The British Body Politic, which had been ailing for some time, has finally succumbed to massive organ failure and is currently on life support, hooked up to those machines that go beep, beep, beep, like you see on the telly. The left side of the Body Politic started leaking, with eight constituent elements becoming detached. The diagnosis was a lethal mixture of Corbynitis, acute-non-Brexititis and antisemitism. On the right side of the Body Politic, three constituent elements detached themselves. The diagnosis was acute-non-Brexititis, extreme-anti-Moggery and a dislike of Mrs Maybe and her intolerance of immigrants various. Doctors in white coats are running one way shouting ‘we are a broad church’ whilst other doctors are running the other way shouting ‘we’ve got the malign bits out and now we can heal’. When the medics cannot even agree on the diagnosis, let alone the treatment, the prognosis is not good.
It has been a long time coming. In the Labour Party, Trots various called MPs who appeared to support a second referendum and/or the existence of the State of Israel, traitorous Blairite scum and urged them to leave the party. Now that they have resigned, they are being called traitorous Blairite scum for leaving. In the Tory Party, the three MPS who opposed Brexit were described as the enemy within and saboteurs. Now they have resigned, they are being attacked for deserting the party that needs them. There is no pleasing some people. And it is clear that in the days to come, others will follow, both Labour and Conservative. The Body Politic is bleeding out and there is a shortage of needles, suturing thread and anaesthetic.
Antisemitism has plagued the Labour Party for a long time, and Corbyn stuck a few plasters over the wound rather than wield the scalpel. On the day seven MPs resigned, to general crowing cries of good riddance from some, and weasel words from others, the party readmitted Derek Degsy Hatton, a rabid Trot from the 1980’s who did his best to run Liverpool into the ground. Sadly, Hatton’s triumphant return only lasted two days before he was suspended over an alleged antisemitic tweet from 2012. You couldn’t make it up, and you wouldn’t want to. As for Brexit, there is no sticking plaster large enough to cover that wound, no kidney bowl deep enough to hold the pus leaking from it. There is no point calling for the crash cart. The patient is acystolic. Beep, beep, beeeeeeeepppppppppppppppp. Time of death March 29 2019.
We start our review of the week’s fashion flotsam with singer Paloma Faith wearing No 21.
Oh dear. Oh very dear. Paloma looks like one of those cheap bathroom sets you can buy for £10 – bathmat, toilet mat and loo seat cover. We can but pray that no-one tried to wipe their feet – or worse- on her.
Next up, we have artist Lyali Hakaraia. WTF has no idea what the hell this is. No idea at all.
WTF does not mind a man in drag as long as he looks good and has a certain swagger, but Lyali does not just look like a sack of shit, he looks positively creepy. He is wearing a prick-skimmer as a skirt, which is quite bad enough, Lord knows, but worst are the nude shoes, beloved by so many of the Royal Family, particularly St Kate of L K Bennett. WTF’s advice to Lyali is to button his coat and bugger off.
Kim Kardashian wearing vintage Thierry Mugler.
Easter is edging ever closer, but that does not excuse Kim going around dressed as a hot cross bun.
And look how tight those straps are. Her cups runneth over. The whole thing looks extremely painful and when she disrobed at the end of the night, the imprimatur must have lingered for days.
We now go to the Brits, the poor man’s UK version of the Grammys, where nonsense was all around. Let us begin with singer Sam Smith ,wearing Raf Simons.
Whoever told Sam that he looked good in this suit was not his friend. The colour is nice and the lace shirt is fun, but there is moose knuckle on display beneath the ill-fitting, Norman-Wisdom-style, way-too-short jacket, and the trousers are in a Mexican standoff with his ankles.
Singer Leigh-Anne Pinnock from Little Mix, wearing Suzanne Neville.
One can understand why Leigh-Anne wants to show off her body, because she a fab figure, but she has pitched up in public looking like one of those Hawaiian dancing girls that greet you in the lobby of a Honolulu hotel and drape you with leis.
Singer Olly Alexander.
Like a public schoolboy dressed up as Edward VI in the school play. Dismal.
Singer Grace Carter, wearing a flasher mac.
Was there no cloakroom at the event?
Singer Lily Allen , heading to the after party in her undies and a blonde wig.
WTF had the misfortune to read an article in which Lily described how she had to have her nipples waxed (ouch!) before donning this outfit, which appears to consist of a pair of Spanx Power Panties underneath a deceased flamingo. The whole thing is very cut-price Diana Dors. (Did you know Diana Dors’ real name was Diana Fluck? Just saying…)
Performance artist Daniel Lismore, wearing dunno what.
If Yosemite Sam went to a fancy dress party as a space-age Turandot, this is what he would look like.
And finally, Montana Brown. celebritee and ‘star’ of that pile of steaming poo, Love Island, wearing Cherry Williams London.
WTF compliments Montana’s waxing technician, who has removed everything with great thoroughness. She is however forced to be somewhat sterner with Cherry Williams, whose poor handiwork has resulted in Montana sporting a shocking wedgie…. #nomorearsecheeks. Pretty please.
This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF aficionado WTF who is deeply appalled by this Burberry hood. You want bad taste. Look no further than the Noose Hood, premiered during London Fashion Week.
What the actual fuck? When did hanging become fashionable? When did a noose become a fashion accessory? What the hell is wrong with these people? What next? An axe sticking out of someone’s head? Burberry has withdrawn this nonsense but it should never have seen the light of day in the first place. It’s Got To Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending your splendid comments as well as your suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x