if so, how much of it to play, and some patronising arsehole who is the Controller of Radio 1 appearing on all channels simultaneously to explain the BBC’s position which involved more back flips than a Fosbury flop. Thatcherites countered with I’m in love with Margaret Thatcher and were too stupid to realise that it was in fact a fuck-you aimed at her. There was convicted perjurer and swinger Tommy Sheridan, formerly a member of the Scottish Parliament, balanced precariously on the moral high ground. There was even a revival of football hooliganism with Millwall “fans” fighting each other like feral ferrets in a sack and Newcastle supporters running riot with one of their number actually punching a police horse. (The horse is called Bud and he is doing fine).
And there was The Funeral for an embittered, lonely, confused old lady, only on a very substantial scale and paid for out of the public purse. Of course it was done perfectly because we Brits know how do ceremonial, but it should not have been done at all, all that cost and expense and deployment of police and soldiers and gun carriages or for any politician, let alone one as divisive and destructive as this one. (Churchill was an exception because he was a War Leader). To the disappointment of the Mail, no one was arrested, no one rioted, no one punched a police horse and Al Qaeda and the IRA stayed at home. St Paul’s was crammed to the gills with grey-haired men like a PolitBuro reunion, men you’d forgotten you’d forgotten and then wished you had never remembered, Douglas Hurd and Kenneth Baker and Norman Tebbit and Geoffrey Howe and Peter Carrington, those luminaries of 1980’s politics who helped Lady T make Britain great again at the expense of miners and steel workers and dockers and unions and anyone trying to pay their mortgage or to keep their business going or to teach kids that they could be gay and not rot in hell. And then there was Tony Blair and Cherie Blair and Gordon Brown and Sarah Brown and Fergie, Duchess of York dressed for some reason as Mary Poppins (as @gazaboatconvoy wisely observed, the Weight Watchers contract seems to have come to an end). And there was Call Me Dave and his fragrant wife Samantha, both behaving as if at some country wedding with their air-kissing and smirking, George Osborne wiping away a tear, Ed Milliband and Nick Clegg and their wives and a raft of interchangeable, unrecognisable, uninspiring nobodies who are tasked with bringing us to the Promised Land. As for the mourners, WTF has no time for either arms-dealer failed coup-instigator Sir Mark Thatcher or his sister Carol, sporting her ski instructor boyfriend and a fascinator (see below) over unbrushed hair, but she did admire the dignity and elegance of Sir Mark’s daughter Amanda. Watch out for Amanda as the new Pippa Middleton. When Her Majesty and Prince Philip (both impeccably attired and emanating a gravitas that was sadly lacking in the rest of the congregation) looked around them, they must have wondered what they had done to deserve it. As did we all…..
On the subject of fascinators, they are always ghastly but to wear one at a funeral is simply not on. There were some shockers on display, notably on Carol Thatcher and singer Katherine Jenkins, whose giant feathery fascinator rose high into the air and was a hazard to health and safety. Either go the whole way and wear a hat or just don’t bother. Oh, and memo to Katherine. Put your cleavage away, love. It’s a funeral.
Here are more people who have no idea how stupid they look, starting with Jesy Nelson from Little Mix.
Last week we had Jesy’s band mate Leigh-Anne Pinnock, in suspender- trousers. Now we have Jesy with more makeup than Joan Collins, carrying a leopard skin bag and wearing a technicolor cagoule, fishnets, leg-warmers last seen on Jane Fonda in 1983, hobnail boots, no skirt to speak of and a cartoon-character hat. WTF can only conclude that Jesy was in costume to sing the Munchkin chorus for Ding Dong the Witch is Dead, but however you look at it, this is a horrible disaster.
Next we have Jennifer Hudson in Emmanuel Ungaro.
Yes, you read that right. This is designer and probably costs more than a house. Why Jennifer decided to put on a leopard-skin shirt with plentiful exposure of her black bra, too-short polka dot skirt and shoes so high that she has to lean forward in an attempt to remain upright, WTF cannot say. Bad. Very bad.
Here is model, DJ and Chanel muse, Leigh Lazark.
No one could deny that Leigh has a fantastic body but even she cannot carry off this preposterous ensemble, part Freddie Mercury, part Springtime for Hitler, part Pearly Queen. Meanwhile it must be said that Leigh has not skimped on the accessories. Those pearls, gold and silver chains must weigh about 10 times more than she does.
This is actor Will Ferrell.
WTF is just hoping that this is post-modern ironic. If it is not, then someone needs to dial the emergency services and get the men in white coats round to chez Ferrell. Stat.
WTF i$ not picking on Ke$ha. Ke$ha is picking on herself. The gho$tly pallor, the $carecrow hair, the $tupid hat, the vile $ee-through, too-long trouser$ WITH DARK PANTIE$ and whatever that fringed jerkin is $uppo$ed to be, the whole thing just $cream$ for the men in white coat$, who are having to work overtime, to invite Ke$ha to put her arm$ through that back-to-front jacket with the long tie$. $hocking.
Next, we have mega-Bimbo, WAG, sometime “actress” and aspiring TV “personality”, Helen Flanagan.
Readers may recall that last time Helen featured in these pages, she was assuring us that she was doing ”A” levels in History, Religious Studies and Philosophy. Since then we have heard no more about her studies although it would be hard for her to find the time, what with her relentless pursuit of fame and her parading around with her tits out. Here she is looking slaggy and showing much leg and sideboob. WTF is also fascinated by Helen’s appallingly inept fake tan, leaving her ankles as white as if she were wearing socks.
More sideboob, this time from the usually classy Rebecca Hall wearing Lanvin at the London premiere of Iron Man 3.
From the front, it is acceptable, although WTF has serious doubts about the fit and length of the trousers. The side view, however, is another thing altogether.
Could everyone just stop this? Please? Enough already with the sideboob…..
And, alas, we come to Kylie Minogue wearing Paco Rabanne.
Let us pass over the fact that Kylie’s face is suspiciously smooth like a billiard ball and talk about the vile chain mail dress which emphasises her nipples like wheel nuts on a large truck. Let us also wonder at the fact that Kylie’s belly button is not where one would normally expect to see it, not that one wants to see it at all. Presumably it has shifted to its present position because of her pose, hips thrust both outwards and sideways like a metal fence twisted by a hurricane. Kylie – we expected better.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Last week your comments were just wonderful, ranging from Thatcherism to Aintree to vaginal rejuvenating cream and nipple lighteners and it was a joy to read them all. Keep it up and we shall meet again next week.