I can’t say too much as it’ll get family members into trouble but someone in my family knows Tiggy as they’re good friends with Tiggys sister. Tiggy has been thru absolute hell for a few years now and was vindicated last year or so. She will NOT be pleased her name is being dragged out again. Even in this book. Which by the way is bloody awful. And there’s too much detail which is always a sign of lying. Learnt that in my psych degreeTHE 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
Yep, I got that feeling too. She told him it had happened when she got back, engineering a drama, to pull him in and raise the stakes. Nothing of the sort did happen, of course, because no one knew who she was.I do believe she told him she was hounded by the press and by 'fans', I suspect when they went out together because of him they were papped a tonne so it would be believable to him, but none of these photos ever surfaced, social media was never awash with photos of her shopping in whole foods. Funny that ain't it.
I coughed. Granny, you know I love Meg very much, and I’ve decided that I would like to ask her to marry me, and I’ve been told that, er, that I have to ask your permission before I can propose.
You have to?
Um. Well, yes, that’s what your staff tell me, and my staff as well. That I have to ask your permission. I stood completely still, as motionless as the birds in my hands. I stared at her face but it was unreadable.
At last she replied: Well, then, I suppose I have to say yes.
I squinted. You feel you have to say yes? Does that mean you are saying yes? But that you want to say no? I didn’t get it. Was she being sarcastic? Ironic? Deliberately cryptic? Was she indulging in a bit of wordplay? I’d never known Granny to do any wordplay, and this would be a surpassingly bizarre moment (not to mention wildly inconvenient) for her to start, but maybe she just saw the chance to play off my unfortunate use of the word “have” and couldn’t resist? Or else, perhaps there was some hidden meaning beneath the wordplay, some message I wasn’t comprehending? I stood there squinting, smiling, asking myself over and over: What is the Queen of England saying to me right now? At long last I realized: She’s saying yes, you muppet! She’s granting permission. Who cares how she words it, just know when to take yes for an answer.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
This made me lol! Jfc. Organ donation. We have reached peak ludicrous.Did he really suggest he was brought into the world to be William’s organ donor or human blood bag?!
Harold does realise unless both parents have identical blood types, the human blood bag/walking organ donation bank thing is a crock of shit.
Loved C.S.I was gutted when they stopped them.A little FYI about Smeg in "Suits", she's done 108 episodes and she got 50K USD for
each episode. Looked her up on the IMDB, she's been acting since 1995. Suits is the
main claim to fame, I learned she's done an Episode of CSI:Miami and CSI:NY. I might
view those episodes for a laugh because I have them all on my Hard Drive.
Yes but don’t forget she’s so wonderful both Charles and the Queen adored herWas this pre-wedding? In which case she wasn’t a Duchess?
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
My husband would take lemsip if he had a cold, but not any arty farty homeopathic organic quirky stuff.I TOOK A RING from Meg’s jewelry box and gave it to a designer, so he’d know her size. Since he was also the keeper of Mummy’s bracelets, earrings and necklaces, I asked him to harvest the diamonds from one particularly beautiful bracelet of Mummy’s and use those to create a ring.
I’d cleared all this in advance with Willy. I’d asked my brother if I could have the bracelet, and told him what it was for. I don’t recall him hesitating, for one second, in giving it to me. He seemed to like Meg, despite his oft-cited concerns. Kate seemed to like her too.
We’d had them over for dinner during one of Meg’s visits, and Meg cooked, and everything was good. Willy had a cold: he was sneezing and coughing, and Meg ran upstairs to get him some of her homeopathic cure-alls. Oregano oil, turmeric. He seemed charmed, moved, though Kate announced to the table that he’d never take such unconventional remedies. We talked about Wimbledon that night, and Suits, and Willy and Kate weren’t brave enough to admit to being superfans. Which was sweet.
The only possibly discordant note I could think of was the marked difference in how the two women dressed, which both of them seemed to notice.
Meg: ripped jeans, barefoot.
Kate: done up to the nines.
No big deal, I thought. Along with the diamonds from the bracelet I’d asked the designer to add a third—a blood-free diamond from Botswana. He asked if there was a rush. Well…now that you mention it…
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
That is the basic problem with their PR...He basically wanted everyone in the whole wide world to be as blinded by her as he was, and when they wasn’t he couldn’t, still can’t, comprehend why not, and ever since he’s thrown a wobbler.
IT WAS HARD for both of us, while dealing with all that, to focus on the million and one details of planning a royal wedding. Strangely, the Palace had trouble focusing too. We wanted to get married quickly. Why give the papers and paps time to do their worst? But the Palace couldn’t seem to pick a date. Or a venue. While waiting for a decree from on high, from the nebulous upper regions of the royal decision-making apparatus, we went off on a traditional “engagement tour.” England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales—we traveled up and down and all over the UK, introducing Meg to the public.
Crowds went wild for her. Meg, Diana would’ve loved you! I heard women scream this again and again. A total departure from the tone and tenor of the tabloids, and also a reminder: the British press wasn’t reality.
On our return from that trip I rang Willy, sounded him out, asked his thoughts about where we might get married. I told him we were thinking of Westminster Abbey.
No good. We did it there.
Right, right. St. Paul’s?
Too grand. Plus Pa and Mummy did it there.
Hm. Yes. Good point.
He suggested Tetbury.
I snorted. Tetbury? The chapel near Highgrove? Seriously, Willy? How many does that place seat?
Isn’t that what you said you wanted—a small, quiet wedding?
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
'I told them a bit of how we’d met, told them about Botswana, told them about Waitrose, told them I was smitten, but overall what I told them was heavily redacted.'SOON AFTER THAT DAY, Willy and Kate invited me over to dinner. They knew something was going on with me and they wanted to find out what it was. I wasn’t sure I was ready to tell them. I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone else to know just yet. But then, as we sat around their TV room, both kids tucked into bed, the moment felt right. I casually mentioned that there was…a new woman in my life.
They surged forward. Who is she? I’ll tell you, but please, please, please, I need you both to keep it a secret. Yes, Harold, yes, yes—who is it? She’s an actress. Oh? She’s American. Oh. On a show called Suits.
Their mouths fell open. They turned to each other. Then Willy turned to me and said: Fuck off! What? No way. Sorry? Impossible! I was baffled, until Willy and Kate explained that they were regular—nay, religious—viewers of Suits. Great, I thought, laughing. I’ve been worrying about the wrong thing. All this time I’d thought Willy and Kate might not welcome Meg into the family, but now I had to worry about them hounding her for an autograph. They barraged me with questions. I told them a bit of how we’d met, told them about Botswana, told them about Waitrose, told them I was smitten, but overall what I told them was heavily redacted. I just didn’t want to give away too much. I also said I couldn’t wait for them to meet her, that I looked forward to the four of us spending lots of time together, and I confessed, for the umpteenth time, that this had long been my dream—to join them with an equal partner. To become a foursome. I’d said this to Willy so many times, and he’d always replied: It might not happen, Harold! And you’ve got to be OK with that. Well, now I felt that it was going to happen, and I told him so—but he still said to slow down. She’s an American actress after all, Harold. Anything might happen. I nodded, a bit hurt. Then hugged him and Kate and left.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
I still think she is wearing makeup in that picture. Just enough to even her skin tone, concealer round the eyesMeg thinks she’s the most beautiful thing ever born. Unfortunately for us Aitch agrees.
Not seeing it myself. Without the layers and layers of foundation and her gummy eyelashes she’s just plain old Meg two bed flat above a garage.
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I didn’t know he had a dog called Guy and started reading this thinking he was talking about his friend, Guy Pelly wondering why he was scooping him up and carrying him out …… having a totes bants night with the boys, rather than the Hallmark moment proposalOne night, not long after Meg’s arrival in Britain, we were at home, making dinner, playing with Guy, and the kitchen of Nott Cott was as full of love as any room I’d ever been in.
I opened a bottle of champagne—an old, old gift I’d been saving for a special occasion. Meg smiled.
What’s the occasion?
No occasion.
I scooped up Guy, carried him outside, into the walled garden, put him down on a blanket I’d spread on the grass. Then I ran back inside and asked Meg to grab her champagne flute and come with me.
What’s up?
Nothing.
I led her out to the garden. Cold night. We were both wrapped in big coats, and hers had a hood lined with fake fur that framed her face like a cameo. I set electric candles around the blanket. I wanted it to look like Botswana, the bush, where I’d first thought of proposing. Now I knelt on the blanket, Guy at my side. Both of us looked up searchingly at Meg. My eyes already full of tears, I brought the ring out of my pocket and said my piece. I was shivering, and my heart was audibly thumping, and my voice was unsteady, but she got the idea.
Spend your life with me? Make me the happiest guy on this planet?
Yes.
Yes?
Yes!
I laughed. She laughed. What other reaction could there be? In this mixed-up world, this pain-filled life, we’d done it. We’d managed to find each other. Then we were crying and laughing, and petting Guy, who looked frozen solid. We started for the house. Oh, wait. Don’t you want to see the ring, my love? She hadn’t even thought about it. We hurried inside, finished our celebration in the warmth of the kitchen. It was November 4. We managed to keep it secret for about two weeks.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
Nor me!Me neither!
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