The Royal Family #34

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While sharing that cottage we agreed to a rare joint interview, in an airplane hangar at Shawbury, during which Willy griped endlessly about my habits. Harry’s a slob, he said. Harry snores. I turned and gave him a look. Was he joking? I cleaned up after myself, and I didn’t snore. Besides, our rooms were separated by thick walls, so even if I did snore there was no way he heard. The reporters were having fits of giggles about it all, but I cut in: Lies! Lies! That only made them laugh harder. Willy too. I laughed as well, because we often bantered like that, but when I look back on it now, I can’t help but wonder if there wasn’t something else at play. I was training to get to the front lines, the same place Willy had been training to get, but the Palace had scuttled his plans. The Spare, sure, let him run around a battlefield like a chicken with its head cut off, if that’s what he likes. But the Heir? No. So Willy was now training to be a search and rescue pilot, and perhaps feeling quietly frustrated about it. In which case, he was seeing it all wrong. He was doing remarkable, vital work, I thought, saving lives every week. I was proud of him, and full of respect for the way he was dedicating himself wholeheartedly to his preparation. Still, I should’ve figured out how he might have been feeling. I knew all too well the despair of being pulled from a fight for which you’ve spent years preparing.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
 
FenellaTheWitch said:
Well, we flew through that last thread ... carry on here.


When I was in Tesco today I was very tempted to pick up a copy of the book. I had absolutely no intention of doing so but I now feel it should be in the collection for its notoriety alone. I did manage to resist.
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I've got a feeling it will be a fairly easy read, so I'll wait for a charity shop copy!
 
LoopyLou47 said:
I've got a feeling it will be a fairly easy read, so I'll wait for a charity shop copy!
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Me too … and hopefully I’ll get one where a couple of people have had a margin note and foot note argument. They always brighten it up :cool:

50sGirl said:
I can’t believe some bookshops opened at midnight for the release. Were they seriously expecting queues?
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Not round here … it was chucking it down.
 
Boring Monday said:
Me too … and hopefully I’ll get one where a couple of people have had a margin note and foot note argument. They always brighten it up :cool:
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Oo there’s a thought. If I ever manage to get a charity book copy I could add some annotations to it. Would they still sell a copy with Fuckwit written inside?!

I could also alter the cover… 😜

8E3614C0-CA88-4612-81AF-4E8A9797AD95.jpeg
 
The Hebdo cartoon is fucked up, but this is what Harry has brought on himself.

Does anyone know what the French headline translates to?

How come the French press weren't branded racists for Hebdo's depiction of M in their 2021 DoE cartoon?
 
About Invictus games
A Paralympics for soldiers from all over the world! In London’s Olympic Park! Where the London Olympics had just happened! With full support and cooperation from the Palace. Maybe?
The first step would be pitching the Royal Foundation Board, which oversaw my charitable projects and Willy’s and Kate’s. It was our foundation, so I told myself: No problem.
But when the actual day came, not so much. I realized how badly I wanted this, for the soldiers and their families, and if I’m being honest: for myself. And this sudden attack of nerves kept me from being at my best. Still, I got through it, and the board said yes. Thrilled, I reached out to Willy, expecting him to be thrilled as well. He was sorely irritated. He wished I’d run all this by him first. My assumption, I said, was that other people had done so. He complained that I’d be using up all the funds in the Royal Foundation. That’s absurd, I spluttered. I was told only a half-million-pound grant would be needed to get the games going, a fraction of the foundation’s money. Besides, it was coming from the Endeavour Fund, an arm of the foundation I’d created specifically for veterans’ recovery. The rest would come from donors and sponsors. What was going on here? I wondered. Then I realized: My God, sibling rivalry. I put a hand over my eyes. Had we not got past this yet? The whole Heir versus Spare thing? Wasn’t it a bit late in the day for that tired childhood dynamic? But even if it wasn’t, even if Willy insisted on being competitive, on turning our brotherhood into some kind of private Olympiad, hadn’t he built up an insurmountable lead? He was married, with a baby on the way, while I was eating takeaway alone over the sink. Pa’s sink! I still lived with Pa! Game over, man. You win.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
 
It was still so hard to think of Mummy in the realm of Death. Mummy, who’d danced with Travolta, who’d quarreled with Elton, who’d dazzled the Reagans—could she really be in the Great Beyond with the spirits of Newton and Chaucer? Between these thoughts of Mummy and death and my frostnipped penis, I was in danger of becoming as anxious as the groom.

My penis was oscillating between extremely sensitive and borderline traumatized. The last place I wanted to be was Frostnipistan. I’d been trying some home remedies, including one recommended by a friend. She’d urged me to apply Elizabeth Arden cream. My mum used that on her lips. You want me to put that on my todger? It works, Harry. Trust me. I found a tube, and the minute I opened it the smell transported me through time. I felt as if my mother was right there in the room. Then I took a smidge and applied it…down there. “Weird” doesn’t really do the feeling justice.
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The flip from 'mummy' to cock and back again is so rapid that my head is spinning. Freud may have had a point.
 
The flat had three tall windows, but they admitted little light, so the differences between dawn, dusk and midday were nominal at best. Sometimes the question was rendered moot by Mr. R, who lived directly upstairs. He liked to park his massive gray Discovery hard against the windows, blotting out all light entirely. I wrote him a note, politely asking if he might perhaps pull his car forward a few inches. He fired back a reply telling me to suck eggs. Then he went to Granny and asked her to tell me the same. She never did speak to me about it, but the fact that Mr. R felt secure enough, supported enough, to denounce me to the monarch showed my true place in the pecking order. He was one of Granny’s equerries.

Every day Mrs. R parked her car in Mummy’s old spot.She was guilty of an even more egregious vehicular crime than her husband.
I can still see her gliding into that space, right where my mother’s green BMW used to be. It was wrong of me, and I knew it was wrong, but on some level I condemned Mrs. R for it.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
 
F1Grid said:
The flip from 'mummy' to cock and back again is so rapid that my head is spinning. Freud may have had a point.
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Make it stop!! 😱😱😱

Anna2020 said:
The flat had three tall windows, but they admitted little light, so the differences between dawn, dusk and midday were nominal at best. Sometimes the question was rendered moot by Mr. R, who lived directly upstairs. He liked to park his massive gray Discovery hard against the windows, blotting out all light entirely. I wrote him a note, politely asking if he might perhaps pull his car forward a few inches. He fired back a reply telling me to suck eggs. Then he went to Granny and asked her to tell me the same. She never did speak to me about it, but the fact that Mr. R felt secure enough, supported enough, to denounce me to the monarch showed my true place in the pecking order. He was one of Granny’s equerries.

Every day Mrs. R parked her car in Mummy’s old spot.She was guilty of an even more egregious vehicular crime than her husband.
I can still see her gliding into that space, right where my mother’s green BMW used to be. It was wrong of me, and I knew it was wrong, but on some level I condemned Mrs. R for it.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
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To be fair to Harry I can understand why he’d find someone parked in Diana’s space hard to accept. It’s just another sign that shows she is gone and life has moved on without her.
It took me 6 months until I was able to drive past my Dad’s old house because until then I knew I’d not cope if I happened to see the new owners there. I’d drive the long way round to avoid it.
 
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Anna2020 said:
About Invictus games
A Paralympics for soldiers from all over the world! In London’s Olympic Park! Where the London Olympics had just happened! With full support and cooperation from the Palace. Maybe?
The first step would be pitching the Royal Foundation Board, which oversaw my charitable projects and Willy’s and Kate’s. It was our foundation, so I told myself: No problem.
But when the actual day came, not so much. I realized how badly I wanted this, for the soldiers and their families, and if I’m being honest: for myself. And this sudden attack of nerves kept me from being at my best. Still, I got through it, and the board said yes. Thrilled, I reached out to Willy, expecting him to be thrilled as well. He was sorely irritated. He wished I’d run all this by him first. My assumption, I said, was that other people had done so. He complained that I’d be using up all the funds in the Royal Foundation. That’s absurd, I spluttered. I was told only a half-million-pound grant would be needed to get the games going, a fraction of the foundation’s money. Besides, it was coming from the Endeavour Fund, an arm of the foundation I’d created specifically for veterans’ recovery. The rest would come from donors and sponsors. What was going on here? I wondered. Then I realized: My God, sibling rivalry. I put a hand over my eyes. Had we not got past this yet? The whole Heir versus Spare thing? Wasn’t it a bit late in the day for that tired childhood dynamic? But even if it wasn’t, even if Willy insisted on being competitive, on turning our brotherhood into some kind of private Olympiad, hadn’t he built up an insurmountable lead? He was married, with a baby on the way, while I was eating takeaway alone over the sink. Pa’s sink! I still lived with Pa! Game over, man. You win.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
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He is insufferable.
 
Sandringham 2013
Christmas with the family. Hotel Granny was full that year, overrun by family, so I was given a mini room in a narrow back corridor, among the offices of Palace staff. I’d never stayed there before. I’d rarely even set foot there before.
I liked the notion of seeing and exploring uncharted territory—I was a grizzled polar explorer, after all!—but I also felt a bit unappreciated. A bit unloved. Relegated to the hinterlands.

Alas, my family at that moment was infected with some very scary malware. It was largely to do with the Court Circular, that annual record of “official engagements” done by each member of the Royal Family in the preceding calendar year. Sinister document.
Certain family members had become obsessed, feverishly striving to have the highest number of official engagements recorded in the Circular each year, no matter what, and they’d succeeded largely by including things that weren’t, strictly speaking, engagements, recording public interactions that were mere blips, the kinds of things Willy and I wouldn’t dream of including. Which was essentially why the Court Circular was a joke. It was all self-reported, all subjective. Nine private visits with veterans, helping with their mental health? Zero points. Flying via helicopter to cut a ribbon at a horse farm? Winner!
But the main reason the Court Circular was a joke, a scam, was that none of us was deciding in a vacuum how much work to do. Granny or Pa decided, by way of how much support (money) they allocated to our work. Money determined all. In the case of Willy and me, Pa was the sole decider. It was he alone who controlled our funds; we could only do what we could do with whatever resources and budget we got from him. To be publicly flogged for how much Pa permitted us to do—that felt grossly unfair. Rigged.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
 
www.express.co.uk

'Significant' Queen Mother error in new Harry book sparks accuracy row

Prince Harry has sparked uncertainty over the accuracy of his book after describing a scene that appears could not physically have happened.
www.express.co.uk www.express.co.uk

i did rather like the last line get out clause, though …
As a defence mechanism, most likely, my memory was no longer recording things quite as it once did."

Or, indeed, at all
 
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