Theresa May did resign last week, as predicted, but she did not take WTF’s advice, which was to get out of Dodge before Monday, when the flatulent orange fantasist that is Donald Trump lands here on his State Visit. Instead, she will resign officially on Friday 7 June after the Donald and his offensive offspring have gone home. Even then, she will stay in Number 10 until her successor is chosen, which will be around the middle of July.
All political careers end in failure but in Mrs Maybe’s case, the word failure is far too kind. Something else is required, like farce. And what a legacy she has left us. A gaggle of ghastliness now jostles to succeed her. If you were looking to cast a remake of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, you need go no further than the Gang of Twelve, although by the time you read this, some other bumptious nonentity will probably have thrown his or her cap into the ring (WTF had to change the number from eleven even while writing this). Boris Johnson is the bookies’ favourite but he is currently facing a private prosecution for misfeasance in public office (that infamous bus banner lying about the £350 million that would go to the NHS if we Brexited), and might find running the country from inside a cell a trifle tricky. Then there is the man who stabbed him in the back, last time round, fish-faced Michael Gove, and Andrea Loathsome, who was to face May in the run-off in 2016 until she threw it all away by pointing out that Theresa had no children and therefore lacked the commitment to make the future better. Or there is Jeremy Hunt, the man who ran the NHS into the ground and is now Foreign Secretary, Dominic Raab, the man who champions female equality but is not a feminist, the rebarbative professional Scouser Esther McVey, who is never happier than when depriving people of their benefits, and charming and ever-so-posh ex-Army officer Rory Stewart, who appears to be the only one who is even fairly sensible, and therefore is automatically ruled out. The others are all so insignificant that WTF cannot even be bothered to insult them.
If it was embarrassing to be British last week, it is even worse this week. Huge swathes of the UK voted for Nigel Farage’s Brexit party (basically UKIP with different nutters). Huge swathes voted for those parties who wanted to stay. The Tories crashed and burned. Labour crashed and burned. Neither had a clear and discernible Brexit policy or any obvious means of putting any policy into practice, even if they had one, which they don’t. Labour chucked out a leading light, Alastair Campbell, for voting Liberal Democrat (so did WTF, but her membership has lapsed and had not been renewed), because that party promised a referendum, which Labour did not. Corbyn then announced that the Party would now support a second referendum, which it would not have done had so many people not voted for the Liberal Democrats to start with. Oh, and they might let Campbell back in. And they wonder why people are disenchanted with politics.
So this is where we are. Half our Members of the European Parliament are there to ensure we leave ASAP. Our probable new Prime Minister is a unprincipled liar, whose opportunism got us into this mess in the first place, but who is facing a private prosecution for being a liar. And we are still an international joke. Welcome to post-May Britain.
We start our review of the week’s clothing cloaca with celebritee and cosmetics billionaire Kylie Jenner, wearing Minge Maestro Julien Macdonald.
Julien has wrapped Kylie in £12,000 of sparkly orange peel. Yes really. Kylie has compounded the offence with stupid plastic shoes and lots of bad fake tan, whilst appalled onlookers are in fear of an imminent Minge Moment. In other words, it is business as usual for both of them.
Here is actress Sharon Stone at a charity gala for the Museum of Contemporary Art in LA, wearing who knows what.
WTF at first thought that Sharon had dyed her hair, but it is in fact a scarf matching her box clutch, as she is trying to distract us from the fact that she is wearing a macramé hanging basket holder.
And now to Cannes where we digest the last of the preposterous Festival for 2019, and the associated nonsensical events where people go to preen. It is all very bad. Like Australian model Shanina Shaikh, wearing Georges Hobeika at a Chopard event.
WTF can but conclude that Shanina was taking part in an couture re-enactment of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. All she needs is an apple.
The dress is part of Valli’s one-off range for H&M, and it is fine if you want to look like a mullet Barbie. As for Giambattista, there is no excuse for wearing white socks unless you are playing tennis and his trousers look like a floppy concertina.
On the proper Red Carpet now, where we meet model Meredith Mickelson at the premiere of Rambo: Here We Fucking Go Again, wearing Rami Kadi.
The good news is that she is wearing some sort of titsy swimsuit. The bad news is that she is wearing it under a plastic ground sheet. Great sandals though.
And the star of the show, actor Sylvester Stallone, looking a bit crap.
Look, no one looks like they used to look. Sly is 74. However, his face is fuller of plastic that the LA landfill site. As for the outfit, there was probably a very good reason why he is wearing a dinner jacket and bow tie with the sort of white slacks usually seen on cruise directors. It is just that WTF does not know what it is.
And finally, lovely French actress Marion Cotillard wearing Balmain.
This is officially a pity because Marion is gorgeous but this outfit is not. She looks like she has come to the Red Carpet straight from a spin class, and those bootees are just dog ugly.
This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Leslie Verrinder, who has brought these vile trousers to her attention.
If you think they look like chicken drumsticks, that is because they are meant to. But why would you want to wear something that makes it look as if you have been farting into your trousers for the past week? It’s Got to Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please send in your comments, and don’t forget your utterly splendid suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x