UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson and US President Donald J. Trump are currently engaged in a root and branch attack on the things that used to be standard. Like leaving your family at home when you go to work. Like press briefings. Like letting people vote according to their conscience. Like proper scrutiny of the Executive. Stuff you used to think was just a given. Now it is being given away,
Where Trump goes, Mini-Me Johnson follows. Trump imported Nepotism Barbie, aka dim daughter Ivanka, and her even dimmer husband, Jared Kushner, into the White House, despite their obvious lack of qualifications. Were Fred Trump, Trump’s Klu Klux Klan-loving, slum landlord dad, still with us, you can bet your bottom dollar that he would have a role somewhere. Mini-Me has now brought in his dad, Stanley, as an unofficial factotum, running errands for his son like popping into the Chinese Embassy for a cup of lapsang souchong and a natter with the Ambassador about who knows what. Next, he will probably have a stab at the Middle East crisis. How far will this go? Will Sajid Javid’s mum be brought in to advise on quantitative easing? How about former UKIP candidate Sushil Patel, Priti’s dad? Surely there is a role for him somewhere helping his daughter out at the Home Office? Soon, we can forget elections altogether, and save ourselves a fortune by getting a family job lot in to run the place.
And then there are those pesky buggers from the Press, who seem to feel that they have the right to question politicians about what they are doing and why are they doing it. And to be critical of the result. But worry not, Readers, because that boil is about to be well and truly lanced. Following the White House’s lead, Downing Street has now banned various newspapers, such dangerously radical publications as The Independent and The Huffington Post, from attending press briefings. Johnson eschews press conferences and instead answers questions from youngsters on Facebook. And he has ordered his Cabinet to boycott BBC’s The Today Programme because it dares to challenge whatever pre-prepared rubbish is trotted out by Ministers. It will not be long before all Government communication will be only with The Daily Telegraph, Johnson’s former employer, and the cult of ‘me-me-me-look-at-me’, now thriving around Trump, takes root.
Meanwhile, over in Washington, Senators took an oath to try Donald Trump and to reach a fair verdict. Republican Senators ducked their responsibility and acquitted on a variety of specious excuses, ranging from ‘nothing wrong happened’ to ‘so what if it did happen?’ to ‘well, yes it did happen and it was wrong, but it is not worthy of impeachment’ to ‘yes, he’s guilty as hell but I am not spending the rest of my term getting a Presidential bollocking and a silly nickname on Twitter, and hate-mail from people who sleep with their sisters in Mississippi’. Only Senator Mitt Romney took his oath seriously, and already he is facing death threats, and calls to expel him from the GOP (from Presidential son Donald Trump Jr), and all sorts. And a similar fate awaits any MP who steps out of line here. The Special Relationship continues to thrive …
This week’s survey of fashion flotsam comes from the BAFTAs, held at London’s Albert Hall in London last Sunday. Let us begin with actress Alice Eve, wearing vintage Ralph and Russo.
Just because it is vintage does not mean that it is nice. This is the same reasoning as with WTF’s theory on rarely performed Shakespeare plays – there is a reason you do not see Timon of Athens staged very often. This is the sartorial version of Timon of Athens, with peekaboo and frankly rather lopsided tits, and a skirt like a kitsch lampshade.
Model Irina Shayk, wearing Burberry.
WTF suspects that she speaks for the world in suggesting that a string shopping bag over Spanx is not an outfit. Furthermore, we are all bored to death with this whole sheer trend. NEXT!
Designer Roksana Ilinčić, wearing herself.
Why is Roksana dressed as a hunchbacked extra from The Name of the Rose? And what have the blue shoes and maroon box-bag got to do with the price of Benedictine?
Actor Andy Serkis, wearing something or other.
That colour trim looks like Paul Smith, but whoever is responsible for this suit, it has a removable zipped peplum, like those silly holiday trousers that convert into shorts. Talking of trousers, Andy’s are an affront to human dignity and are more wrinkled than a sharpei’s bum. As, inexplicably, is the tie.
Rapper M.I.A. wearing Richard Quinn.
Those sitting next to M.I.A. would not have appreciated sleeves the size of floral barrage balloons.
Young actress Ella Balinska wearing Giambattista Valli.
2019 saw Ella in the disaster that was Charlie’s Angels. 2020 saw Ella in the disaster that is Giambattista recycling a bedspread from one of those chintzy country house hotels in Cumbria.
DJ and presenter Edith Bowman, wearing The Vampire’s Wife.
Edith looks as though she got dressed in the dark and was then dragged through a hedge backwards. The yellow belt is about pointless as tits on a fish and the last time WTF saw gloves like that, they were on Charlie Fairhead in Casualty.
Actress Florence Pugh wearing Dries Van Noten.
This seems to be Marie-Antoinette’s boudoir gown held together by a couple of bell-pulls, and worn with a Minge Moment Mini. It is awful. The Miley Cyrus hair is awful. The green nails are awful. It is all awful.
TV ‘personality’ Maya Jama, wearing Azzi and Osta.
This is a titti tutti frutti atop a large bowl of custard. Maya would be advised not to make any sudden movements as that bodice is manifestly not up to the job of containment.
Singer Paloma Faith wearing Simone Rocha.
Paloma looks like a Meissen dairymaid. Extra minus points for the matching ankle socks and the dangling ribbons.
And finally, designer Richard Malone, wearing Richard Malone.
This is truly terrible down to the ankles, and then it turns totally tragic.
Richard appears to have nipped down to the fancy dress shop and hired a bullfighter costume. Only the bullfighter costume looks better than his offering. We can definitely see what side he dresses, and the trewsies have elephant vagina syndrome. Readers, do not try this look at home. Any of it. In particular, running away in platform boots from an angry bull with its horns inches from your arse would be most unwise. Not to mention painful when it makes contact. Which it will.
This week’s It’s Got To Go is from WTF aficionado WTF, who is sick to the back teeth of kamikaze pedestrians hurtling themselves into the path of your car as you drive lawfully around London. It is bad enough that being a motorist is now only up from a kiddy fiddler, and that sanctimonious cyclists disregard the laws of safety and common sense with abandon. But now there are people positively daring you to run them over as they dash into your path whilst reading their mobile phones, or dart out from behind parked vehicles. And then when you swerve to avoid them, they give you the finger and blame YOU because you have four wheels. It is intolerable and It’s Got To Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your comments, which will bring cheer to WTF in these dark times, and please don’t forget your super suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good. x