Hallo Readers,

Last week on the TV show Masterchef, a contestant made a yummy-looking desert which he served topped with an Earl Grey foam. Twitter erupted asking what the buggery bollocks was an Earl Grey Foam? It was a good question and here is another one. Why would anyone want to eat it? It looks like cuckoo spit, the substance secreted by froghoppers. Chefs should be removing it with a skimmer, not sticking it on your plate.

WTF loves food but it has all become awfully pretentious. England used to be a culinary wasteland, all roasts and starch and tarts (the edible ones) enlivened by the local Indian and Chinese restaurants. Then Antony Worrall-Thompson opened his restaurant Ménage à Trois in 1981, serving only starters and puddings. Thereafter, everything had a fancy name, a symphony, a melody, a harmony, the meat or fish half raw in tiny portions and garnished with things you had never thought about, let alone tasted, and dressed with an aardvark coulis, a drizzle of raspberry vinegar or a jus of sun-dried tomato. At one point it was quite impossible to escape the obligatory slice of kiwi fruit that accompanied everything from a salmon fillet to a piece of Stilton and then there was a rash of pink peppercorns.  Now anything served to you comes with a smear of something across the bottom of the plate so that you are unsure whether to eat it, drink it or worry that someone has thrown up on it. Waiters no longer bring you your food. Instead, they glide to your table holding the dish aloft like a religious relic before telling you in hushed and reverential tones that you are about to consume a pan-fried breast of pheasant with a bacon, egg and sausage emulsion served with vanilla cooked squid on potato earth with a Marmite foam and chargrilled dill fronds. It is preposterous. Pan-fried? What else do you use to fry something?  Even the sandwiches on Virgin Trains offer you a farm fresh egg folded into a tarragon mayonnaise.

Mozart composed dazzling and complex music but it was beyond some. On hearing his opera The Escape from the Seraglio, Emperor Franz Josef remarked to him “My dear Mozart, it is too exquisite for our ears; there are far too many notes in it.” Those Masterchefs can cook up a storm but they should heed the words of His Majesty….

 Let us turn to the sartorial horrors of the week, starting at the Australian Aria Awards 2013. This is the winner of Australian X Factor 2012 Samantha Jade wearing fellow Australian designer, Steven Khalil.

The only good thing about this is the weather. The tutu-with-tits is a shocker and if you must have a flesh-coloured illusion panel (and why must you?) the said panel needs to be the same colour as your flesh whereas Samantha’s legs are the colour of old tea. Who on earth was responsible for this tanning disaster? She looks as if she has been tie-dyed and her legs (well, the brown bits) are about 16 times darker than the rest of her. In the words of Lord Cardigan describing the Charge of the Light Brigade, “Someone has blundered”.

Here is former supermodel Linda Evangelista wearing Dolce & Gabbana.

Linda! No! This is a woman who famously said that “we don’t wake up for  less than $10,000″ and that was over 25 years ago when $10,000 was a very sizeable sum indeed. On this showing, WTF would pay her that to stay in bed. The 1950s housewife hair. The dress. The tights. And for that matter,  the face smooth as a billiard ball …..

Now this is very sad indeed. WTF presents Juliette Binoche at the Marrakech Film Festival wearing Carven.

WTF does not read Arabic and cannot but wonder whether the sign behind Juliette says “What the fuck is she wearing?” Which is a good question because what the fuck is she wearing? It resembles a pink  Femidom (© WTF aficionado @PME2013) with ridges for added pleasure (© another WTF aficionado @creativeblock. They’re both very dirty minded boys). It is time for the luminous Juliette to give her stylist a slap, a P45 and another slap.

We pause for a new feature “It’s Got to Go” in which Readers nominate something that has been getting on their nerves. Keep those suggestions coming in. This week we fall upon the suggestion of @yvonneridley and pronounce upon leggings.

Here’s the thing about leggings. When Jane Fonda was poncing about in the 80’s urging us to “go for the burn” leggings stopped being something you wore to the gym and started being trousers. But leggings are not trousers. For a start, they are a oasis for cameltoe. They make thighs look like sausages rammed into a piggy casing. They are rarely opaque enough to prevent that ghastly flash of arse crack. In short, they are an abomination. Got to Go!

To Milan and the Michael Kors cocktail party featuring fashionista Anna dello Russo wearing one of the host’s creations.

The sandals are jolly but dress is basically a cascade of custard with a black top and there is too much orange kninckled leg blending into the lining.  As for the dunce’s hat with a pompom…There are no words.

To the British Fashion Awards 2013 held at the London Coliseum where a lot of tall thin women looked like a sack of shit. Frankly, looking at some of the clothes on display, a few of the designers should have been thrown to the lions, starting with Antonio Berardi (born in Grantham, the birthplace of Mrs Thatcher) who put the lovely Rosie Huntingdon-Whitely into this abomination.

She appears to be wearing waders. And she has forgotten her vest.

Now a duo of duds from Marios Schwab starting with model Amber Le Bon.

This is bad. B.A.D. Like a couple of crumpled hankies which are not up to the job. The eyebrows are very Groucho Marx. And not in a good way.

We had Jodie Kidd in a few weeks ago in a psychedelic dress which prompted Readers to complain of nausea and brain damage. This is vomit inducing but in a different way.

Rapunzel let down your golden hair….oh – you already have…

Next we have aristocratic beanpole Stella Tennant wearing Alexander McQueen.

It appears to be a sort of trompe l’oeil with a skirt thingy and a black bra and midriff and gladiator sandals. WTF has said it before. There is edgy. And there is daft.  This is daft. End of…

And finally we have L’Wren Scott wearing her own creation.

And here’s the back.

As you may have gathered, L’Wren (née Laura) is very tall and very thin, having been a catwalk model before turning to designing and Mick Jagger. But even she cannot pull off this terrible blend of Picador and Widow Twankey with the bedroom curtains thrown in for good measure.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. There was a paucity of comments last week although some good It’s Got to Go suggestions so get busy with the comment button and we shall meet again next Friday. Be good x.