Is he sorry? Is he hell. But then in Boris Johnson’s mind what does he have to be sorry about? Yes, he popped in to party after party, not that they were parties, and yes he had a drink and made speeches and hobnobbed with staff, but these were all work dos. And not only were they work dos, not parties, but he was obligated to attend them as part of his role in leading the country. Because nothing says leadership in the middle of a pandemic more than drinking a glass of bubbly while toasting operatives who have been driven out of the building because they hated his wife as much as she hated them. And Readers, do not forget! They were working very hard at Downing Street and so they deserved to let their hair down. Much more than doctors and nurses and bus drivers and shop workers, who were just larking about….
WTF does not get how on earth anyone managed to do any work at all at Number 10. It seems that staff were either recovering from the party, not that it was a party, the night before, or running out to Tesco to stock up for the next party, not that it was a party, or queuing up at Marks and Spencer, no doubt in a socially distanced way, to acquire snacks for the said parties, not that they were parties, or side-stepping piles of vomit on the carpet, or rolling around drunk in the garden having broken Wilfred Johnson’s swing, or insulting the cleaning staff who had to mop up the said vomit, not to mention the red wine splashed on the wallpaper, or telling security staff to fuck right off in response to the suggestion that maybe they should not be partying in the middle of a pandemic. The place made Benidorm look like a branch of the Temperance Society…..
All this was documented by Sue Gray in her report except, puzzlingly, the so-called “strategy meeting” held by Mrs Johnson in the Downing St flat on the night Dominic Cumming left the building for the last time. As the only strategies Mrs Johnson seems to engage in are getting rid of her husband’s staff and spending other people’s money on wallpaper, the explanation for the raison d’etre of this gathering seems, to put it politely, unlikely. Nor was it clear why the strategising took place to the sound of ABBA warbling on about Waterloo and Dancing Queens. But what she did find demonstrates that just like Johnson himself, Number 10 was a bubbling cauldron of booze, bad behaviour, boorishness, bull-shittery and a complete disregard for the rules he had set and for the mugs across the country who followed them in the misguided belief that this was the right thing to do. And just as it was no surprise that the Prime Minister has fashioned his home and the people who work in it in his own image, it is no surprise that he holds himself responsible for none of it and has no intention of resigning, any more than it is no surprise that craven Tory MPs will stick to him like shit to a blanket in order to hang on to their seats….
We begin our review of the week’s clothing comedy with celebritee Kourtney Kardashian and her spouse, musician Travis Barker, both wearing Dolce & Gabbana at their wedding in Portofino.
There is something fundamentally wrong when the train uses about ten times as much material as the dress. Not that this is a dress; rather it is the lovechild of a corset and a truss, complete with Imminent Minge Moment and lacy faux pubes. Not to mention that it is far too short. And the back is worse……
This is an arse flap. She was standing in front of a high altar with a gilded Madonna and another embroidered Madonna on her veil, taking her sacred vows while wearing an arse flap. What. The. Actual.Fuck?
This is actor Lucien Laviscount, wearing Dior at the Dior Menswear Show in Venice Beach, California.
He is very handsome but he seems to be dressed as a member of the peasant chorus in Don Giovanni plotting revenge for the seduction of Zerlina.
To the Cannes Film Festival, where we encounter pregnant model Adriana Lima, wearing Balmain.
No sooner are we spared further sightings of Rihanna’s baby bump, (she had a healthy boy last week), another one is wheeled out for us to gaze upon. This was not a mantle that Adriana needed to pick up, although frankly she would have done better to pick up a mantle and wrap it around her middle. Instead Balmain designed this foulness especially for her. WTF shuddered and then shuddered some more and she is still shuddering. A few years ago, motorist Grant Parker was driving his car along the road in York when it sank into a giant pothole. Grant’s hairless pate emerging from the said pothole bears a striking similarity to Adriana’s bump emerging darkly from her midriff…..
Next up, we have actor Isabelle Huppert. wearing Balenciaga.
Whoever thought of this trend deserves a slap. If a leprechaun went to a fancy dress party as the Turin Shroud, this is what it would look like. And her shoes are too big.
Meet newcomer to these pages, actor Edgar Ramirez, wearing Louis Vuitton.
These are pyjamas. Louis Vuitton pyjamas, yes, but as Juliet almost remarked, that which we call pyjamas by any other name would smell as sweet. He could have gone to Boden and saved himself a fortune.
Oh here she comes. Pointless socialite Lady Victoria Hervey always pops up on the Cannes Red Carpet wearing something frightful and this year is no exception.
Whenever WTF sees Lady Victoria, she concludes that Robespierre had a point. Lady V has two points, both of which she flashes with monotonous regularity, as in this thing showing most of her, save for a pair of very ugly panties. The whole look is reminiscent of the King of Nineveh, who, on hearing from Jonah that the Lord was about to destroy his City because of its inhabitants’ general naughtiness ” arose from his throne, and he laid his robe from him, and covered him with sackcloth, and sat in ashes”.
And now we are going very scatalogical. First up is model Jeanne Cadieu and her partner, actor Jake Gyllenhaal.
That is not a bodice. That is a monkey’s arsehole. And she has silver foil around her ankles.
And next, away from Cannes, we have a very silly person, Selling Sunset’s Christine Quinn, parading around LA wearing Balenciaga.
It is that stupid tights-over-shoes thing again, as worn by Isabelle on the Red Carpet, but at least Isabelle’s was (i) a fetching shade of green and (ii) covered, at least in part, by a dress. This is turd-coloured and it literally looks like shit.
This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF aficionado, nay stalwart, Yvonne from Jedburgh who brought this revolting tweet to her attention.
Jonty Campbell, for it is he, is not just a disgusting sleazebag but he is also a wannabe Tory Councillor and the Deputy Chair of the Preston Conservatives. Fortunately the voters of Preston had enough sense not to vote him into office. It is to be hoped that Tory Central Office will ensure he is let nowhere near an official meeting ever again. He’s Got To Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Please keep the comments coming, as well as your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x
The whole being-proud-of-your-pregnancy thing is rapidly converging with It’s Got To Go, too.
(Not the pregnancies, of course. The in! your! face! thing.)
AGREED A ZILLION PERCENT