Don’t worry.I’ve laughed so much I’m going to Hell.
Who in the f*** kisses their mothers necks he is a way sick f***erAll my life I’d told people I couldn’t remember the past, couldn’t remember my mum, but I never gave anyone the full picture. My memory was dead. Now, through months of therapy, my memory twitched, kicked, sputtered. It came to life.
Some days I’d open my eyes to find Mummy…standing before me.
A thousand images returned, some so bright and vivid that they were like holograms. I remembered mornings in Mummy’s apartment at Kensington Palace, the nanny waking Willy and me, helping us down to Mummy’s bedroom. I remembered that she had a waterbed, and Willy and I would jump up and down on the mattress, screaming, laughing, our hair standing straight up. I remembered the breakfasts together, Mummy loving grapefruit and lychees, seldom drinking coffee or tea. I remembered that after breakfast we’d embark on the working day with her, sitting by her side during her first phone calls, auditing her business meetings. I remembered Willy and me joining her for a chat with Christy Turlington, Claudia Schiffer, and Cindy Crawford. Very confusing. Especially for two shy boys, at or about the age of puberty. I remembered bedtimes in Kensington Palace, saying goodnight at the foot of the stairs, kissing her soft neck, inhaling her perfume, then lying in bed, in the dark, feeling so far away, so alone, and longing to hear her voice just one more time. I remembered my bedroom being the farthest from hers, and in the dark, in the terrible silence, being unable to relax, unable to let go.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
On a less serious note, I came across these fascinating (not) excerpts from his book. I have not seen many cases of frost bitten penises in my time, however it wouldn’t be the first diagnosis that comes to mind either. Sounds to me more like an STD. Probably Williams fault.
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ETA: and sorry, Frostnipistan? Harry, your ‘unconscious bias’ is showing
Lol talk about an idiotI 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
I don’t believe it. The establishment would move heaven and earth to bury this and any possible victims to protect The Montecito Ripper.This doesn’t look good for Harold…
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Talk about generational painYou took the words right out of my mouth. Was about to post the same.
It is laughable.
Plus at some point the flatpacks (if they ever exist) will read this, their school chums will read this. Humiliation will last for generations.
I said exactly the same thing to husband. Funny enough, Barbara Cartland was Princess Diana's step Grandmother!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.
Dear God I’m flabbergasted
She’s my new heroI love Camilla a little bit more for suggesting they move to Bermuda. What a legend. I bet she was cracking up when she tried to suggest it with a straight face. Rothmans king-size in one hand and a sherry in the other.
Meghan stalked the DM offices over and over again. They saw her walking forward and bcakwards down Kensington High Street desperate to be papped! Someone took one picture as they felt pity on her - she'd been at it for a half hour or something.Am I wrong about the Whole Foods story or does woman in baseball hat in the UK scream look at me? I don't live in London but the only time I see women wearing baseball hats is maybe in the summer when they're running but its fairly rare even at that
I almost snorted my drink out my nose at the phrase her strong work ethicThe 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.
There is a book out called Laptop from Hell which is about Hunter Biden. He had a lot of dealings with prostitutes but violence towards them was never mentioned.We discussed that on here and decided it didn't sound like the clues lead to Hunter Biden, so it probably was Haz.
So can we blame the queen and let Ashley Cole off the hookI 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
Oh don't do that! What if you get frostbit... down there??BRB, just away to throw all my Elizabeth Arden products in the bin
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