He's like a 14 year old love sick puppy. And still isEvery moment of that week was a revelation and a blessing. And yet every moment also dragged us closer to the wrenching minute when we’d have to say goodbye. There was no way around it: Meg had to get back. I had to fly to the capital, Gaborone, to meet the president of Botswana, to discuss conservation issues, after which I was embarking on a three-phase lads’ trip, months in the planning. I would cancel, I told Meg, but my mates would never forgive me. We said goodbye; Meg began to cry. When will I see you again? Soon. Not soon enough. No. Not nearly.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
Nope I’m off again…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.
Meg told us a bit about her life, about growing up in Los Angeles, about her struggles to become an actress, doing quick changes between auditions in her rundown SUV on which the doors didn’t always work. She was forced to enter through the boot. She talked about her growing portfolio as an entrepreneur, her lifestyle website, which had tens of thousands of readers. In her free time she did philanthropic work—she was especially fierce about women’s issues. I was fascinated, hanging on every word, while in the background I heard a faint drumbeat: She’s perfect, she’s perfect, she’s perfect.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
I have never in my life read Mills & Boone but from what I have heard from those taking the piss, this ‘work’ is right down their street.Every moment of that week was a revelation and a blessing. And yet every moment also dragged us closer to the wrenching minute when we’d have to say goodbye. There was no way around it: Meg had to get back. I had to fly to the capital, Gaborone, to meet the president of Botswana, to discuss conservation issues, after which I was embarking on a three-phase lads’ trip, months in the planning. I would cancel, I told Meg, but my mates would never forgive me. We said goodbye; Meg began to cry. When will I see you again? Soon. Not soon enough. No. Not nearly.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
is that a fkn windwind up? I'm still trying to work out if the gaylord thing is a spoof as well
With his she's perfect she's perfect and her heart going pump pump they are a regular rythm section aint they.
Amazing coincidence, just amazing. Hmm, just think, one day when the kids are off their hands, they can sling a phrase book, a Rick Steves Guidebook to Clichéd American Secret Not Secret at All Getaways and a change of sundresses in the saddlebags and pedal off through the lavender fields in homage to the beginning of their greatest love story. Ahhhh.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
Someone saw that she was one of the wicked witches, water didn't work so they went the old-fashioned way.She was aglow??? Definitely smegz writing
Oh so many jokes. My phone battery had to be low right now.She (Meghan) was wearing a black sweater, jeans, heels. I knew nothing about clothes, but I knew she was chic. Then again, I knew she could make anything look chic. Even a bivvy bag. The main thing I noticed was the chasm between internet and reality. I’d seen so many photos of her from fashion shoots and TV sets, all glam and glossy, but here she was, in the flesh, no frills, no filter…and even more beautiful. Heart-attack beautiful. I was trying to process this, struggling to understand what was happening to my circulatory and nervous systems, and as a result my brain couldn’t handle any more data. Conversation, pleasantries, the Queen’s English, all became a challenge. She filled the gap. She talked about London. She was here all the time, she said. Sometimes she just left her luggage at Soho House for weeks. They stored it without question. The people there were like family. I thought: You’re in London all the time? How have I never seen you? Never mind that nine million people lived in London, or that I rarely left my house, I felt that if she was here, I should’ve known. I should’ve been informed! What brings you here so often? Friends. Business. Oh? Business? Acting was her main job, she said, the thing she was known for, but she had several careers. Lifestyle writer, travel writer, corporate spokesperson, entrepreneur, activist, model. She’d been all over the world, lived in various countries, worked for the US embassy in Argentina—her CV was dizzying. All part of the plan, she said. Plan? Help people, do some good, be free.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
At least if you buy from Amazon you don’t risk anyone you know witnessing your recklessnessI have a question what moron would go and queue up to buy the book at WH Smiths or Waterstones when you can order it from amazon?
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