Harry and Meghan #298 The half price Prince

[Anna2020]

I asked if she’d consider moving to Britain, moving into Nott Cott with me. We talked about all that would mean, and how it would work, and what she’d be giving up. We talked about the logistics of winding down her life in Toronto. When, and how, and above all…for what? Exactly?
I can’t just leave my show and quit my job to give it a shot. Would moving to Britain mean a forever commitment?
Yes, I said. It would.
In that case, she said with a smile, yes. We kissed, hugged, sat down to our supper. I sighed. On the road, I thought. But later, after she’d fallen asleep, I analyzed myself. A holdover from therapy, perhaps. I realized that, mixed in with all my roiling emotions, there was a big streak of relief. She’d said it back, the actual words, I love you, and it hadn’t been inevitable, it hadn’t been a formality. Part of me, I couldn’t deny, had been braced for the worst case. Haz, I’m sorry but I just don’t know if I can do this…Part of me feared she’d bolt. Go back to Toronto, change her number. Heed the advice of her girlfriends. Is anyone worth this? Part of me thought she’d be smart to do so.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex

 

[goldshoes]

MEG CAME TO LONDON. September 2017.
We were in Nott Cott. In the kitchen. Preparing dinner. The whole cottage was filled with…love. Filled to overflowing. It even seemed to spill out the open door, into the garden outside, a scrubby little patch of ground that no one had wanted, for a very long time, but which Meg and I had slowly reclaimed. We’d raked and mown, planted and watered, and many evenings we sat out there on a blanket, listening to classical music concerts wafting over from the park.
I told Meg about the garden just on the other side of our wall: Mummy’s garden. Where Willy and I played as kids. It was now sealed off from us forever. As my memories had once been. Whose garden is it now? she asked. It belongs to Princess Michael of Kent. And her Siamese cats. Mummy despised those cats. As I smelt the garden, and considered this new life, cherished this new life, Meg was sitting on the other side of the kitchen, scooping Wagamama from cartons into bowls.
Without thinking I blurted out: I don’t know, I just… I had my back to her. I froze, mid-sentence, hesitant to go on, hesitant to turn around. You don’t know what, Haz? I just… Yes? I love you. I listened for a response. There was none. Now I could hear her, or feel her, walking towards me. I turned and there she was, right before me.
I love you too, Haz.
The words had been on the tip of my tongue almost from the start, so in one sense they didn’t feel particularly revelatory, or even necessary. Of course I loved her. Meg knew that, Meg could see it, the whole world could. I loved her with all my heart as I’d never loved anyone before. And yet saying it made everything real. Saying it set things in motion, automatically. Saying it was a step.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.

Prince Charles was right - completely cuntstruck


also wagamama? not fragrant roast chicken?

 

[lizaon35]

NEXT WAS WILLY. I knew he’d kill me if I let it go another minute. So Meg and I popped over one afternoon, shortly before he and I were due to leave on a shooting trip. Walking up to apartment 1A, under the huge arch, through the courtyard, I felt more nervous than I had before the meeting with Granny. I asked myself why. No answer came to mind. We climbed the gray stone steps, rang the bell. No reply. After a wait the door opened and there was my big brother, a bit dressed up. Nice trousers, nice shirt, open collar.
I introduced Meg, who leaned in and gave him a hug, which completely freaked him out. He recoiled. Willy didn’t hug many strangers. Whereas Meg hugged most strangers. The moment was a classic collision of cultures, like flashlight-torch, which felt to me both funny and charming. Later, however, looking back, I wondered if it was more than that. Maybe Willy expected Meg to curtsy? It would’ve been protocol when meeting a member of the Royal Family for the first time, but she didn’t know, and I didn’t tell her. When meeting my grandmother, I’d made it clear—this is the Queen. But when meeting my brother, it was just Willy, who loved Suits.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex

What a complete bellend. My eyeballs are killing me from all the eye rolling exercises they are doing reading such tripe.

 

[wibble]

I see...

So the first was the Battle of the Somme.
The second was Independence Day.
The third, I'm guessing, would be the Battle of the Boyne.

It's all so simbollock.

 

[Suzesnooze]

Tom Hardy is tiny so I’m surprised his outfit fit Harold!

 

[youRjokingHunz]

I rang Pa yet again. Don’t read it, darling— I cut him off. I wasn’t about to hear that nonsense again.
Also, I wasn’t a boy anymore. I tried a new argument. I reminded Pa that these were the same shoddy bastards who’d been portraying him as a clown all his life, ridiculing him for sounding the alarm about climate change. These were his tormentors, his bullies, and now they were tormenting and bullying his son and his son’s girlfriend—did that not inspire his outrage? Why have I got to beg you, Pa? Why is this not already a priority for you? Why is this not causing you anguish, keeping you up at night, that the press are treating Meg like this? You adore her, you told me so yourself. You bonded over your shared love of music, you think she’s funny and witty, and impeccably mannered, you told me—so why, Pa? Why? I couldn’t get a straight answer. The conversation went in circles and when we hung up I felt—abandoned. Meg, meanwhile, reached out to Camilla, who tried to counsel her by saying this was just what the press always did to newcomers, that it would all pass in due time, that Camilla had been the bad guy once. The implication being what? Now it was Meg’s turn? As if it were apples to apples.
Camilla also suggested to Meg that I become Governor General of Bermuda, which would solve all our problems by removing us from the red-hot center of the maelstrom. Right, right, I thought, and one added bonus of that plan would be to get us out of the picture.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.

That’s so funny .. calm down Boy.. they soon stop.. also.. FANCY HEADING TO BERMUDAAA?? Eh.. both you two duck off and get lost in the triangle …

 

[Evangelina]

Saying "A pleasure to meet you'' is a insult to a Monarch .
It means that the Monarch was somehow ''obligated'' to ''impress'' and be ''accepted/approved'' by the person they met.


It's just , priceless .
I can imagine Fergie and Andrew if they were there to hear this.

 

[Anna2020]

BY PURE CHANCE THE 2017 Invictus Games were going to be in Toronto. Meg’s backyard.
Perfect occasion, the Palace decided, for our first official public outing. Meg was a bit nervous. Me too. But we had no choice. Has to be done, we said. We’ve hidden from the world long enough. Also, this would be the most controlled, predictable environment we could ever hope for.
We managed to have fun, to crack a few jokes with some Kiwis sitting beside us, and the photos that appeared the following day were sweet, though several in the British press slammed Meg for wearing ripped jeans. No one mentioned that everything she wore, down to the flats and button-down shirt, had been pre-approved by the Palace. And by “no one,” I mean not anyone at the Palace. One statement, that week, in defense of Meg…it might’ve made a world of difference.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex

 

[Fliss122]

Second date with Meghan
This time I was already there—waiting. Smiling. Proud of myself. She walked in, wearing a pretty blue sundress with white pinstripes. She was aglow. I stood and said: I bear gifts. A pink box. I held it forward. She shook it. What’s this? No, no, don’t shake it! We both laughed. She opened the box. Cupcakes. Red, white and blue cupcakes, to be exact. In honor of Independence Day. I said something about the Brits having a very different view of Independence Day from the Yanks, but, oh, well. She said they looked amazing. Our waitress from Date One appeared. Mischa. She seemed genuinely happy to see us, to discover that there was a Date Two. She could tell what was happening, she got that she was an eyewitness, that she’d forever be part of our personal mythology. After bringing us a round of drinks she went away and didn’t return for a long time. When she did, we were deep in the middle of a kiss. Not our first.
Meghan, holding my shirt collar, was pulling me towards her, holding me close. When she saw Mischa she released me immediately and we all laughed. Excuse us. No problem. Another round? Again the conversation flowed, crackled. Burgers came and went, uneaten. I felt an overwhelming sense of Overture, Prelude, Kettle Drums, Act I. And yet also a sense of ending. A phase of my life—the first half?—was coming to a close. As the night neared its end we had a very frank discussion. There was no way round it. She put a hand to her cheek and said: What’re we gonna doooo? We have to give this a proper go. What does that even mean? I live in Canada. I’m going back tomorrow! We’ll meet. A long visit. This summer. My summer’s already planned. Mine too. Surely in the whole summer we could find one small spot of time. She shook her head. She was doing the full Eat Pray Love. Eat what now? The book? Ah. Sorry. Not really big on books. I felt intimidated. She was so the opposite of me. She read. She was cultured. Not important, she said with a laugh. The point was, she was going with three girlfriends to Spain, and then with two girlfriends to Italy, and then— She looked at her calendar. I looked at mine. She raised her eyes, smiled. What is it? Tell me. Actually, there’s one small window… Recently, she explained, a castmate had advised her not to be so structured about her summer of eating, praying and loving. Keep one week open, this castmate said, leave room for magic, so she’d been saying no to all kinds of things, reserving one week, even turning down a very dreamy bike trip through the lavender fields of southern France… I looked at my calendar and said: I have one week open as well. What if they’re the same week? What if? Is it possible? How crazy would that be? It was the same week.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.

I bet she got him to say what his free week was first!

 

[LadyMuck]

So he rowed with KC and PW about not defending smegz in the press, yet he is vile and cruel to Pat the matron at Ludgrove and the older women who he slept with and thinks that's OK.

He's a vile thing. Can't even call him a human being

 

[toomuchstuff]

Did ANYONE actually watch Suits? Hands up

(I'd never heard of it)

I did watch it, I will admit. I watched it before she was involved with Harold, I lived in a remote location and didnt have access to a lot of TV. I can tell you her role was fairly minor. It was one of those roles where she just played herself really.

 

[Just_me1954]

Second date with Meghan
This time I was already there—waiting. Smiling. Proud of myself. She walked in, wearing a pretty blue sundress with white pinstripes. She was aglow. I stood and said: I bear gifts. A pink box. I held it forward. She shook it. What’s this? No, no, don’t shake it! We both laughed. She opened the box. Cupcakes. Red, white and blue cupcakes, to be exact. In honor of Independence Day. I said something about the Brits having a very different view of Independence Day from the Yanks, but, oh, well. She said they looked amazing. Our waitress from Date One appeared. Mischa. She seemed genuinely happy to see us, to discover that there was a Date Two. She could tell what was happening, she got that she was an eyewitness, that she’d forever be part of our personal mythology. After bringing us a round of drinks she went away and didn’t return for a long time. When she did, we were deep in the middle of a kiss. Not our first.
Meghan, holding my shirt collar, was pulling me towards her, holding me close. When she saw Mischa she released me immediately and we all laughed. Excuse us. No problem. Another round? Again the conversation flowed, crackled. Burgers came and went, uneaten. I felt an overwhelming sense of Overture, Prelude, Kettle Drums, Act I. And yet also a sense of ending. A phase of my life—the first half?—was coming to a close. As the night neared its end we had a very frank discussion. There was no way round it. She put a hand to her cheek and said: What’re we gonna doooo? We have to give this a proper go. What does that even mean? I live in Canada. I’m going back tomorrow! We’ll meet. A long visit. This summer. My summer’s already planned. Mine too. Surely in the whole summer we could find one small spot of time. She shook her head. She was doing the full Eat Pray Love. Eat what now? The book? Ah. Sorry. Not really big on books. I felt intimidated. She was so the opposite of me. She read. She was cultured. Not important, she said with a laugh. The point was, she was going with three girlfriends to Spain, and then with two girlfriends to Italy, and then— She looked at her calendar. I looked at mine. She raised her eyes, smiled. What is it? Tell me. Actually, there’s one small window… Recently, she explained, a castmate had advised her not to be so structured about her summer of eating, praying and loving. Keep one week open, this castmate said, leave room for magic, so she’d been saying no to all kinds of things, reserving one week, even turning down a very dreamy bike trip through the lavender fields of southern France… I looked at my calendar and said: I have one week open as well. What if they’re the same week? What if? Is it possible? How crazy would that be? It was the same week.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.

Which mills & boone book was that copied from.

 

[givepeasachance]

I can’t just leave my show and quit my job to give it a shot. Would moving to Britain mean a forever commitment?
Yes, I said. It would.
In that case, she said with a smile, yes.

KER-CHING!!!!!!

 

[Skyline89]

Reading through some of the extracts posted are so cringe-inducing. It's what I would expect from Callum Best, Paul Danan or some other reality TV chump.

Is he unable to put more than 6 words in a sentence?!

 

[F1Grid]

'I've no idea what measurements Givenchy had received, but with our experience and knowledge we could see straight away that all six bridesmaids' dresses had to be fixed, as they weren't going to fit,' Mr Mirpuri said.

'We had to work tooth and nail for four days, four of us working until 4am three nights in a row, to make them fit.

The tailor from dressgate had spoken... surprise surprise, Kate was 100% right.

 

[Caitlin44]

REUNITED. A quiet night at Nott Cott, preparing dinner together. December 2016. Meg and I had discovered that we shared the same favorite food: roast chicken. I didn’t know how to cook it, so that night she was teaching me. I remember the warmth of the kitchen, the wonderful smells. Lemon wedges on the cutting board, garlic and rosemary, gravy bubbling in a saucepan. I remember rubbing salt on the skin of the bird, then opening a bottle of wine. Meg put on music.
Maybe the wine went to my head. Maybe the weeks of battling the press had worn me down. For some reason, when the conversation took an unexpected turn, I became touchy. Then angry. Disproportionately, sloppily angry. Meg said something I took the wrong way. It was partly a cultural difference, partly a language barrier, but I was also just over-sensitive that night. I thought: Why’s she having a go at me? I snapped at her, spoke to her harshly—cruelly. As the words left my mouth, I could feel everything in the room come to a stop. The gravy stopped bubbling, the molecules of air stopped orbiting. Even Nina Simone seemed to pause. Meg walked out of the room, disappearing for a full fifteen minutes. I went and found her upstairs. She was sitting in the bedroom. She was calm, but said in a quiet, level tone that she would never stand for being spoken to like that. I nodded. She wanted to know where it came from. I don’t know. Where did you ever hear a man speak like that to a woman? Did you overhear adults speak that way when you were growing up? I cleared my throat, looked away. Yes. She wasn’t going to tolerate that kind of partner. Or co-parent. That kind of life. She wasn’t going to raise children in an atmosphere of anger or disrespect. She laid it all out, super-clear. We both knew my anger hadn’t been caused by anything to do with our conversation. It came from somewhere deep inside, somewhere that needed to be excavated, and it was obvious that I could use some help with the job. I’ve tried therapy, I told her. Willy told me to go. Never found the right person. Didn’t work. No, she said softly. Try again.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.

Old meg liked to subject her targets to the silent treatment

 

[PurvyPanda]

Anna is this all like actually actually real and out of the book ? Or are you trolling us ? 🫣

So he wasn't there to see the flight crew asking for photos because she encountered yet another endless stream of Suits fans. She told him that happened. Wow!

I wonder how bright and breezy she is these days after an 'eleven hour odyssey'. She didn't even want to take a 4 hour round trip car ride to volunteer for Baby2Baby, and insisted on them paying for a private jet to get her there for a PR opportunity.

A horror of a human being.

 

[louseylou]

Second date with Meghan
This time I was already there—waiting. Smiling. Proud of myself. She walked in, wearing a pretty blue sundress with white pinstripes. She was aglow. I stood and said: I bear gifts. A pink box. I held it forward. She shook it. What’s this? No, no, don’t shake it! We both laughed. She opened the box. Cupcakes. Red, white and blue cupcakes, to be exact. In honor of Independence Day. I said something about the Brits having a very different view of Independence Day from the Yanks, but, oh, well. She said they looked amazing. Our waitress from Date One appeared. Mischa. She seemed genuinely happy to see us, to discover that there was a Date Two. She could tell what was happening, she got that she was an eyewitness, that she’d forever be part of our personal mythology. After bringing us a round of drinks she went away and didn’t return for a long time. When she did, we were deep in the middle of a kiss. Not our first.
Meghan, holding my shirt collar, was pulling me towards her, holding me close. When she saw Mischa she released me immediately and we all laughed. Excuse us. No problem. Another round? Again the conversation flowed, crackled. Burgers came and went, uneaten. I felt an overwhelming sense of Overture, Prelude, Kettle Drums, Act I. And yet also a sense of ending. A phase of my life—the first half?—was coming to a close. As the night neared its end we had a very frank discussion. There was no way round it. She put a hand to her cheek and said: What’re we gonna doooo? We have to give this a proper go. What does that even mean? I live in Canada. I’m going back tomorrow! We’ll meet. A long visit. This summer. My summer’s already planned. Mine too. Surely in the whole summer we could find one small spot of time. She shook her head. She was doing the full Eat Pray Love. Eat what now? The book? Ah. Sorry. Not really big on books. I felt intimidated. She was so the opposite of me. She read. She was cultured. Not important, she said with a laugh. The point was, she was going with three girlfriends to Spain, and then with two girlfriends to Italy, and then— She looked at her calendar. I looked at mine. She raised her eyes, smiled. What is it? Tell me. Actually, there’s one small window… Recently, she explained, a castmate had advised her not to be so structured about her summer of eating, praying and loving. Keep one week open, this castmate said, leave room for magic, so she’d been saying no to all kinds of things, reserving one week, even turning down a very dreamy bike trip through the lavender fields of southern France… I looked at my calendar and said: I have one week open as well. What if they’re the same week? What if? Is it possible? How crazy would that be? It was the same week.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.

This reads like fecking fan fiction.

 

[ChaoticArtist]

Reading his comments is making me heave.

So glad for my no nonsense Northerner right now. None of this glowing and overly soppy bollocks - he went on a lads holiday and sneakily facetimed me once for fear of being laughed at.

However, makes me a cup of tea every morning so we're grand.

My 'friends' used to berate me for not liking guys who talked like Sparry has supposedly written. Exed the friends, and noped the guys away ASAP. I have very few braincells, can't afford to have none left.

I've always said that I want a guy that I can feel safe and comfortable and have fun with. That racing pulse and loudly-beating heart might sound nice in books, but my heart already has to deal with my lungs and anxiety so that's enough of that.

Your Northerner sounds amazing. Bless you!

 

[LadyMuck]

Dan Wootton: Spare is the biggest mistake in publishing history, destroying the Duke of delusion forevermore