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Brexit Titanic, Bond and the Balenciaga Sweater

THE sartorial equivalent of an exploding tin of Alphabetti spaghetti has hit the fashion world this week with the resurgence of the 90s trend for big shouty designer logos emblazoned all over clothes. And This Reporter can see this as no co-incidence of timing, as we witness a political front scant in truth-telling or plain-speaking but instead besmirched by skulduggery, twiddle-twoddle and bare-faced lies. You'll see. Welcome to your news and style round-up.

First up on the news podium is Jeremy Corbyn and listen..."speech, speech, speech, speech". That's the cacophonous call from multiple sides this week for the Labour leader to formally address claims of anti-semitism, both personally, and within his party.

One journalist, Gary Younge, a columnist for The Guardian, has gone so far as to write a speech for him. The gist of it runs that Corbyn must own his past mistakes, but issue the plea he has been more often than not on the right side of history.

Whether Corbyn's opponents, and former supporters, would accept such a justification for his chequered political career is indeed questionable. More perplexing still however, is why Corbyn has not seized the chance to give the speech of his life and enlighten us a little further than "I was present but I was not involved".

It's akin to the Wardrobe from the Narnia Chronicles pleading plot immunity, on basis of being an inanimate object, when it is patently clear without it the story couldn't even begin to unfold.

Perhaps Corbyn's just not as confident as Mr Younge, that he's a man "more sinned against than sinning".

A much-loved British actor who believes he has the answer to this most tricky of conundrums - perhaps due to his own dabblings into the Bard -  is Sir Patrick Stewart. Mr Stewart has issued the order "beam me up Scotty" as he renounces his lifetime's membership of the Labour party, which began at the tender age of five. The Star Trek performer cites irreconcilable differences with Corbyn, who he says has taken the party in such a direction, it doesn't feel like his party any more.

This Reporter now requests pray silence for the genius of this week which is Brexit Titanic. As crucial background, This Reporter is not going to regale you with details of how there was once a ship which they declared was unsinkable, until it sank. But rather Boris Johnson's past bluster that we would make a Titanic success of Brexit. By which he meant not that it would crash into an iceberg, but it would be Titanic, in size. Unwise.

Nevertheless, Boris' words appear to have sparked off an exemplary piece of film-making by Josh Pappenheim, which takes Titanic the movie, and superimposes David Cameron's face onto that of the Captain's. With other delights including Corbyn as one of the violinists playing as the ship goes down, Boris, as a child, managing to get on one of the lifeboats and a naked Donald Trump being painted by Nigel Farage.

Incidentally, Boris has been banging on about otters - namely how "us rotters are killing the otters" (!) - in his latest Telegraph column. This Reporter suggests there could be a film in that too, whilst feeling more than a little suspicious about Boris' change in direction. Otters beware.

As for 'real-life' Brexit, the mood is very much we're going all out "No Deal" and if all else fails Noel, we've had a lovely day. Denmark for instance, the mecca of top tv drama, has set our chances at 50:50.

Foreign Secretary Jeremy Hunt however, has declared if No Deal goes ahead it would be a mistake we would regret for generations. It sure beats Boris' pompous Land of Hope and Glory calls for European severance, but what is Mr Hunt going to do to stop it? Time to stock up the medicine cabinet. (Or add your name to the hundreds of thousands calling for a People's Vote).

Meanwhile, in the 'underworld' there have been reports of M16 agents spying on Brexit meetings over in Europe, as Britain has been suspiciously privy to information disclosed in closed door meetings only moments after the chair has called time.

This raises a couple of queries for This Reporter, chiefly the very notion of intelligence agencies playing any part in Brexit seems something of an oxymoron, and if indeed we do have spies working in the EU camp, why is it all going so wrong?

This Reporter suggests we call in Idris Elba, who has been at the centre of renewed speculation he could be the next, or the first black, James Bond. Much to the chagrin of arch-right winger Katie Hopkins, who put together a far less successful video this week on the topic, declaring "Idris you cannot be the next James Bond".

She spouts, Idris this is nothing to do with you being a "gentleman of colour". It is because James Bond, in the books, is a white man. In a confusing addition, she notes, to allow a black actor to play James Bond would be an affront to our imagination. This Reporter can only surmise she missed the part of the video where we slipped into playing opposites. That or Katie Hopkins is telling a lie.

To that end, This Reporter implores you to purchase a garment the very epitome of logo dressing. The creme de la creme of wearing a designer label on your chest. It's a little bit brash, a little bit trashy, a tres bit "look at how much I spent on this".

Yet it is from the fashion house of plain talk, where a spade is called a spade, or in this case, a Balenciaga. There are no secrets, there are no lies, about it. It speaks exactly what it is. It is a Balenciaga sweater. It is a bless'd relief.


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