Last Friday, a Ryanair flight took off from Luton to Bratislava, a city on the banks of the Danube in Slovakia. Groom-to-be Joshua Mariner, 26, and eleven pals, the crème de la crème of Southampton society, were going there to get royally pissed on beer at £1 a pint. Ryanair let them board despite some of them being barely able to walk. Once aloft, members of the group made lot of noise, standing in the aisles shouting and swearing. After about an hour, it all kicked off. One of them stripped from the waist down and waggled his willy like a helicopter. Two others got into an argument, ignored requests to calm down, abused each other and then traded boozy punches. At which point, the pilot diverted the plane to Berlin. German Polizei boarded the plane shouting “Raus, Raus, Englisher Schweinhunde” and marched six of the party off to the cells, there to contemplate fines of up to £20,000 each for disrupting the flight. Joshua and the remaining five continued on to Bratislava, doubtless to drink themselves into oblivion. Given the guest list, Joshua’s fiancée Abi would be wise to give the March wedding a miss; but if she does venture down the aisle, she should insist on the event being teetotal.
Josh is outraged that the German police wrongly named him as one of the six they detained and is threatening to sue for defamation. Whatever. He blames his two buddies for fighting (but not, apparently the willy-waggler and his other loud, pissed mates) for what happened. But the many Joshuas of this world bear responsibility for this dismal state of affairs, where the idea is no longer just to have a good time but to get completely legless, which, whether planned or otherwise, inevitably leads to flashing and fisticuffs. This pack mentality behaviour (hen parties can be just as bad) is replicated in town centres all over the UK and in the various hell-hole holiday resorts across Spain, Greece and Cyprus to which these people repair, but at least you can choose to stay away. Cruising at 35,000 feet in a tin can, there is nowhere else to go.
When did it become alright to ignore everyone else’s right to enjoyment? When did it become alright to rotate your genitals on a crappy flight to a place you’d never previously heard of but which serves cheap beer? When did it become alright to be so crass, ignorant, rude and selfish? Because in WTF’s book, it never did. These are the times when you are ashamed to be a Brit. Ryanair’s clientele has basically become like Conair, rat-arsed gangs getting more rat-arsed when on board. The airline should just fly planeloads of stags and hen parties around where they can fight each other in the sky whilst shouting out their seven-word vocabularies. Everyone else can go abroad without fear of groups of men in stupid teeshirts, shrieking women in tutus and wings, pathetic pugilism, assaults on their ear drums and potential willy-whip. Fasten your seat belt. WTF wishes you a pleasant flight.
We are off to the Oscars to consider the detritus on show both on the Red Carpet and at various after-parties. We start with singer Pharrell Williams, pictured with his wife Helen Lasichanh (who looks lovely).
There was a time when Pharrell wore shorts with a DJ, so at least his trousers are gravitating slowly back down towards his ankles. That said, he looks like an idiot. And what happened to his jacket button?
Actress Rooney Mara, nominated for Best Supporting Actress in Carol, wearing Givenchy.
This washes her out, like a dusty old Victorian night gown with an access hole for an emergency appendectomy. Extra minus points for the shoes with toe overhang.
Gucci designer Alessandro Michele (left), and Actor Jared Leto (right), both wearing Gucci.
Say hallo to Dumb and Dumber. Alessandro’s trousers are just terribly, terribly, terrible and his hair flops around his ears like an Afghan hound. Jared’s suit make him look like a hotel concierge. They both have silly velvet slippers. As for the rose tie, WTF confesses to a sneaking admiration for it. There. I’ve said it.
Tennis champion Serena Williams wearing Galia Lahav.
There is nothing wrong with a white lace wedding dress. At a wedding. On the bride. There is a lot wrong with this peekaboo midriff thing, which suggests that Serena has been sawn in half and poorly reassembled.
Actor and comedian Orlando Jones wearing who knows what.
The jacket is made from cheap linoleum offcuts. Awful.
And now, the bloody models. Why the hell they are even at events like this WTF cannot say, but it gets right up her nose. First up, ubiquitous model Heidi Klum wearing Marchesa.
WTF hates a one-sleeved dress almost above all things. This seems to have been modelled on Audrey Hepburn’s dress in My Fair Lady, down to the oversized corsage.
But Audrey had (i) both sleeves (ii) her chest covered (iii) a fabulous hat and (iv) elegance. All of which are sadly lacking in this instance.
Then, model Miranda Kerr wearing Kaufmanfranco.
One word. Trashy. And four more. The top doesn’t fit.
And here’s Emily Ratajkowski wearing Steven Khalil. In fairness to Emily, she has appeared in movies in minor roles.
Emily is ravishing but she appears to be standing in her swimsuit behind a shower curtain. Ridiculous.
Singer Gwen Stefani wearing Yanina Couture and her new beau, country singer Blake Shelton.
Well, Blake made an effort. Not. Skanky old jeans, an un-ironed shirt and crocodile cowboy boots. Gwen, on the other hand, has come as Mena Suvari in American Beauty. This is not a compliment.
Actress Kerry Washington wearing – who else? – Versace.
Half Warrior Queen, half bed sheet. Nice earrings.
Singer Lady Gaga, nominated for Best Song, wearing Brandon Maxwell.
WTF hates conical tit covers nearly as much as she hates a one-sleeved dress. But her chief concern is the crotch, showcasing (as The Daily Mail would say), more camel-toe than in Laurence of Arabia. One fears that M’Lady will have a BEASTIE yeastie as a result.
Finally, we have “plus-size model” Ashley Graham wearing Bao Tranchi. “Plus size” means that you are not an emaciated twiglet. Ghastly Edwina Currie, Health Minister about 25 years ago, this week described Ashley as “obese”. This is absurd. WTF has no problem with Ashley’s body. It is what is covering her body that is in issue.
And here is a close up of what Ashley calls her “girls”.
WTF was watching E!‘s Oscars Red Carpet coverage at some Godforsaken hour of the morning (in case you are wondering, E! stands for Excrescence!) and wondering whether prayer alone could wipe Ryan Seacrest off the face of the earth, when on came a panel of women to analyse the frocks. There was Guiliana Rancid, who hasn’t eaten anything since 2007, Kris Kardashian in an embossed housecoat from “Bal – Man”, some English woman whose name WTF did not catch in frilly Valentino and Ashley. Commentating on other people’s dresses…. WTF has a large TV, but it is not nearly large enough to accommodate those “girls”, cantilevered into a bra and protruding from a giant tit window. WTF shrieked so loudly that the whole of Islington probably woke up and dialled 999. Those tits in that dress belong in the boudoir and not in WTF’s living room. Yurgle.
This week’s It’s Got to Go is (again) Arsene Wenger, manager of Arsenal Football Club. Ben from Bromley was first to communicate his displeasure at the Club’s fall from grace but his ire is shared by everyone else who supports the team, including WTF. Put simply, we are sick and tired of Arsene and his team. The team lacks any leadership, guts or aggression, desperately needs decent players (especially defenders) that never get bought and breaks your heart on a regular basis. It hasn’t won the League for 12 years, has the highest ticket prices and Wenger is the fourth highest paid man in World Football (£8m). Ben has also had enough of the sight of a man paid £8m a year unable to zip up his giant padded coat. He’s Got to Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep those comments rolling in, which WTF loves more than anything, and do not neglect your most excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x
Distraught that Joshua Mariner (26) of Southampton is taken. Perhaps one of his eleven delightful friends will do. I’m strangely drawn to Mr Helicopter Willy (Chopper keeps coming to mind!).
PS Ashley’s ‘girls’ should need a Special Licence’
they are certainly alarming!