Last week, WTF featured Premier League Chief Richard Scudamore in It’s Got To Go but the story still has legs. To recap, Scudamore’s temporary PA had shopped him to the press by disclosing a series of emails between him and his solicitor friend Nick West in which they indulged in chap-like banter, referring to women as “gash” and other uproarious stuff about playing golf with women who really wanted to sit on their shafts and how females were irrational. Oh how we laughed.
When he knew that the story was about to break, Scudamore emailed all the Premier League clubs inviting them to judge the content of his communications for themselves – as if there was some ambiguity, some subtle message hidden in those words that only intelligent football men could discern and which was beyond the rest of us. Once the ordure had collided with the air-conditioning, Scudamore and his band of cheerleaders maintained that these were private communications which had never been intended to see the light of day although those comments gave the lie to his public stance as a man “on the cutting edge of the equality agenda”. Then came an almost sort of apology born of the fact that he knew that the Premier League was never going to discipline or dismiss him and his £1.9m salary was all tucked up and safely stowed but he needed to shut everyone up. Of course, he was right. Nothing happened and he remains in post, supported by those like Jeremy Clarkson who hanker after the halcyon days when homosexuals, women, non-Christians and dark-coloured persons could be roundly abused in the name of humour, before political correctness went mad and people started getting arsey about their being insulted on the grounds that they were seen as lesser mortals and fair game.
For all the Scudamores and the it’s-political-correctness-gone-mad merchants out there, here are a few basic principles to remember:
1. It isn’t private when you are communicating on the office email and where your email can be seen by your PA, temporary or otherwise. The office email belongs to the office and you are at work. If you want to be a pig, sign up for a free Yahoo account. (This goes for you too, Mr Hot-Shot Solicitor).
2. Better still – try not to say it at all. If you are saying it, it means that you are thinking it. And if you are thinking it, it means you need to move your thinking forward to the 21st century.
3. The reason why it is not OK to come out with this stuff is that it shows an innate lack of respect for women and that you think that they are inferior to you and your chums. References to women (or allowing your friends to refer to women) as “gash” suggests that their only function in life is to provide a receptacle for your ever-ready manly member. Which they are not.
4. Those critical of the disloyal hussy who betrayed her boss might ask themselves how the said hussy felt on reading this nastiness? Why should she show respect to him in the face of his disrespect to her and her gender?
5. If all this is too difficult to understand, just ask yourself this question – how would like your pals to refer to your partner or daughters as “gash”? You would not. And WTF is bloody sure that they would not wish to be referred to in that way either.
Let us move onto the sort of girly stuff that Scudamore thinks women want to worry their pretty little heads with. There has been all sorts going on this week, what with the Billboard Music Awards, the BAFTA TV Awards and the Cannes Film Festival. Let us kick off with model Chrissy Teigen wearing Fyodor Golan at the Billboards.
Chrissy looks like an exploded butterfly and that pose must be doing irreparable damage to her spine. Good shoes though.
Jennifer Lopez wearing Donna Karan. Donna Karan!
Can women please stop going out in their negligées? Pretty please? Meanwhile, the last time WTF saw hair like that, it was on a Sindy Doll.
To London and Naomi Campbell at the BAFTA TV Awards wearing Roberto Cavalli.
WTF was expecting a veritable feast of horror from orange soap stars various but they all turned up as demure as a meeting of the WI leaving Naomi to flash the flesh and lower the tone. But then what else would you expect from Cavalli? Just as Versace is the Italian for Vulgar, Cavalli is the Italian for Tawdry.
This week’s It’s Got To Go features pampered and overpaid Manchester City midfielder Yaya Toure and his (unlicensed) Ukranian agent Dimitri Seluk, a man who looks like he used to make the tea at the KGB. Yaya was said to be devastated that the Club’s Dubai billionaire owners showed him a lack of respect on his 31st birthday. Apparently they did not sheikh his hand or give him a cake. Or a car. Yaya earns £250,000 a week but considers that to be insufficient recognition of his wondrousness. Dimitri warned that Yaya would leave the Club unless the sheikhs up their game but you could bet a penny to a pinch of shit that his distress would be assuaged by a fat pay rise. Were WTF a City supporter, she would be bringing cake to every game and chucking it at him. The Rolling Stones had an album called “Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out”. Agreed. And Yer Dimitris.
To Cannes. The men can hide in their DJs and it is hard to look bad in a DJ unless you are Pharrell Williams and fuck about with your trouser legs. The women however are another story, particularly the band of self-publicists who turn up looking silly to get their photo in the papers. Here is a prime example, Russian shocker Elena Lenina.
Never mind the dress. Instead, marvel at the cottage loaf hairstyle and the giant baubles like a string of foil-wrapped onions.
At least Elena brings a smile to your face. The purpose of French soi-disant actress Ayem Nour is less clear. Here she is giving us the week’s Major Minge Moment.
Earlier on the week, Ayem had managed to flash her see-through panties at the paparazzi when alighting from her car, giving us all an eyeful. And now this. Just go away.
And now we have another of the usual suspects, aristocratic waste of space Lady Victoria Hervey, breasts on show as per bloody usual. Mind you, she has to do it otherwise no one would bother looking at her at all.
She looks like an elongated Christmas cracker with tits. Memo to M’Lady – please join Ayem on the walk to obscurity. Where are Robespierre and Danton when you need them?
Remember what WTF was saying about Versace a few paragraphs ago? Here is model Lara Stone wearing vintage Versace.
Do you also remember when women used to go to galas wearing DRESSES rather than fancy dress costumes? Lara has come as Xena the Warrior princess in her petticoat.
Alas, here is another person taking up valuable oxygen, Cheryl Cole (in attendance as a L’Oréal Ambassador) wearing Saint Laurent.
First take a Saint Laurent sheer top (£1,080), sequinned skirt (£865) and skimpy leather bralet (£588) and a Philip Lim 3:1 clutch (£585). Wear more makeup than in storage at the L’Oréal warehouse. Acquire some hair that started off life on someone or on something else. Finally, forget to dye your feet (in your £695 Charlotte Olympia pumps) the same shade of Cuprinol as your legs. Then hit the streets looking like the Bigg Market bimbos in Newcastle who are equally badly dressed at a tiny fraction of the price.
Sharon Stone is entitled to be at Cannes but remember what WTF said about Roberto Cavalli a few paragraphs ago?
Last year Sharon wore a peekaboo red Cavalli number but this one is worse. Tits. Flesh galore. And that horrible cut-out waist like a Lonsdale boxing belt. Ugh. Not to mention yuck.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep your comments coming in and you suggestions for It’s Got To Go and let us meet again next Friday. Be good x