Well I guess it was coming, sooner or later. I actually thought they couldn’t get any more self-centred but off they go again, Mrs and Mr Sussex, splashing their seaside caricature faces across the papers and websites, smiling outside as they seethe with resentment within; a confused kind of resentment that only the spoiled rotten could ever possibly experience or empathise with, a resentment which will only pay back or pay off once the dust has settled. For better or for worse. In sickness and in health. A lot, and I mean a fucking lot, has been written and said about Meghan and her little Harry over the last few years and on occasion it has seemed a touch harsh, but this time there are an awful lot of gloves coming off. I can’t say I’m waving their flag right now.
Like a blowjob gone wrong the news has left the press and the nation gagging with disbelief. Their timing has been suitably impeccable: startlingly and gasting of flabber, but also predictably arrogant given that two days ago we were on the brink of the next world war. Off the back of a six week holiday in Canada (who needs a week in Corfu when you can afford that?) out they came: he with his customary dippy grin and up-down robot wave, she gliding on a delicate, smug cloud of her own concoction, and announced they were essentially retiring from the royal family. Retiring from a lifestyle that had been paid for (at least for him) since the day that Daddy didn’t bother to pull out of poor, dead Mummy. Every Savile Row suit, hotel suite, ski holiday, flash car, Eton fumble, renovated cottage, I’ll-have-a-word privilege etc, taken care of by Mr Tax and the end response is this – ‘actually, I don’t think we’ll bother anymore, it’s just too tough for us’. Astonishing.
You have to have a little bit of respect for the fact they didn’t care to consult a single member of the royal family. I guess any consultation would have ended the same way. Besides when you have to rely on the advice and wisdom of Prince Charles you know you’re in trouble. But surely Grandma could have been given a tip off. There’s something deeply smelly about all this; it’s a dried up puddle of piss on the floor of a pensioners overheated living room. They have so little to be ungrateful for and yet here they are, taking ingratitude to a whole new level. Senior royals are “disappointed” and according to the usual royal correspondent expert codebreakers that translates as ‘almightily fucked off all round’. The Queen must be heartbroken by all this, not that she’ll say as much; and I can’t find a way to justify that.
Harry has managed to paint himself in several different shades over the years but it’s Meghan who comes out on top this time. In a fashion. Perhaps it was her destiny. What luck: a fourth rate actress in a fourth rate show, the Canadian equivalent of Crossroads, bagging not just the cherry but also the ermine gown, bald patch, cock and balls on the royal cake. What luck indeed, but better her luck than mine. Prim knickers Kate knew what she was getting into so much that she couldn’t wait, but Meghan must have realised that if this was going to work her way she’d have to put on her kinky boots and pour hot wax on Harry’s nipples. It was almost easy to feel sorry for them early on but now it’s precisely impossible. They’re a pair of tossers, essentially; if you met them at a party that’s almost certainly what you’d think.
“You only get how much a year from your father’s modest allowance?
You only get to fly to how many places how often and stay with which famous friends?
You only have how many houses at your disposal?
Well my, here, let me give you my last tenner to see you through to the end of the week.”
Archie, I feel fairly sure, will grow up to be the kind of bell-end you might regret ever being introduced to, but he’s still tiny so perhaps fairer to leave him out of it. Besides, by the time he exposes himself to the world he’ll be thoroughly Americanised and probably won’t give a shit about any of this. People are comparing this to the Edward and Wallace Simpson abdication crisis but let’s be brutally honest and agree that this Sussex spoil heap doesn’t come close. The royal family don’t have anywhere near as much clout as they did then and Harry and Meghan “stepping back” from public life won’t have the faintest impact on anyone else’s life in the long run. In a sense I’m happy for them because they may just find some kind of peace, though I doubt they’ll ever find exactly the kind of peace they’re looking for. I won’t be surprised if it doesn’t last the distance either. Next review – January 2030. No, January 2025.
Perhaps they don’t deserve it, that peace of mind: they were happy to take the wedding and the car and the cash and the cottage (so they have “a place to call home”, that cost £2.4 million to renovate – in a financially independent world they should be evicted) so they have an awful lot of soul mortgage to pay off before they can feel free. I’d prefer it if they didn’t spend their time between there and here and instead saved the carbon fucking footprint and just settled on the other side. They have already betrayed his family and hers don’t seem like a lot of use so why not start fresh and build a huge great house on the prairie? Quite how they’re going to become financially independent is anyone’s guess. Perhaps she’ll have to go back into ‘acting’. Maybe he’ll write a book about his Mum; plenty of idiots will buy that. It seems to me like she has piano wire round his ball sack and that he is still very much (as my dear brother once so eloquently put it) ‘cunt struck’. To be honest I’m pretty much past caring what they do. They can do what they want and it will be a blessing for the nation if they never appear in the news again. This world has far bigger things to worry about and far better things to enjoy. Off you pop, Harry and Meghan, step back. No, a bit further, keep going, little bit more. Bit more. And one more step. And now don’t feel bad if you never come back.
G B Hewitt. 09.01.2020
Instant reflective PS – and to think I cried a bit when they got married.