Welcome to another edition to Covid Hokey Cokey, in which Her Majesty’s Government changes its mind about how to handle the virus, often from day to day. In, out, in, out, shake it all about, and then blame someone else. First you can fly to somewhere foreign and have a nice holiday. Then you can fly to the same somewhere foreign, but you will have to come back early at a cost equivalent to buying the entire plane, or else self-quarantine for a fortnight when you get home, which means that you are taking four weeks’ holiday, not two. One day Portugal is fine, then it isn’t (but Madeira is). One day Hungary is tops, and then it isn’t. Of course, you could have settled for a nice fortnight in Cornwall instead, except that the Cornish all hate you for spreading your vile infection around their sparsely populated, one-hospital-only county, and resent your refusal to wear a mask because you “came on holiday to get away from all that, innit”?
And now the Government has changed its mind about how many people you can mingle with. Whatever it was last week, it is different this week. Starting from Monday 14 September, you cannot congregate indoors in groups of more than six, whether in your home, in someone else’s home, or around a restaurant table. If you do, a Covid Monitor will come up and fine you (which is more than they do when not wearing a mask). People are incensed. Christmas Day round at Nan’s has been shelved. If you want to see more than six family members, your only choices are to kill someone off so that they can all come to the funeral, or get married so they can all come to the nuptials. Is this the end of civilisation as we know it?
But all these people bemoaning Yuletide without Auntie Ethel can get stuffed because many of them did not give a toss about their aged or ailing relatives when they crammed into pubs and clubs, and went to the races, and queued outside Primark for the sales, and crowded onto Bournemouth Beach (doing their whoopsies wherever they fancied as all the loos were locked), and picnicked in the park, and attended raves, and congregated at large family gatherings, and demonstrated maskless for or against Black Lives Matter, and celebrated Liverpool winning the League. And still they wander into shops and on and off public transport without a mask, getting aggressive with others who ask them to put one on, and who declare loudly that they are not going to wear one because it is their democratic right to infect anyone and everyone with a virus that does not exist, and it’s just like the ‘flu. Except that it is not just like the ‘flu. Even President Trump knows that is not just like the ‘flu. He always did. He just told everyone that it was because he didn’t want them to panic. And damage the stock market.
Meanwhile, do not despair, Great British Public! You may have to spend Christmas all alone with your partner and screaming kiddies watching yet another re-run of Mrs Brown’s Boys, but by the Spring, Boris Johnson has promised us all almost daily testing with new instant technology using saliva. It hasn’t actually been invented yet but hey! Let’s be positive. Or rather, let’s hope that the test will show we’re not positive. And be accurate. Once it is invented, that is…….
This week’s survey of comedy clothing starts at the Venice Film Festival, and a couple of dodgy dresses, first on esteemed actress Cate Blanchett, wearing Alexander McQueen.
Whatever is going on here should not be. It is all so BUSY, what with the tutu like Darcey Bussell, and the net curtain skirt, not to mention the fluffy thing sitting on her shoulder, reminiscent of the scene in White Chicks when the Wayne Brothers take to the catwalk.
Next up, we have Italian ‘celebritee’ Ludovica Valli wearing Antonio Riva.
This is beyond frightful, but at least you cannot say that Antonio has scrimped on the material. There is more sheeting than to be found in the linen cupboard at the Gritti Palace Hotel. She looks like an unmade Kingsize bed……
To London, where we encounter WTF’s favourite Z-lister, Lizzie Cundy, out on a date wearing a Zara top, mock-leather skirt from TopShop, and Carvela sandals.
Lizzie is 52, and persists in dressing as if she were 26. Let us not dwell upon her face and (for once, covered up) embonpoint, both of which have seen some interference with the workings of nature. Instead, let us consider that her skirt is ridiculously short, her sandals are hideous, her stomach needs to be put away and the last time WTF saw legs like that, they were hanging off a chicken.
Talking of the Z list, here is TOWIE’s Gemma Collins wearing Wendy Grey Handmade and a Louis Vuitton £1600 handbag.
Gemma has recently lost three stone, and good for her, but this outfit is grislier than a grisly bear with grizzle issues, The leisurewear jim-jams are both slithery and lurid, and the handbag is an overpriced eyesore, but WTF’s disapprobation is principally reserved for the retro swimming cap, the purpose of which is unclear.
Finally, here is singer and actress Jennifer Lopez wearing Ralph Lauren.
Oh dear Lord. This is the lovechild of the worst migraine you ever had and a lava lamp, and it makes the lovely Jennifer look as though her pudendum has exploded……
This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF aficionado Ayesha from Stepney, and also fromWTF. Both are outraged by Propaganda Barbie, aka Kayleigh McEnany, the White House Press Secretary, who is paid a lot of money by US Taxpayers to lie to their face. This week she hit rock bottom when informing the Press Corps that Trump had not downplayed the Coronavirus pandemic, when an hour earlier a tape had been released of him saying exactly that. And he then said it again about an hour later.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Do not forget your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good, be careful, and keep washing your hands! x