Here in the People’s Republic of Islington, home of the Guardian-reading, quinoa-consuming, Pinot-Noir-drinking, poncy Liberal Elite, things are, not to put too fine a point on it, tough. Two silver-haired men, both aged 67, are wreaking havoc with the things we once held dear, the red flags we all revered. We voted Remain by 75%-25%. It was 1931 when either Islington North or Islington South & Finsbury (where WTF resides) last elected a Tory MP. We don’t do Tories in Islington. Or Liberal Democrats, although they did get within 500 votes of Emily Thornberry in Islington South in 2005 and once ran the Council until we turfed them out, sick of their sanctimonious ways and their road humps the size of Becher’s Brook. Our local football team, Arsenal, had a golden spell between 1997 and 2004, winning the League and the FA Cup and sometimes both at the same time. Ah, happy days!
But now Islington is menaced by two silver-haired sexagenarians who are stuck in the past and ignoring calls for them to go. One is Arsene Wenger, the only manager in world football to decide when he should quit. Arsenal won the League in 2003/2004, going through the whole season unbeaten but since then they have been the nearly men. On Sunday they will most likely fail to qualify for the Champions’ League for the first time in 20 years and then get stuffed by Chelsea in the Cup Final the following week. Supporters have taken to chartering planes to fly over grounds trailing Wenger Must Go banners but he is going nowhere, intending to go on and on (like Mrs Thatcher) because he genuinely believes that he is the right man to lead the team.
As does Jeremy Corbyn, MP for Islington North and Leader of the Labour Party. On the whole, the country does not believe that he can find his arse with SatNav, let alone run the country in times of Brexit. Until his election as Leader, he had never run anything, never held government office, had been camped on the outskirts of mainstream political life, firmly rooted in the politics of the 1980’s and endlessly defying the party whip. Even after he was elected to succeed Ed Miliband following the crushing defeat in 2015, he has defied himself, ignoring Party policy to vote against Trident. His defence of staying in Europe was perfunctory and he buggered off on holiday in the middle of the Referendum campaign, something for which we Islingtonians cannot forgive him. Theresa May is so dull and unspontaneous that she makes ditchwater look like Krug but at PMQ’s she regularly nutmegs Corbyn in a way that would make Wenger gurgle with pleasure, whilst his ability to miss an open goal is sadly familiar to those of us who have watched Arsenal all season. But like Wenger, Corbyn firmly believes that he is the right man to lead the team, buoyed up by his fervent band of his disciples, some of whom are not even party members, who cheer him to the rafters and dismiss anyone objecting to him as Zionists and Blairites – even when they are neither.
So what the hell do we do come June? Our season tickets are up for renewal – do we fork out another £1700 a seat and go on suffering? Do we vote Labour and endorse someone we know is not Prime Ministerial (and please don’t quote me Donald Trump – look how well that one is working out), half of whose Party despises him? Do we forget about his betrayal of Remain? Do we vote (shudder) Lib Dem and hope that Corbyn will resign with dignity whilst Theresa May carries on destroying the country, the NHS, the benefits system, legal aid and schools? Do we piss away a vote on the Greens or the Monster Raving Loonies or the Manuka Honey Party? Thornberry has a majority of 12,500, Corbyn’s is 21,000. It might not really matter what we do here in Islington, because we will not vote Tory (or rather, vote for Theresa and what she loftily referred to yesterday as “her team”) but across the country many lifelong Labour voters will. This is a nightmare.
We turn to the sartorial shitpile of the week, starting with singer Harry Styles from mega boy-band One Direction, wearing Edward Styles with Gucci loafers.
Harry is wearing a bespoke horse blanket.
That two fingered Churchillian victory salute should be inverted and directed towards whoever devised this ridiculous getup.
And this is Harry’s bandmate Liam Payne, wearing Gucci.
Liam is in a relationship with Cheryl Tweedy-Cole-Fernandez-Versini-soon-to-be-Payne-maybe, who has just has his baby. Obviously there was some money left over from the layette because Liam splashed out £2,000 on this jejune doggie jacket and ripped-to-within-an-inch-of-their-life jeans which, if you saw them in a skip, you would not pick up even with disinfected tongs.
It is hard to criticise Katya for anything, given that she and Ed Balls brought us THE best and most life-enhancing television moment of 2016, namely their Gangnam Style routine on SCD. But even if she did a side order of Mother Teresa this would still be unforgivable, from the cottage loaf on her head to the swirly shower curtain with lurid orange bra, visible seams and more hanging beads than the entrance to a Bangkok brothel.
This is singer Halsey at the Wango Tango festival. And no, WTF has no idea what the hell is going on here.
“Knowledge is sacred”. Really? To almost quote Alexander Pope, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Here is the rear view.
It looks like she picked up her mail on her way out of the house and shoved it down the back of her trousers. As for the front, she looks as if she is wearing a cricket box to protect her non-existent goolies.
To the Cannes Film Festival Red Carpet and pointless socialite Hofit Golan, wearing Stephane Rolland.
The front view is fine if you ignore the spume of mosquito netting flowing out of her buttocks. However the back view is not.
Sigh. Why is this even allowed? Next…
This is actress Emily Ratajkowski wearing Peter Dundas.
Game of Thrones fans will recognise this outfit as a take on Melisande’s smoke monster, only that came out of her front bottom whilst this is emerging from her back bottom. Bottom trains are definitely a thing at Cannes. There is also a preponderance of peekaboo.
Let us meet actress Li_Yuchun, wearing Maison Margiela designed by John Galliano.
Well, it is novel, like a naughty schoolboy going wading. WTF even has some fondness for the hat. But try as she may, she cannot escape the ineluctable conclusion that those things hanging down are a cross between the tzitzits worn by Orthodox Jews and strands of toilet paper caught in her waistband.
Given Galliano’s conviction for anti-semitic outbursts, this is, to say the very least, tactless.
Frenchy is wearing lacy fuchsia long johns with what looks suspiciously like a ripped crotch and is tottering about balanced on a couple of tin cans. Phoebe is wearing a shaping body over cobwebs and under what appears to be a garment comprising minge-chaps and a clerical yoke, topped off with a priestly hat and flowing leopardskin dental coat. The two of them are a perambulating traffic hazard.
This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF aficionado Sarah from Edinburgh, who has taken justified exception to this Chanel boomerang. It is on sale worldwide, including in Australia, for the equivalent of £1,040.
Indigenous Australians were unhappy at what they saw as cultural appropriation, not to mention a blatant ripoff. Chanel grovelled and issued a statement claiming that it ‘is extremely committed to respecting all cultures, and regrets that some may have felt offended’. But it is still selling them to idiots with more money than sense. It’s Got to Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep those comments coming as well as your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x