The gravy stopped bubbling?? oh god no, the inhumanity of it all.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.
Hmmmm I wonder if he is going to do Joe Rogan on Spotify. This topic is very up the Joe Rogan podcast alley. Meghan‘s podcast was a bust and I bet they still owe Spotify something.
BiB isn't that what they did to Edward VIII and Wallis?a 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.
she went upstairs to get her phone to record his answerOld meg liked to subject her targets to the silent treatment
Jesus fucking Christ. What a load of flowery bilge. I salute you tattlers that are taking one for the team and reading this steaming pile of shit. Sounds like it’s written by Barbara Cartland, god rest her.This episode at Frogmore…
1) it’s very clear Wills was absolutely desperate to get through to him, but failed
2) I don’t even know what to say about his idea of a death cult.
So why the feck not go to Bermuda. Again it was her plan all along to go back to California.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.
I see...JUST HOURS BEFORE THAT statement went out, Meg was on her way to see me. She drove to Toronto’s Pearson International Airport, paps chasing her, and made her way carefully through the crowds of travelers, feeling jittery, exposed. The lounge was full, so an Air Canada representative took pity on her and hid her in a side room. Even brought her a plate of food. By the time she landed at Heathrow my statement was everywhere. And changing nothing. The onslaught continued. In fact, my statement generated a whole new onslaught—from my family. Pa and Willy were furious. They gave me an earful. My statement made them look bad, they both said. Why in hell? Because they’d never put out a statement for their girlfriends or wives when they were being harassed.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
That is sick. Although understandable.Sorry if this has been posted already,but of course Megan fucked Harry for the first time in his Mum anniversary of her death………
On a lighter note having eaten Aussie gravy and UK gravy - Aussie gravy is far far better.The gravy stopped bubbling?? oh god no, the inhumanity of it all.
Stupid British gravy, obviously just racist like the calamari.
1st BIB Gray not grey? Is this because Moehringer is American or was it written by an American Woman?!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
I remember seeing the photos of her shopping that day. She seemed quite happy with the usual smirk on her face. Neither of these two could lie straight in bed.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….
I also think she just doesn’t look unique enough to have been recognised, people would have just thought she was just an attractive woman ( with the slap on) looking a bit stupid wearing Hunter wellies. Someone like eg Calista Flockart from the considerably more popular Ally McBeale when it was on may well have been recognised
Did those headlines really exist in the gossip magazines in the UK when they first started dating? I don’t remember them. Perhaps we should go and check the back copies, we know the date when she was papped going to Wholefoods in her wellies I think?
She knew him alright. She will have googled the shit out of him.. he’s that thickI’d always told myself that there were firm rules about relationships, at least when it came to royalty, and the main one was that you absolutely must date a woman for three years before taking the plunge. How else could you know about her? How else could she know about you—and your royal life? How else could both of you be sure that this was what you wanted, that it was a thing you could endure together? It wasn’t for everybody. But Meg seemed the shining exception to this rule. All rules. I knew her straightaway, and she knew me. The true me. Might seem rash, I thought, might seem illogical, but it’s true: For the first time, in fact, I felt myself to be living in truth.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
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