Imagine your mates, a fund manager, an architect and a journalist, advise you that your right leg has to be removed. Yes, it would be radical, but they are very enthusiastic in recommending amputation. The advantages would be tremendous. The new leg would be so much better than the old one. You would be running marathons within months of the operation. Cut it off! Honestly – would we lie to you? We’re your mates. You’ll be fine! On the other hand, your GP and your consultant are sceptical. Yes, there are problems with your right leg, but they can be fixed without chopping the bloody thing off. But your mates have told you not to trust experts, as they are all part of a globalist conspiracy. So after some soul-searching, you agree to the operation and set the date.
The trouble is that as the date for the operation approaches, you start to doubt your chosen course of action. The awful consequences of your decision become clearer. For example, there is not a hope in hell that you will be running a 5 kilometre park run, let alone 26.2 miles. The cost of the operation is revealed as enormous, far higher than you were told. And your pals, the ones who said they would never lie to you, have been lying through their teeth. So why the hell would you go through with it? Switzerland’s Supreme Court just quashed a referendum result because it was achieved through misinformation. Why can’t we do that?
On Wednesday night, WTF was squirming with mortification and embarrassment as Mrs Maybe was sent off to eat a solitary supper whilst the EU Grandees debated whether to allow her more time to go through with the operation. How the hell had we got ourselves into this position? How had we made such a utter ballsup of it all? How did we allow a collection of shysters, charlatans, toffs and idiots to lead us into the emergency ward? And why are they still insistent on cutting off their leg to spite their face? The ones who know they’ve been sold a pup, but are committed to it anyway. The ones who insist they have got what they voted for, even though they did not foresee this or knew that were being lied to and voted anyway. The ones who say gamely that yes, they will never walk properly again, and it will agonising and painful, and this is not what they signed up for, but it is better than keeping the leg, because no leg is better than a bad leg. Our only hope is that this will continue to drag on until, in true British fashion, we get fed up with the whole thing and ditch it out of sheer boredom. Thank Heaven for Julian Assange giving us something else to talk about in the weeks to come…..
We turn to our review of the week’s Red Carpet rubbish, starting with actress Scarlett Johansson at the photo call for her new movie The Avengers: Endgame, wearing Tom Ford.
Love, wear a jacket or don’t wear a jacket, but if you do wear a jacket, wear one with two sleeves and a proper front, rather than just a tit topper. As Lady Bracknell remarked, this shilly-shallying is absurd. And unsightly with it.
Here is singer Cardi B, wearing Ralph & Russo.
Jennifer Lopez goes to Ascot in mint green. Except that they would not let her into the Royal Enclosure dressed like that. And her shoes are two sizes too big.
Meet the newly-weds, model-turned-candlemaker (yes, honestly) Char Defrancesco and designer Marc Jacobs, both wearing suits by Huntsman. Marc’s tie and footwear are by Gucci.
Many congratulations to the happy couple, but oh, the irony. One of the world’s leading designers gets married in a pair of comedy trousers, like a bottle green Charlie Chaplin. At least they cover up the butter-pat bootees.
This is actress Shay Mitchell at a makeup launch event, wearing Nedo.
Like a fluffy pink bird in a bustier, a medieval silk diamanté doublet and no hose. Horrid.
To CinemaCon in Las Vegas, where we encounter actress MacKenzie Davis, wearing Paco Rabanne.
This is the lovechild of a lumberjack and a Rosie for Autograph Marks and Spencer nightie. With white Ali Baba slippers. It is very strange, and the sleepwear appears to have gone down with smallpox.
Also present was actor Henry Golding, wearing Valentino.
It does not matter how handsome you are. No one, not even Henry, can get away looking like a blood-soaked warehouseman.
Still in Las Vegas, we call in at the Academy of Country Music Awards, always a cornucopia of clothing horror, beginning with singer Carrie Underwood wearing Nicholas Jebran. She had a baby only three months ago.
As noted above, WTF dislikes one sleeve on a two-armed woman, but she could have lived with the dress had it not been for the sparkling crotch carpet runner.
Next up, singer Jake Owen ,wearing a Nudie suit and Boot Star gold boots.
The suit is like a verdant meadow at midnight, but hell, it is a country music thang, so Jake might have got away with it had it not been for those pointy gold things on his feet. A man in gold shoes? Never, unless he is C-3PO.
Here is singer Cassadee Pope, wearing Vitor Zerbinato.
Good abs, bad dress. And the side view is even worse.
This is a bed sheet worn as a shroud, and Cassadee is threatening an imminent Minge Moment, not to mention an imminent rectal revelation.
And last from the Awards, Maren Morris, wearing Christian Siriano.
Maren’s heels are so high that she is tilted forward in order to stay upright; the same thing happened last year at the CMT Awards. She is also wearing a pleated table napkin with matching tablecloth-train, like the drapery for Char’s and Marc’s wedding breakfast.
Finally, to the CanneSeries Festival in, er, Cannes, and the photoshoot for the new series of the Rook starring Olivia Munn, wearing Schiaparelli.
Elsa Schiaparelli was the designer whose signature colour was shocking pink, the colour of the backdrop against which Olivia is posing. Elsa also had a perfume called Shocking by Schiaparelli. This apparel is just plain shocking, reminiscent of polluted water, while those hanging things suggest that the lovely Olivia is suffering from incontinence.
This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado and stalwart de luxe Andrew Purcell from Texas who has discovered these absolutely foul “Goth Crocs”, yours for only £190.
Crocs are ugly. These ones are ugly and downright dangerous. Imagine one of those in close proximity to your footsies when travelling to work in rush hour. Ouch. 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
My son (aged 20 when he voted in the referendum and truly horrified by the result as leaving the, admittedly imperfect, EU violates his and his friends’ futures) made a very prescient statement at the time. “Don’t worry Mum – I don’t think it will happen. I just don’t think we will end up leaving”. I told him I dearly hoped he was right but feared he may be wrong.
I guess I’m hoping enough people are brave enough to walk out of that operating theatre waiting room.
PS. (Just to prove that I read the entire blog and not just your political intro…) ‘Rectal Revelation’ stands in its own right as utterly worthy of entering your Lexicon of descriptive horrors.
Rectal Revelation! 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂