Welcome to the General Election version of Snog One, Marry One and Throw One Over the Cliff. Only in this one, you get to throw them all over the cliff. It is just that the one that is least annoying gets thrown over first, and so is spared the agony of having to wait his or her turn. Was there ever such a dire choice on offer?
The more you see of Jo Swinson, the less you like her – squawky, patronising, and unqualified. Not to mention those terrible Miss Jean Brodie dresses with the highly unfortunate seams, all seemingly cut from the same Simplicity Paper Pattern in a variety of late autumnal hues. Her assertion that she could be Prime Minister is like WTF opening the batting for England at Lords -preposterous and it ain’t going to happen. Not even at all. When you start feeling nostalgic about Vince Cable, you know things are not going well.
And there is Jeremy Corbyn. His interview with Andrew Neil on the BBC could have have improved 200% and it would still have been a catastrophe. What with conjuring money out of the sky, a refusal to apologise to those pesky Jews, and his failure to take any stance, positive or negative, on Brexit, it is safe to say that Corbyn had an uncomfortable time. WTF has spoken about Labour’s anti-semitism problems before – suffice it to say that it is not enough that Corbyn’s mum was at Cable Street shouting imprecations at the Blackshirts in 1936. So was WTF’s dad, and it doesn’t make her eligible to be the Prime Minister. When large parts of the Jewish community, MPs both Jewish and non-Jewish, the Chief Rabbi, and the Archbishop of Canterbury all suggest that there is a problem, there probably is, and putting your hands over your ears and singing ‘ooooh, Jer-re-mee-Corr-byn’ is not going to make it go away. Neither is presenting your faith manifesto while standing on a stage next to one candidate who has previously referred to the Saudis being ‘controlled by their Zionist masters’, and another, the Shadow immigration minister, who has previously referred to the ‘Israel-British-Swiss-Rothschilds’ crime syndicate’ and ‘mass-murdering-Rothschilds-Israel-mafia-criminal-liars’.
That said, at least Corbyn had the balls to face Andrew Neil, unlike Boris Johnson, who has flatly declined to do that interview and so is getting the much gentler, more Tory, Andrew Marr instead. To which WTF says that Johnson should be told that either he can be interviewed by Andrew Neil, or he can fuck right off. And so, for that matter, can the BBC, which has been so abysmally craven of late that it should be ashamed, should it do shame, which it doesn’t. Since when do barristers go into court and demand a change of judge? Since when do students go into an exam and demand a change of marker? But Johnson – or his handlers – cannot be unaware that with him, less is more and much less is even better. So instead of actually justifying his barefaced lies, his appalling comments about Muslims, ‘illegitimate children’ (this from a man who should be spayed), and ‘piccaninnies with watermelon smiles’ in front of the same interrogator as his main rivals, the BBC has given him a softer substitute. And, in the meantime, it has given extensive coverage to Johnson’s expertise on whether one should spread the cream or the jam first on a scone. One suspects that this is not the principal issue in this particular contest. If anyone wants to study the etiquette of scone-assembly, they can ask Mary Berry. It is time that Johnson was put properly to the sword, and the BBC started wielding that sword and not a bloody tea plate.
In our study of the week’s sartorial slops, we concentrate today on the horror that was trotted out in Los Angeles on the red carpet of the American Music Awards, starting with singer Billie Eilish wearing Burberry.
Beekeepers wear Burberry. And also bedroom slippers. By Burberry. Sorry, but this is just very, very, silly.
Next up, singer Taylor Swift wearing Minge Maestro Julien Macdonald.
To be fair to Julien, this (and last week’s offering on Heidi Klum), are far less mingey than his usual stuff, but still ghastly. A mini skirt AND half a long skirt AND Julia Roberts’ streetwalker boots? Too much indecision here. Shit or get off the pot.
Now we have singer Selena Gomez wearing Versace.
Selina is not remotely big, but this thing, whatever this thing is supposed to be, is too small. She needs to take a size up. The colour is reminiscent of a key lime margarita, and silk shoes dyed to match went out in 1964.
This is songwriter and DJ Diplo, wearing MCM.
Wild Bill Hickok is alive and well and living in Los Angeles. Only he didn’t wear monogrammed and overpriced tat from poncy men’s designers. And the chain is definitely de trop.
She’s here again! WTF refers to former model and TV presenter Heidi Klum wearing Monsoori.
If the Hairy Monster cross-dressed in a silver bra and matching shoes (WHAT IS GOING ON IN LA????), this is what he would look like.
We have not seen singer Ciara in a while. Here she is, wearing Ashi Studio.
Shirley Bassey in her peignoir. Forty years ago. Sigh.
Meet singer Lil Naz X wearing British designer Christopher John Rogers.
This outfit is the spawn of a frog and a tiger. With most unfortunate results. And those shoes are the absolute pits. And the gloves.
Finally, we have singer Damon Sharp, wearing his bedroom curtains.
And because it wasn’t floral enough, he had to add floral thingies on the silk facings. This is a sort of 21st century version of Maria von Trapp cutting up the drapes. Only she was doing it to make outfits for kiddies.
This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF aficionado Elizabeth from Haringey, and WTF could not agree more with her complaint. Elizabeth, a mother herself, is fed up with parents parking their kids in front of iPhones, iPads and gameboys to shut them up during journeys and meals, which means that everyone in the vicinity has to put up with the noise blaring from the loudspeaker of the said item. Usually it is some godawful cartoon with terrible blinkety-blinkety-blinketing, making you feel as if you have a bad dose of tinnitus, but Elizabeth was subjected to a plane journey behind some little bugger playing computer games which involved shooting everybody in sight, and so was subjected to metallic bang-bang-banging non-stop all the way from London Heathrow to Milan, after which she had the hump, and rightly so. Heaven forfend their parents could read offspring a book. It’s Got To Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your comments, which put a spring into WTF’s wearied step, and please don’t forget your scintillating suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x