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THE TOOL LIST 2011

CLAUDIA WINKLEMAN

With film critiques as in depth as “I was eating popcorn when I watched Tin Tin. Then Snowy did a jump and I laughed”, Winkleman redefines the word ‘unqualified’. Film 2011 throws us a bone in the shape of Danny Leigh who doesn’t think that cinematography is a new fragrance by J-Lo, but it doesn’t make Winkleman’s pointers of “There’s a man in it who’s brilliant” any less insightful.

PAUL MCMULLEN

He makes me itch. A crack tramp geography teacher, McMullen thought he was brave and righteous being so outspoken about his part in the News of The World phone hacking scandal. The thing is, he forgot to turn up to the party with an excuse better than “Hugh Grant’s got loads of money”. Who gives a fuck, pal? My neighbour’s got an iPad but I don’t stand with a glass to the wall to find out if he watches Strictly or X Factor. Nosy little pervert.

ALEX ONE SHOW

“Huh? She’s got a surname? I never realised.” That’s probably what Alex One Show’s own family say about her, if they remember ever having met their TV presenter relative, which they probably don’t. Beige on lettuce, Alex One Show is so inoffensive and bland she spends her whole time on telly shitting herself that someone is going to say something vaguely rude. “One Show, sounds a bit like Bun Show, which could be Bum Show. Fuck! We’re doomed! Back to Chris Evans – a massive, talking bell-end.”

JOHN TORODE

There’s something a bit cheeky and loveable about the other one – Masterchef baldy man Gregg Wallace, who used to be a green grocer and doesn’t give a shit about your perfectly presented venison. He just wants the pudding, like a huge, round baby. Torode, though, eats with his mouth open, shovelling in the food and talking before he’s swallowed. Greedy bugger.

TESS DALY

When was the last time you felt sorry for Vernon Kay? I never thought I would, but just imagine living with Tess Daly all the time. She’s like a giant hen, clucking and gurning, her Northerness dialled up to flat-cap’n’tripe. Cluck, cluck, cluck, she goes, like Les Dawson going at it with Colonel Sanders’ live stock. She’s the antidote to Alex One Show in many ways, winking at camera like a randy matron in the making. Yuck.

PHILIP GREEN

Sometimes I go into Topshop for a daytime disco. I don’t know who picks the music they play in there but it’s always going off. When I feel sick, I vomit in a loafer; if I need the loo, I time it with trying on a pair of skinny jeans. It’s because Philip Green is a tax-dodging crook. Wait. That’s unfair. SIR Philip Green is a tax-dodging crook.

ALESHA DIXON

Winkleman! Have you been at this one? Seemingly a fellow graduate from the School of How To Say Nothing While Saying A Lot, Dixon went on Strictly Come Dancing, won it, and now spends her days telling Johnny McFly that, “This dance suited you” and, “Push yourself!” It’s a bit like The X Factor employing Joe McElderry to judge new contestants with the sage advice of “Sing”. So, so scandalous. Genuinely.

JODIE MARSH

So Jodie Marsh fucked off for a bit. Wonder what she was doing. Shit!

KELLY OSBOURNE

If you’ve ever had the misfortune of finding the E! channel on your TV box, there’s a chance that you’ve happened across a programme called Fashion Police, on which the melted Wellington boot that is geriatric hag Joan Rivers slags of Hollywood A-listers’ clothes while what appears to be an actual pig snorts along in agreement. That pig is actually Kelly Osborne who, unlike Rivers, is sane enough to know better. Up next on E!, Dating In The Dark with Joseph Fritzl.

JONNIE MARBLES

Real life Dennis The Menace Johnny Marbles is the clown who thought he was doing us all a favour by throwing a custard pie at Rupert Murdoch during his testimony to parliament over the phone hacking disaster. Really, he threw the old tortoise a lifeline, making him look like the victim at the hands of the village idiot. What’s more, the plonker managed to largely miss Murdoch and instead hit his own face. Still, if your real name was Jonathan May-Bowles, you’d change it to Jonnie Marbles, right?

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People say, “Oh, you look like a rapey Ali G,” or, “Your beard looks like a merkin,” or, “Your curtains are haunted by the ghost of the last person to die in the old people’s home you stole them from,” or, “Actual pig!” Yeah, man, my look provokes a strong reaction, just like my songs. Truth is, I’ve never looked better. The Ali G thing – yeah, I get where people are coming from on that. It’s the hat, right? Mine says W.A.R. on it though, because destruction is brilliant (and it’s my initials – Bucket Head bought the same one, even though I told him not to, so mum sorted it so we could tell them apart). As for the ‘merkin’, as the haters put it, I feel no shame in telling you that I’ve never managed to grow a full beard – it’s always so… patchy, like my balls. Luckily, the goatee has never gone out of style. It’s the rings (from a British boutique called Claire’s) that really set this outfit off though, and my tip to anyone rocking rocks is always keep your hands in front of you like I’m doing here, but be subtle about showing off your jewels – you don’t want to look like a prick. (The curtains came with the flat).

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Rule one of being an IBS (International Brand Sensation): always take a good picture! No larking about as if your Robin Williams or Goose; when those cameras get snapping, you need to pop a handsome pose. The tumbs up says: “Hey buddy! Everything is okay! Let’s have a good time!” It’s positive, and trust me, people like that. Opra soaped that shit up like a sponge with a gut. But look what else I’m doing here – I’m flexing the shit out of that Baby Gap tee! I always like to say: “The thumb says ‘Yes!’, the gun says ‘Fitness’!” Wait, scratch that, I’ll go again. The gun SCREAMS ‘Fitness’. And if you can get your forearm bulging with veins, definitely do that! It’s a healthy look, like the side of a horse. I can’t even begin to tell you how important a natural smile is too. It’s a tricky thing, so practise in the mirror! And if you’ve got a complex about your teeth (maybe they’re yellow or crooked) simply don’t show ‘em. I never do – I keep my mouth closed and let the thumb say “YES!”.  And behind my shade, you know what my eyes are saying? “I’m an IBS, man! This is fucking wild! C’Mon!!!!”

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Tell you what, I’ve worn some mad shit in my time! Remember that time I played the piano dressed as Donald Duck for a laugh? Yeah y’do. And when I went to a party as Marie Antoinette? You dooo! And when I dressed like an egg at the Royal Wedding last month? You DO! I’m mad, me – from my hair plugs down to my size 4s. I have calmed down a lot since the gak days, though. A certain someone who shall remain nameless made me bin the Donald Duck get up recently, actually – he said that it had started to smell like desperation, whatever that means, David. I still wear this little look though. The gold rings are neither here nor there, really (I’ve got tons of gold) and I’ve been through more fucia silk shirts than I have flowers (remember that advert I did for Royal Mail with flowers? Yeah?), but those specs! Fuck me, they’re sick! Firstly, they’ve got reading lights on, which is a bonus for a book fiend like me (The Bitch Is Back is a real page-turner), they’re bi-focal, shaped like hearts and look, they’ve got little window wipers on! There’s only one pair in the world though. Wrestle for em?

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Like all fans of real music, I am massively into Kings of Leon. I have been ever since their debut album, ‘Sex And Fire’ – it’s wicked. I love driving to it (and The Killers) and, naturally, the Kings’ fashion has rubbed off on me too. Lee Cooper do pretty good jeans, which are just like the ones the band wear, and my advice would be to go for the boot cut style, which are a bit like cool fl ares. Sunglasses are a must when you’re dressing like a rock star also and I read in Shortlist magazine (the modern man’s bible) that oversized shades are in. Tucking them in the top of your shirt is really trendy… NOT! so slot them into a vintage cowboy belt instead (pick one up at Uniqlo for 12 quid). But who am I kidding? It’s all about the shirt where the Kings of Leon (and my) look is concerned. I peacock the shit out of an open-knecked tailored cowboy shirt! This one was a present from a friend who works in banking (;-p) and has a paisley feel, but why not improvise with different patterns? Just remember to tuck it in to show off that belt and those sunnies. Now rock out like Bobby Chambers! Anyway, let’s get on with it!

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One word to describe this look of mine: TIMELESS. A red thong will never go out of fashion, like violence and Stephen Fry. You’re probably wondering about the cheeky grin in this photo. Well, that can be explained by the fact that I’d just left a cheeky present in the boot of Ronnie Wood’s Ford Escort, for a joke, like. I’m not saying what it was, but let’s just say that no amount of magic tree air-fresheners could make that set of wheels the same again once my gift was delivered. The car had to be scrapped shortly after this photo was taken. Anyway! Fashion! Yeah, to get this look it’s easy and cheap, and it suits anyone, from short fucks to talk blokes over 5ft 3”, like me! If you’ve got the cash, pick up the thong from Classy Chicks on the Kilburn High Road, or from C&A, or wherever. Otherwise, do as I do and sellotape a pair of boxers up at the sides. Then, for a double smash of irony, wear fuck all else but a woolly scarf and wave around the flag of a nation that you’re only slightly more connected to than any of the others on the planet. As you can see, I’ve gone for Scotland. See ya!

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As you can see, I like everything big! I like my suit jackets big; my Star of David pendants big; my Mary J. Blige hats big; my Milky Bar Buttons big! It suits me because I’m a BIG personality. But, due to some legal fees I’ve had to pay out over the past few years (I kidnapped a rent boy), my budget is not so big these days. Still, I make do. T.K. Max really is a goldmine, and I don’t care who knows it! I got this jacket there, and it’s YSL!!! It should have been £800 but it was only £40! I love it, although I couldn’t find a pair of matching trousers, just a load of cool Quiksilver T-shirts. Anyway, if you’re broke like me, darling, simply accessorise! The gun pendant? That’s foil wrapped around a Sugar Puffs box! The Star of David? That’s Weetabix! I’ve then scrawled ‘B Rude’ on the YSL number, a) because it’s a bit naughty and outrageous, like me, and b) because it covers a stain. The ‘A’ on my balls means ‘access’ (that’s right, I’m on the market, can you believe it!?), the whistle is just a bit of fun and every morning I get the kids from the local ‘div school’ to scribble on my face. Taa Daahhh!!!

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Hi funk bastards! So you wanna know how to look like a Space Cowboy, d’ya? Well, let’s start at the very top shall we – at the most important item of any style icon’s threadz: THE HAT! I’ve got a whole cupboard full of hats at home from beanies to that mad cow’s head I used to wear. These days I’m bang into my trilbies though. My girl loves ‘em cos she says they make me look like what’s-his-face Doherty from The Shambles. Zip up tops are a big part of a great funk look too, and don’t be put off by checking out the racks on the high streets – there’s some fly shit in Topman these days, H&M’s alright too (frighteningly cheap, ain’t it) but avoid River Island! I have since I ran into Dan from Top Loader and we had the same diamante Rolling Stones tees on. Basically, you don’t wanna look too much like everyone else. In the trouser depart, keep ‘em loose fellas (for some funk as fuck dancing) and shoe-wise, I always used to wear Adidas, but you can get really similar ones in Barratts for half the price (see above). They’ve only got two stripes instead of three but mum says they all come from the same factory. Safe!

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Disclaimer: The representations of the people herein are completely fictitious