There is/was a homeopathic hospital in Glasgow (Great Western Road I think.)Oddly the BRF are quite notorious for their attachment to homeopathy, aren't they? They certainly used to be.
Kate, done up to the nines!! What a load of guff! Was she wearing a fricking ball gown? She always nails casualI 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.
Meghan definitely wrote this bilge. And the dimwit doesn't read..... No shit Sherlock!!!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.
St Helena is nice.As if they'd trust him to be Governor General of Bermuda!
Didn't approve of her bullying more likeThe full seriousness of all this was finally starting to sink in.
If Granny said no…would I have to say goodbye to Meg? I couldn’t imagine being without her…but I also couldn’t imagine being openly disobedient to Granny. My Queen, my Commander in Chief.
If she withheld her permission, my heart would break, and of course I’d look for another occasion to ask again, but the odds would be against me. Granny wasn’t exactly known for changing her mind. So this moment was either the start of my life, or the end. It would all come down to the words I chose, how I delivered them, and how Granny heard them.
If all that wasn’t enough to make me tongue-tied, I’d seen plenty of press reports, sourced to “the Palace,” that some in my family didn’t quite, shall we say, approve of Meg. Didn’t fancy her directness. Didn’t feel altogether comfortable with her strong work ethic. Didn’t even enjoy her occasional questions. What was healthy and natural inquisitiveness they deemed to be impertinence. There were also whispers about a vague and pervasive unease regarding her race. “Concern” had been expressed in certain corners about whether or not Britain was “ready.” Whatever that meant. Was any of that rubbish reaching Granny’s ears? If so, was this request for permission merely a hopeless exercise?
Was I doomed to be the next Margaret?
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
Or the Falklands. She could sing to the penguinsSt Helena is nice.
Watching it too! Loved it when I was a teenI've switched on Weird Science, because two teenage geeks creating a real live woman with a computer programme is more grounded in reality than Spare
You have to admit, she is bloody good at manipulating people. Shame her acting skills in real life didn’t work in theatre or filmPA WANTED TO HELP choose the music for the ceremony so he invited us one night to Clarence House, for dinner and…a concert.
music.
He wholly endorsed our desire to have an orchestra rather than an organist, and he played an assortment of orchestras to get us in the mood. After a time, we segued into classical, and he talked about his love of Beethoven. Meg spoke about her own deep feeling for Chopin.
Meg evoked so much in him, qualities I’d rarely seen. In her presence Pa became boyish. I saw it, saw the bond between them growing stronger, and I felt strengthened in my own bond with him. So many people were treating her shabbily, it filled my heart to see my father treating her like the princess she was about to—maybe born to—become.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
If I was TPOW I would have said back in a text fuck you and fuck your shitty dress. Then got my own tailor to fix the dress not tell Meg then showed up at the wedding.The man who re-did the dresses says: 'We had to work tooth and nail for four days, four of us working until 4 am three nights in a row, to make them fit'.
It goes to show that Kate was right, the dresses needed to be completely redone. And they lost a whole day of work and had to work till 4 am because Peg was ignoring Kate's messages.
View attachment 1872455
I noticed that too and chose to ignore it.
I have already seen too much.
My brian can't handle what came into my mind when I read that.
Was she Harry’s dealer?Tom Bower: Doria sold drugs and then 'disappeared for ten years but I cannot legally tell you why'
Must have been a sarky joke. It’s where they shunted Edward VIII and that other Awful Woman ( according to my grandma) after the Abdication. A small role for a small man. Fitting for this pair, too.As if they'd trust him to be Governor General of Bermuda!
It's OK, the only terrible thing is your lack of acknowledgment for Elizabeth Arden, on the...genital part.I am a bad person. A really really bad person. Even when Sparry reveals his innermost genital/genetic/generational/gustatory/grandiose pain, all I can do is
Was she Harry’s dealer?
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