This week Theresa May gave us her Brexit vision, clad, or should that be plaid, in her “lucky” tartan Vivienne Westwood trouser suit, the one which makes her look like Great Uncle Bulgaria in the Wombles (WTF is indebted to Daniel Blake, @killhopelaw, for pointing this out).
May announced that Britain would be leaving the EU, the Single Market, the European Court, possibly the Customs Union once somebody works out what the hell it is and those summits where all the other Leaders snub our PM because he/she has pissed them off. We won’t be paying them bucketfuls of money, we won’t be propping up their farmers, we won’t let their fruit pickers and caseworkers into the country to nick our citizens’ jobs, not what they want them. We are definitively offski. We want to stay friends with them, as long as we don’t have to pay for anything or let them have a say in what we do and we still want to reach a deal to trade with them. However, should they even think of getting shirty and insisting on stuff, like tariffs, well, we will get tough with them. It reminded WTF of King Lear raging impotently at his daughters, “I will do such things..What they are, yet I know not but they will be the terrors of the earth”. Only he was off his head. May warned that she would walk away with no deal rather than a bad deal, as if no deal with 500m people would be a better deal than any deal. Oh and Parliament will get a vote on the final deal, which makes all that guff in the Supreme Court about prerogative and the People Have Spoken a total waste of time and money. But that’s politics, folks.
At home, the reception was largely fawning, except of course amongst the liberal elite. She put Johnny Foreigner in his place. She kicked arse. She is the new Churchill/Boudicca/Good Queen Bess etc. Abroad, there was rather less enthusiasm. President Hollande’s office indicated that the UK should not be allowed to enjoy better conditions outside the single market when it leaves the European Union, suggesting that tariffs could be imposed on British exports. Enter our Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson, who poured his oil on troubled waters thus – “If Mr Hollande wants to administer punishment beatings to anybody who chooses to escape, rather in the manner of some World War II movie, then I don’t think that is the way forward, and actually it’s not in the interests of our friends and partners.” You do not expect tact or diplomacy from Johnson, although that it is his fucking job but it would be nice if he could manage to go through a week without offending the people who are supposed to be our allies and partners. Presumably his next trick will be to sing Springtime for Hitler to Mrs Merkel.
It’s not looking good is it? We would rather do ourselves out of trade deals than let more Europeans in, even though those who are still here probably won’t be asked to leave and lots of other people are also here who have nothing to do with the EU. We offend people when they point out the obvious, namely that they will not agree to our leaving being more favourable than staying. We will be reliant on the largesse of Donald Trump to put us ahead of other prospective traders, even though the man can’t remember what he said yesterday and when reminded of it, either denies it or says he didn’t mean it. Hey, but it’s OK. We’re getting our country back. In the manner of Donald Trump, we will put the great back into Great Britain. Whatever the cost.
We turn to review the week’s fashion fiascos, starting with actress and singer Miley Cyrus.
If a teddy bear in a tiara went shopping, this is what it would look like. Miley should unzip that giant Le Sportsac bag, climb into it and not come out until she learns not to be silly. Which, on previous form, will be never. As for the ice-lolly glasses (worn in the dark – double black mark), they are a recipe for disaster. Jolt your head forward suddenly and you could gouge both cheeks open. Nasty.
Next we have pointless celeb Khloe Kardashian, wearing Ashish.
This sparkly tracksuit is more Hashish than Ashish. Why would you lounge about in a sequinned tracksuit? You would end up with more indentations than the surface of a satsuma. As for the furry slides, she looks like she has a couple of skinned cats on her feet.
And here is her half-sister Kylie Jenner, wearing Balmain.
Is this vile Balmain concoction reserved for members of the uber-Trashy Kardashian/Jenner clan? Half-sister Kourtney K was wearing something similar only the other week. And it looked terrible on her as well.
It is mandatory for the Kardashian/Jenners to flash their butt at all opportunities, to which (rear) end Balmain has designed this raggedy-arsed thing, part Betty Rubble, part Bergamasco dog.
To the People’s Choice Awards where we meet actor Tahj Mowry, wearing The Kooples.
He is cute and his show Baby Daddy is a big success in the US but that suit is simply too small. The jacket could not be buttoned if he were on a sponsored bet and his trousers have had a serious dispute with his ankles to the extent that both sides have now instructed lawyers.
Also there was actress Kristen Bell, wearing Rasario.
Regular Readers will know that WTF hates a pleated tit almost above all things and these pleated tits are particularly bad, like a pair of frilly moon cups. At least they distract from the fact that the trousers are about four inches too long…..
And there was actor Chris Sullivan, starring in TV series This Is Us, wearing who knows what…
Another jacket that is way too small. And a paint chart has vomited copiously on his trousers.
To the Television Critics’ Awards and wonderful actress Susan Sarandon, wearing Protagonist.
The suit itself (which will cost you over £1,300) is not too bad although a bit spivvy. Questions however must be asked about Susan’s magnificent embonpoint, hoicked up like a mountain range at sunset, and the scuffed silver bootees.
And finally, we have the appalling “socialite” (i.e. useless parasite) Lady Victoria Hervey at a BAFTA do in LA, wearing Ivan Donev. This one is really bad.
At least Susan Sarandon has some top-quality knockers to display. Lady Victoria’s are flatter than the Cambridgeshire fens. This is what Lewis Hamilton would wear if he went straight from the track to a costume party dressed as a pole dancer. The last time WTF saw that many bones, they were in an ossuary. Nor can the unwarranted amount of camel toe be ignored, or indeed forgotten. Traumatic.
This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF of Islington who was forced to spend the whole of Monday looking at and listening to Michael Gove, fresh from the non-triumph of the arse-licking-fest that was his Times “interview” with Donald Trump. Gove was on every television and radio programme giving us his insights into the Orange-utan-Elect, despite failing to ask him a single penetrating question or to challenge the ridiculous answers. WTF’s ire was further heightened by the footage of Gove BOWING at the culmination of proceedings. For that alone, as well as for everything else, he has definitely Got To Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep those top comments coming in as well as your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x