Hallo Readers,

The other night, WTF was watching CNN as she still does later in the evening (old habits die hard and things are hotting up again, Trump-wise) when up popped bloated buffoon Boris Johnson talking about Ukraine to veteran anchor Wolf Blitzer. At this point, WTF started to emit yelping noises similar to a constipated cat and scrambled about trying to find the remote, which, as usual, had disappeared beneath the cushions. Blitzer, who is scrupulously polite, kept addressing Johnson as ‘Mr Prime Minister’, because in America holders of any office, no matter how brief the tenure, are always addressed by that title, even decades later, including – shudder – President Trump. WTF eventually found the remote and hit the off button with all the force she could muster.

Fortunately, in the UK Johnson remains as Mr Former Prime Minister rather than Mr Prime Minister, but it is perfectly obvious that he has not abandoned hope of resuming occupation of no 10, whatever he has to do to get back there. Admittedly we have had two Prime Ministers since then (including Madam Prime Minister Liz Truss, the Lady Jane Grey of 21st Century politics), but you may recall that Johnson won a landslide victory in 2019 by promising us a definitive Brexit based upon what he called an ‘oven-ready deal’ with no border down the Irish Sea. Only the deal was not so much oven-ready as deep-frozen and riddled with salmonella and there is now a border down the Irish Sea because there has to be one somewhere, being a border between us and the EU. The vast majority of Northern Irish voted overwhelmingly to stay in the EU and the Good Friday Agreement allows them enjoy freedom of movement of themselves and goods in and out of the Republic of Ireland. And to retain the protection of those pesky Directives guaranteeing them protection against discrimination and the right to equal pay and other such, the rights we were persuaded to throw away in exchange for getting our sovereignty back and gambolling in the sunlit uplands of independence. Despite downright lies that the Province is struggling post-Brexit, the opposite is true; its exports to the EU went up 55% in 2022 while its imports went up by 30% which is more than you can say for the rest of the UK which, far from reaching the sunlit uplands, is still bogged down with the worst economic forecast in Europe.

The solution, according to the Headbanger faction of the Tory Party which still idolises Bloviating Boris, is to pass a Bill which allows us to break the bits of the Northern Ireland Protocol we don’t like. Even though we would be breaking international law in doing so. The last thing the Headbangers want is for us to reach any sort of workable agreement with the EU, and so it was that last week, in between his posing as the Sole Saviour of Ukraine, Bloviating Boris was busy attacking his successor but one, the actual Mr Prime Minister (albeit unelected by anyone except 100 Tory MPs, most of them on a promise), and urging him to discard the Agreement Johnson’s Government had negotiated. There will be a lot more of this in the months to come, attacking Sunak on anything and everything in order to keep the Headbangers on a rolling simmer and in readiness for the putsch. But then, as we always knew, Mr Prime Minister Johnson would, as WTF’s granny used to say, drown anyone in a thimbleful of water to get what he wants. And the sad thing is that like the devotees of that other bloated liar, Mr President Trump, there are many people who don’t care but just want him back.

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We start out review of the week’s weirdo wear with singer Will Young wearing who knows what at designer Dame Vivienne Westwood’s funeral.

Deary me. Will looks like the lovechild of a theatrical backdrop and a vicar fallen on hard times. The Dennis the Menace socks are particularly to be deplored. Although that is to complain of a particular turd among other turds in a toilet bowl of turds.

Also in attendance was artist Philip Sallon, another one wearing who knows what.

Now look. Dame Viv was unconventional. No one was expected to attend the obsequies in funereal black – in fact,  guests would probably be shown the door were that to appear in such garb. Nevertheless, there is wacky and there is wanky and this is wanky +++ with a side order of mega-wanky. WTF spent some time trying to work out what was happening and then gave up. The best she can do is to suggest that Philip is wearing Beefeater overalls and is minded to punch a few paparazzi should he have the opportunity to do so.

We pop in briefly to Milan Fashion Week where we encounter Portuguese model Sara Sampaio wearing Cavalli.

So now we have a new phenomenon, the Minge Medal. Kill me now…

To the BAFTAs in London, with actors as far as the eye can see, starting with actor Anya Taylor-Joy wearing Schiaparelli.

What nonsense is this? Is Anya playing velour Pharaoh with the soft furnishings?

And now a rare honour. It is a while since the same person was featured twice in the same week – from memory, it was Rita Ora and that was many years ago. Anyway, here is Anya again, this time at the after-party, wearing Jean Paul Gaultier. 

Anya has turned up as a yeti. Who can say why?

Next up, we have model Leomie Anderson wearing Celia Kritharioti.

What is this latest trend of pustules? Last week, we had Ashnikko at the Brits wearing a condom with pustules. This week we have Leomie at the BAFTAs wearing an Emmental cheese with pustules. And she is giving us an imminent Minge Moment. The whole thing is enough to make you develop extreme lactose intolerance….

Next up, model Roșie Huntington-Whitely wearing Alaia.

It is time to make your mind up, Rosie. Either wear a skirt. Or wear something  that shows what appears to be a codpiece peeking through dog’s teeth. Your call.

This is actor Andreea Cristea wearing Rahul  Mishra. 

Wow. Just wow. If a topiary hedge went to a fancy dress party as a pretzel, this is what it would look like.

And finally, we are at the Toronto Film festival where we meet model Rebecca-Jo Dunham and her husband, actor Jay Baruchel at the premiere of Jay’s new film Blackberry.

Oh please.  This is a string shopping bag containing Rebecca.

This week’s It’s Got To Go comes from WTF aficionado Bindy from Wiltshire, who recounts a conversation with a cab driver in London which sums up the problems faced by Extinction Rebellion.

The chatty driver told Bindy that he had been hired by some Extinction Rebellion members for a long journey to join their demonstration: “and me pointing out I had a diesel cab and all..” Bindy, who is rather sympathetic to Extinction Rebellion’s objectives but is sceptical of its tactics, says that if these grimly laughable double standards continue, it is the Rebellion that is destined for Extinction; and It’s Got To Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week.  Please keep sending in your suggestions for It’s Got To Go and your top comments, which WTF likes more than anything. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good.