WTF Somewhere Over the Rainbow Special

Hallo Readers,

A border is a thing that marks the difference between your land and someone else’s land. That is yours, this is mine. It might be a fence or a wall or a river; it might be barbed wire or just a sign that says “you are now in Scotland” or “welcome to Wiltshire”.  Sometimes, you can just wander from one place to another or from one country to another without a problem, whether you are in a car or driving a bloody great lorry full of widgets. And sometimes you can’t. Welcome to Brexit.  Here’s the thing. The UK is leaving the EU. Northern Ireland is leaving the EU because the UK is leaving the EU. The Republic of Ireland is not leaving the EU. Which means that one part of the island of Ireland is going to be in the EU (their bit) and one bit is not (our bit). So how do we keep those foreigners in their bit out of our bit? What if those foreigners arrive in their bit of Ireland and then try and cross the border into our bit and thence to the mainland? Where there used to be barbed wire and body searches and queues and soldiers waving their guns at you, now you can just pop across from our bit to their bit and back again and they can do the same. The people in our bit don’t want to return to the old days, and nor do the people in their bit. But then what happened where foreigners try to get in to the UK from their bit into our bit? No one knows the answer. That is because no one had ever considered the question. That is because no one realised that there was a question. Certainly not David Davis, the Secretary of State for Brexit, who this week threw a hissy fit and threatened to resign from the Cabinet unless some definite date was set for us to regain control of our own borders and impose our own tariffs and take our country back. There is only one problem with Davis’ ultimatum. He has no solution. Nothing. Nada. 

And so we have to hang around in the customs union until a time somewhere over the rainbow when a solution is miraculously conjured up by the political equivalent of Mr Magic the Magic Man. This will involve developing some technology, which no one has actually invented yet, so that seagulls will be equipped with cameras. Anybody even a little bit Irish will be able to drive or walk or cycle across the border quite freely because the seagulls will be able to detect their Irishness and send messages in morse code to the border officials hidden in dugouts; whereas Fritz from Frankfurt with his lorryload of lager or Woyzek from Warsaw, hoping to sneak across the border and thence to London to carry out some cut price plumbing, will be identified and stopped and fined and surcharged and all sorts. And everyone will be happy. Or something.

Meanwhile Boris Johnson whose mouth and whose brain have no obvious connection, was caught on tape bemoaning the fact borders were getting in the way of Brexit. “It’s so small and there are so few firms that actually use that border regularly, it’s just beyond belief that we’re allowing the tail to wag the dog in this way. We’re allowing the whole of our agenda to be dictated by this folly.”  He is also concerned that “we may not get the Brexit we want”,  i.e. one where we can just bugger off without worrying about silly little inconveniences like customs unions and borders and being able to lie your head off to the British people without having to substantiate it, where troubles melt like lemon drops, away above the chimney tops, and bluebirds fly. His solution? Apparently Mrs May should emulate Trump in her negotiating style. Ye Gods….

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We start our review of the week’s fashion follies at the British Soap Awards where horror is always in abundance. This is a good example, in the shape of Emmerdale actress Jessica Ellis, wearing Hart Work.

Joseph has a coat of many colours but at least he did not team it with a purple tunic with seams more puckered than a camel’s arse in a sandstorm, and a bad Cleopatra haircut.

This is Coronation Street villain Connor McIntyre.

WTF has not watched Corrie for years as it has more homicides than a feature-length version of Midsomer Murders. How does any resident ever manage to get life insurance? Their premiums must be astronomical. But I disgress. The real criminal is whoever designed this appalling turmeric yellow velveteen suit, like a cheap sofa, looking even more horrible against the Red Carpet, and inexplicably teamed with baby blue trainers.

Also from  Corrie, we have actress Lucy Fallon wearing designer to the soap stars, Zeynep Kartel.

She should have borrowed Connor’s blue trainers. So ill-fitting and creased is the dress that draping a net curtain over it will not do. Frankly what is needed is a blackout curtain….

We pass by Nashville and the Country Music CMT Awards, where we meet singer Granger Smith.

This is obviously the singing Walton, the one who works in the fish market. And is totally half-witted.

To the CDFA Awards and young model Kaia Gerber,wearing Alexander Wang.

Kaia is 16 and presumably still growing, a waif-like version of her supermodel mother Cindy Crawford. Alexander Wank has dressed her in a shirt that makes her look like an extra from Escape from Alcatraz and a pair of gentlemen’s under-crackers with her skinny little legs encased in black tights. She is cuter than cute but even she cannot make this look good.

And at the same event, singer Ciara wearing Monse.

Ciara looks as if she has been caught in an explosion which has ripped the shoulders off her DJ, leaving only a fragment covering her boobs, as round as a couple of bagels. Meanwhile, appalled onlookers have been left in fear of an imminent minge moment. If Monse must to leave her with nothing but a faux shirt under the jacket, at least let it cover the crotch…..

This is fashion guru and designer Tan France from Netflix’s series Queer Guy. 

As far as WTF can see, Tan has come dressed as the UPS guy from Legally Blonde.

legally blonde

Finally, to the iHeart radio event and singer Meghan Trainor wearing Off-White.

WTF hates split trousers almost above all things, because they are as much use as a waterproof teabag. If a judo fighter in kinky boots went to a fancy dress party dressed as a flamingo, this is what she would look like. Matters are not improved by the pink turd on her head.

Itsgottogo-x1200px

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes (yet again)  from WTF aficionado Sue Peters who has come up with this appalling Balenciaga thing purporting to be a ‘t-shirt shirt’. Yes, really….

If you are totally raving mad, you can buy this price of dreck for – wait for it – £935!!!!!!! To maximise the cost per wear, you can wear the shirt bit at the back or at the front, but you will look like a total twat either way. Whatever they were paying that poor model, it was not enough. The whole outfit has very definitely Got to Go.

Itsgottogo-x1200px

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your top comments and your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday for your WTF Summer Stinker 2018. Be good x

 

 

 

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This entry was posted in Boris Johnson, Brexit, CDFA 2018, Celebrity, Celebrity Fashion Disasters, Country Music Awards, David Davis, Donald Trump, Fashion, Fashion Disasters, Politics, Scotland, Theresa May, TV Soap Awards, Uncategorized, Worst Dressed Celebrities and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to WTF Somewhere Over the Rainbow Special

  1. Rebecca Jay says:

    err… what is it with designers splashing their names all across their creations? What happened to the good old logo, subtly placed somewhere exuding discretion and a confidence of style? Alexander Wang appears in no less than three prominent places on Kaia Gerber’s ‘outfit’ and Off White may as well emblazon their website address and telephone number on the weird belt/sash cord thingy on Maghan Trainor. WTF?

    In other matters, your analysis of #Brexitshambles is, as per usual, spot on. If only those in the corridors of power would get it. You point up sanity within insanity, in both political and fashion circles.

  2. Splendid! Nearly spat my morning coffee across the kitchen on the waterproof teabag bit.

  3. Andrew Purcell says:

    *A “tunic with seams more puckered than a camel’s arse in a sandstorm.”
    This is the sort of thing that gets my Friday mornings off to a good start.
    *Except for Kaia Gerber not realizing (or caring) that men’s boxers aren’t meant to be worn as red carpet fashion, the gents seem to have the monopoly on stupid this week. Connor McIntyre in mustard, blue, and ugly, Granger Smith in bib overalls, Tan France in a Boy Scout uniform with orange pockets, and that poor schmuck from Its Got To Go wearing that shirt with a spare shirt attached to it (which makes sense only if you have a Siamese twin). They have managed to create their own category for the Sumner Stinkers.
    *I know of Coronation Street only through your mentions of it. Hadn’t realized it had a high murder rate. Murder She Wrote has a similar plot quirk. It followed the adventures of crime novelist Jessica Fletcher (who bears an uncanny resemblance to the great Angela Lansbury) as she solves real murders for the police. The first couple of seasons took place in her small hometown, Cabot Cove, Maine. Later seasons followed her travels around the world, presumably because Cabot Cove had been depopulated by its enormous murder rate. By the time the series stopped production I came to the conclusion that Jessica Fletcher was in fact a serial killer adept at pinning her crimes on innocent bystanders.
    *Brexit and the Irish. While I’m not one to hold the sins of ancestors against anyone, I do come from a long line of Irish men and women who are rising from their graves to cheer as England cuts off its collective nose to spite someone else’s face. Leading this cheer would have to be Mary Murphy, my great-grandmother. Unlike the rest of my ancestors who fled Ireland and headed west to the New World, her parents went to Sheffield where they produced her. Over the course of her very long life, you did not ask her where she was born if you wanted to stay in the family. She would, however, be amused by the fact that the British Empire was teetering because it was afraid of a couple of Polish plumbers.

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