You may recall that Donald J Trump paid a brief (but not brief enough) visit to the UK in July 2018, intent on insulting as many people as possible within a four day period, and rebounding around the parameters of decency like a pinball played by a tipsy teenager. Ding! He told Theresa May that she had done Brexit all wrong and should have listened to him (it turned out his strategy had been to sue the EU). Ding! He praised Boris Johnson and said he would make a great Prime Minister. Ding! He was late for tea with Her Majesty, keeping the nonagenarian standing in the hot sun for about 20 minutes, and whilst purporting to inspect the troops, jaywalked in front of her like a pedestrian with Alzheimer’s. The blimp in a nappy with a mobile phone that flew, oh so briefly, over Parliament Square had a better grasp of diplomacy and international politics. Now he is coming back for a proper State Visit, where we roll out the Red Carpet and do that ceremonial stuff we Brits do so well. Her Majesty will schlep down to the airport to greet him and they will ride back in a procession together. He will get a White Tie State Dinner, where the menu is written in French (he can ask Melania to translate – she understands about half a dozen different languages and can say ‘yes’ and ‘chain migration’ in all of them). However, this visit will be different to the usual State Visit. Usually, the State Visitor also gets bed and breakfast at Buckingham Palace, but there is no room because the East Wing is being repaired. Usually the State Visitor addresses both House of Parliament, but that probably won’t happen either, as in the eyes of our Speaker, he is less welcome than a turd in a punchbowl. President Trump is also known to be wary of spending any time with Prince Charles, fearing that HRH will lecture him about climate change and organic lettuce. And he will not get to ride in the Golden State Coach, which, being wooden and very old, cannot be rendered bulletproof and is probably too weak to withstand Trumpy’s ever increasing girth. In fact he and the coach are probably the same shape, which could confuse everyone no end. Especially him.
On Tuesday, Foreign Secretary Jeremy Hunt announced the impending visit with a flourish. You would think Jesus Christ was coming to call. Hunt gushed ‘The transatlantic relationship has been the foundation of global peace and prosperity for many years – and great things are yet to come!’ Really? Within 24 hours, Trump was regurgitating an allegation first made two years ago, accusing President Obama of getting UK Intelligence Services to tap his phone and to ‘spy on him’. In 2017, GCHQ had demanded an apology and even Fox News retracted the claim and suspended the pundit who had advanced it. Now, even as the chefs gather to decide between Canard à l’orange and Hamberder aux frites avec sauce de tomates style Heinz, and whilst Mrs May combs the shops for another appalling and ill-fitting sack to wear for the dazzling occasion, the putative guest was lobbing insults at us and pissing all over the ‘special relationship’ Hunt has been bigging up only hours earlier. Instead of telling him to stick his State Visit where the sun don’t shine, the craven Hunt has been complaining about denying the orange moron-in-chief the stage to spread his racist, sexist, embarrassing, ignorance in our Houses of Parliament.
So here’s the thing Readers. We keep being warned that there will be food shortages after Brexit. Let us start those shortages early. Stockpile your eggs! Horde your soft fruit! Let us start getting everything nicely smelly and squidgy for June and show this terrible man what a real British welcome looks like.
We start our review of the week’s awful apparel with singer Ashanti at the premiere of her movie ‘Stuck’ wearing Honyada.
Ashanti is wrapped in a shiny cheap garbage bag displaying a gargantuan amount of tit and a large amount of leg, and is on the verge on giving us an imminent Minge Moment. Again. Ashanti should take this garment, put it in a real garbage bag and dispose of it – for good.
Next we go to the premiere of Avengers: Endgame where we find alleged ‘actor’ Vin Diesel, wearing what appears to be a tree bark.
Wearing camouflage to look like a tree is one thing. Actually wearing a bloody tree is quite another thing. WTF was put in mind of Macbeth where the witches warned him that he ‘shall never vanquished be until Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill shall come against him’. It looks like Great Birnam Wood is on the march.
Also there was the insufferable Gwyneth Paltrow, wearing G Label.
Look, Gwynnie has a great pair of legs but that is no excuse to forget to wear some sort of bottom half to your outfit. She looks as if she has had her trousers removed as a jolly jape, the fate facing the unfortunate Paul Pennyfeather in Evelyn Waugh’s Decline and Fall.
To the Time 100 Gala and actor Dwayne Johnson wearing Ralph Lauren.
Everyone else came in evening wear. Dwayne came dressed as an old Dralon armchair.
It gets worse. Here is actress Julianne Moore wearing Chanel at a Chanel do.
WTF does not know what has passed between Julianne and her stylist recently, but the two of them need to make it up, and soon. If Dwayne is the sofa, Julianne is the cushion cover. And the valance. And the ventilation system. As for the boots, they fall into the category of downright mystifying, like the Bermuda Triangle and the decision to broadcast Mrs Brown’s Boys.
It grieves WTF to have to do this, but now we must consider the case of former First Lady Michelle Obama, seen here with actress Sarah Jessica Parker, wearing thousands of pounds of horrible Balenciaga, including quite revolting thigh boots which cost $3,900.
Michelle has rarely put a foot wrong, but here both feet and the long legs appended thereto should be charged with causing severe retinal damage and unauthorised possession of a hologram. Those are as foul a pair of boots as WTF ever did see in her life. Michelle could have saved herself thousands of dollars by buying herself a couple of gold shiny wine gift bags and standing in them.
As for the golden chartreuse sheet, it is a shocker.
Finally, here is Kourtney Kardashian at her fortieth birthday party in LA wearing vintage Versace.
Kourtney’s cake was in the form of a naked Kourtney in the bath, so that guests, including her own family and her kids, could literally eat her ladyparts. And if that isn’t revolting, WTF doesn’t know what is. But not nearly as revolting as Kourtney having to avoid a Minge Moment by fastening her dress to her stomach with a bit of visible tit tape like a blob of masticated chewing gum.
This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Shonda from West London who brought this excrescence to WTF’s attention – a beanbag onesie. Yes really. People would genuinely be happy to look like they have an arse bigger than Kim Kardashian’s in 3D closeup just so they can have a sit down when the mood takes them without bothering to find, you know, a chair.
Frankly, WTF would rather remain standing between now and the rest of her life than have any part of this madness. 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