No, just a cuntErm…. Me. For a couple of series. Gabriel Macht
Smeg was a very second level player, very wooden, two-dimensional and a bit shiny/sweaty looking. I thought she was prob Latino
It'll be right up there with that unpublished masterpiece: Yoga with Hitler.I can barely wait for their Wellness book.
Literally the only statement from all the royals should be we did not watch suits and had no idea who the f**k she was.I had literally never heard of this show or Smegs until she was announced as Harry’s girlfriend from Suits.
I hope they issue a Cease and Desist - We did not fucking watch Suits.
do as I say, not as I do...Yes Harry, that's exactly what love is.
How has it taken you so long to work it out?
I can barely wait for their Wellness book.
This is just insane! There is no way she would have been recognised, she wasn’t even the main character in Suits as far as I am aware? And the vast majority of the UK TV viewing audience had NEVER seen it! She wishes she could have been that famous though….Still, despite the mounting stress, the terrible pressure, we managed to protect our essential bond, never snapping at each other during those few days. As we came to the final hours of her visit, we were solid, happy, and Meg announced she wanted to make me a special goodbye lunch. There was nothing in my fridge, as usual. But there was a Whole Foods down the street. I gave her directions, the safest route, past the Palace guards, turn right, towards Kensington Palace Gardens, down to Kensington High Street, there’s a police barrier, take a right and you’ll see Whole Foods. It’s massive, you can’t miss it. I had an engagement but I’d be home soon.
Baseball cap, jacket, head down, side gate. You’ll be fine, I promise.
Two hours later, when I got home, I found her inconsolable. Sobbing. Shaking. What is it? What’s happened? She could barely get the story out.
She’d dressed just as I’d advised, and she’d run happily, anonymously, up and down the supermarket aisles. But as she rode the escalator a man approached. Excuse me, do you know where the exit is? Oh, yes, I think it’s just up here to the left. Hey! You’re on that program—Suits, am I right? My wife loves you. Oh. That’s so nice! Thanks. What’s your name? Jeff. Nice to meet you, Jeff. Please tell her I said thanks for watching. I will. Can I get a picture…you know, for my mum? Thought you said it was your wife. Oh. Yeah. Heh. Sorry, I’m just grocery shopping today. His face changed. Well, even if I can’t take a picture WITH you…that doesn’t stop me taking pictures OF you! He whipped out his phone and followed her to the deli counter, snapping away while she looked at the turkey. F the turkey, she thought, hurrying to the checkouts. He followed her there too. She got into the queue. Before her were rows and rows of magazines and newspapers, and on all of them, under the most shocking and disgusting headlines…was her. The other customers noticed as well. They looked at the magazines, looked at her, and now they too pulled out their phones, like zombies. Meg caught two cashiers sharing a horrible smile. After paying for her groceries, she walked outside, straight into a group of four men with their iPhones aimed at her. She kept her head down, rushed up Kensington High Street. She was nearly home when a horse-drawn carriage came rolling out of Kensington Palace Gardens. Some sort of parade: the Palace gate was blocked. She was forced back along the main road, where the four men picked up the scent again, and chased her all the way to the main gate, screaming her name. When she finally got inside Nott Cott, she’d phoned her best girlfriends, each of whom asked: Is he worth this, Meg? Is anyone worth this? I put my arms around her, said I was sorry. So sorry. We just held each other, until I slowly became aware of the most delicious smells. I looked around. Hang on. You mean…after all that…you still made lunch? I wanted to feed you before I left.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
I watched the couple first seasons of Suits but stopped, it got boring and repetitive, even if Gabriel Macht was hot. Rachel/Megs was just annoying AF.
Harry and Meghan #299 did you know she was in Suits?
Never heard of it and have no desire to watch it.Did ANYONE actually watch Suits? Hands up
(I'd never heard of it)
Bless him, how many minutes in untill: "I wrote about this in my book Revenge". I'm going for the 42sec mark.Tom Bower on 10.15
I’m 14 and this is deep.Yes, I’ve already lost my mum, of course, but I’m afraid that by talking about her, now, here, to a perfect stranger, and perhaps alleviating some of the pain of that loss, I’ll be losing her again. I’ll be losing that feeling, that presence of her—or what I’ve always felt as her presence. The therapist squinted. I tried again. You see…the pain…if that’s what it is…that’s all I have left of her. And the pain is also what drives me. Some days the pain is the only thing holding me together. And also, I suppose, without the pain, well, she might think…I’ve forgotten her. That sounded silly. But, well, there it was. Most memories of my mother, I explained, with sudden and overwhelming sorrow, were gone.
Same - we gave up about midway in season threeI watched the couple first seasons of Suits but stopped, it got boring and repetitive, even if Gabriel Macht was hot. Rachel/Megs was just annoying AF.
now he really is just plagiarising yet another episode of friendsTHE ADDRESS WAS HALF an hour from Nott Cott. Just a quick drive across the Thames, past the park…but it felt like one of my polar journeys. Heart pounding, I took a deep breath, knocked at the door. The woman opened it, welcomed me. She led me down a short corridor to her office. First door on the left. Small room. Windows with venetian blinds. Right on the busy street. You could hear cars, shoes clicking on the pavement. People talking, laughing. She was fifteen years older than me, but youthful. She reminded me of Tiggy. It was shocking, really. Such a similar vibe. She pointed me to a dark green sofa and took a chair across the room. The day was autumnal, yet I was sweating profusely. I apologized. I overheat easily. Also, I’m a bit nervous. Say no more. She jumped up, ran out. Moments later she returned with a little fan, which she aimed at me. Ah, lovely. Thank you. She waited for me to begin. But I didn’t know where to begin. So I began with my mum. I said I was afraid of losing her. She gave me a long, searching look. She knew, of course, that I’d already lost my mum. How surreal, to meet a therapist who already knows part of your life story, who’s possibly spent beach holidays reading whole books about you. Yes, I’ve already lost my mum, of course, but I’m afraid that by talking about her, now, here, to a perfect stranger, and perhaps alleviating some of the pain of that loss, I’ll be losing her again. I’ll be losing that feeling, that presence of her—or what I’ve always felt as her presence. The therapist squinted. I tried again. You see…the pain…if that’s what it is…that’s all I have left of her. And the pain is also what drives me. Some days the pain is the only thing holding me together. And also, I suppose, without the pain, well, she might think…I’ve forgotten her. That sounded silly. But, well, there it was. Most memories of my mother, I explained, with sudden and overwhelming sorrow, were gone. On the other side of the Wall. I told her about the Wall. I told her I’d spoken to Willy about my lack of memories of our mother. He’d advised me to look through photo albums, which I’d promptly done. Nothing
So, my mother wasn’t images, or impressions, she was mainly just a hole in my heart, and if I healed that hole, patched it up—what then? I asked if all this sounded crazy. No. We were silent. A long time. She asked me what I needed. Why are you here? Look, I said. What I need…is to be rid of this heaviness in my chest. I need…I need… Yes? To cry. Please. Help me cry.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
I worked in a street just behind Olympia for a bit ... maybe you saw me.I lived just off Ken High St for quite a few years and you see such famous people that you get inured to it and are far too polite to react. Markle would be very very very small fry in London - she really is delusional I'm afraid.
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