Does he say in the book what he was doing at Courtney Cox's house? It seemed a bit odd he was there
Would that be the freebies that she was giving the staff according to him in another part of his fantasyStories rolled in, like breakers on a beach.
- First a rubbish hit piece by a hack biographer of Pa, who said I’d thrown a tantrum before the wedding.
-Then a work of fiction about Meg making her staff miserable, driving them too hard, committing the unpardonable sin of emailing people early in the morning. (She just happened to be up at that hour, trying to stay in touch with night-owl friends back in America—she didn’t expect an instant reply.)
- She was also said to have driven our assistant to quit; in fact that assistant was asked to resign by Palace HR after we showed them evidence she’d traded on her position with Meg to get freebies. But because we couldn’t speak publicly about the reasons for the assistant’s departure, rumors filled the void. In many ways that was the true start of all the troubles.
Shortly thereafter, the “Duchess Difficult” narrative began appearing in all the papers.
-Next came a novella in one of the tabloids about the tiara. The article said Meg had demanded a certain tiara that had belonged to Mummy, and when the Queen refused, I’d thrown a fit: What Meghan wants, Meghan gets!
Days later came the coup de grâce: from a royal correspondent, a sci-fi fantasy describing the “growing froideur” (good Lord) between Kate and Meg, claiming that, according to “two sources,” Meg had reduced Kate to tears about the bridesmaids’ dresses. This particular royal correspondent had always made me ill. She’d always, always got stuff wrong. But this felt more than wrong.
I read the story in disbelief. Meg didn’t. She still wasn’t reading anything. She heard about it, however, since it was the only thing being discussed in Britain for the next twenty-four hours, and as long as I live I’ll never forget the tone of her voice as she looked me in the eye and said: Haz, I made her cry? I made HER cry?
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
Yes, that was a pretty heavy few days. Thank you sooo much!I remember how stressed you were @ChaoticArtist and I’m VERY happy for you! I hope this helps to alleviate some of the issues you’ve been feeling anxious about lately.
Back on topic, you didn’t need anyone to do your exam for you, unlike 5 and his A-level in art for which his teacher passed!
He wouldn’t be anyway that would be WilliamYes but Charles could make it publicly known that upon his death Harry will not be King.
Exclusive:
Smeg seen fleeing her 16 bathroom Monteshithole Mansion with flatpacks during floods
(http://imgur.com/a/7mkBmR5)
You know for supposedly being about him it seems to be an awfully lot about herWho can ever forget the spate of front-page stories making Meg out to be singlehandedly responsible for the End Times?
Specifically, she’d been “caught” eating avocado toast, and many stories explained breathlessly that the harvesting of avocados was hastening the destruction of the rainforests, destabilizing developing countries, and helping to fund state terrorism
. Of course the same media had recently swooned over Kate’s love of avocados. (Oh, how they make Kate’s skin glow!)
Notably, it was around this time that the super-narrative embedded within each story began to shift. It was no longer about two women fighting, two duchesses at odds, or even two households.
It was now about one person being a witch and causing everyone to run from her, and that one person was my wife
. And in building this super-narrative the press was clearly being assisted by someone or multiple someones inside the Palace. Someone who had it in for Meg.
One day it was: Yuck—Meg’s bra strap was showing. (Classless Meghan.)
The next day: Yikes—she’s wearing that dress? (Trashy Meghan.)
The next day: God save us, her fingernails are painted black! (Goth Meghan.)
The next day: Goodness—she still doesn’t know how to curtsy properly. (American Meghan.)
The next day: Crikey, she shut her own car door again! (Uppity Meghan.)
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
In her deluded fucking dreams!Still, despite the mounting stress, the terrible pressure, we managed to protect our essential bond, never snapping at each other during those few days. As we came to the final hours of her visit, we were solid, happy, and Meg announced she wanted to make me a special goodbye lunch. There was nothing in my fridge, as usual. But there was a Whole Foods down the street. I gave her directions, the safest route, past the Palace guards, turn right, towards Kensington Palace Gardens, down to Kensington High Street, there’s a police barrier, take a right and you’ll see Whole Foods. It’s massive, you can’t miss it. I had an engagement but I’d be home soon.
Baseball cap, jacket, head down, side gate. You’ll be fine, I promise.
Two hours later, when I got home, I found her inconsolable. Sobbing. Shaking. What is it? What’s happened? She could barely get the story out.
She’d dressed just as I’d advised, and she’d run happily, anonymously, up and down the supermarket aisles. But as she rode the escalator a man approached. Excuse me, do you know where the exit is? Oh, yes, I think it’s just up here to the left. Hey! You’re on that program—Suits, am I right? My wife loves you. Oh. That’s so nice! Thanks. What’s your name? Jeff. Nice to meet you, Jeff. Please tell her I said thanks for watching. I will. Can I get a picture…you know, for my mum? Thought you said it was your wife. Oh. Yeah. Heh. Sorry, I’m just grocery shopping today. His face changed. Well, even if I can’t take a picture WITH you…that doesn’t stop me taking pictures OF you! He whipped out his phone and followed her to the deli counter, snapping away while she looked at the turkey. F the turkey, she thought, hurrying to the checkouts. He followed her there too. She got into the queue. Before her were rows and rows of magazines and newspapers, and on all of them, under the most shocking and disgusting headlines…was her. The other customers noticed as well. They looked at the magazines, looked at her, and now they too pulled out their phones, like zombies. Meg caught two cashiers sharing a horrible smile. After paying for her groceries, she walked outside, straight into a group of four men with their iPhones aimed at her. She kept her head down, rushed up Kensington High Street. She was nearly home when a horse-drawn carriage came rolling out of Kensington Palace Gardens. Some sort of parade: the Palace gate was blocked. She was forced back along the main road, where the four men picked up the scent again, and chased her all the way to the main gate, screaming her name. When she finally got inside Nott Cott, she’d phoned her best girlfriends, each of whom asked: Is he worth this, Meg? Is anyone worth this? I put my arms around her, said I was sorry. So sorry. We just held each other, until I slowly became aware of the most delicious smells. I looked around. Hang on. You mean…after all that…you still made lunch? I wanted to feed you before I left.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
I wonder if it is referring to the Los Angeles to London flight. I’ve taken that before but I think it was canceled several years ago, maybe even before this incident took placeLittle lies everywhere ...
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Prince Harry’s bizarre claims about Air NZ flight in memoir
Booksellers were gearing up for today, the first day the book would be sold in NZwww.nzherald.co.nz
What a great actress. Bravo! The performance of a lifetime that was! Pure wifey material too!Still, despite the mounting stress, the terrible pressure, we managed to protect our essential bond, never snapping at each other during those few days. As we came to the final hours of her visit, we were solid, happy, and Meg announced she wanted to make me a special goodbye lunch. There was nothing in my fridge, as usual. But there was a Whole Foods down the street. I gave her directions, the safest route, past the Palace guards, turn right, towards Kensington Palace Gardens, down to Kensington High Street, there’s a police barrier, take a right and you’ll see Whole Foods. It’s massive, you can’t miss it. I had an engagement but I’d be home soon.
Baseball cap, jacket, head down, side gate. You’ll be fine, I promise.
Two hours later, when I got home, I found her inconsolable. Sobbing. Shaking. What is it? What’s happened? She could barely get the story out.
She’d dressed just as I’d advised, and she’d run happily, anonymously, up and down the supermarket aisles. But as she rode the escalator a man approached. Excuse me, do you know where the exit is? Oh, yes, I think it’s just up here to the left. Hey! You’re on that program—Suits, am I right? My wife loves you. Oh. That’s so nice! Thanks. What’s your name? Jeff. Nice to meet you, Jeff. Please tell her I said thanks for watching. I will. Can I get a picture…you know, for my mum? Thought you said it was your wife. Oh. Yeah. Heh. Sorry, I’m just grocery shopping today. His face changed. Well, even if I can’t take a picture WITH you…that doesn’t stop me taking pictures OF you! He whipped out his phone and followed her to the deli counter, snapping away while she looked at the turkey. F the turkey, she thought, hurrying to the checkouts. He followed her there too. She got into the queue. Before her were rows and rows of magazines and newspapers, and on all of them, under the most shocking and disgusting headlines…was her. The other customers noticed as well. They looked at the magazines, looked at her, and now they too pulled out their phones, like zombies. Meg caught two cashiers sharing a horrible smile. After paying for her groceries, she walked outside, straight into a group of four men with their iPhones aimed at her. She kept her head down, rushed up Kensington High Street. She was nearly home when a horse-drawn carriage came rolling out of Kensington Palace Gardens. Some sort of parade: the Palace gate was blocked. She was forced back along the main road, where the four men picked up the scent again, and chased her all the way to the main gate, screaming her name. When she finally got inside Nott Cott, she’d phoned her best girlfriends, each of whom asked: Is he worth this, Meg? Is anyone worth this? I put my arms around her, said I was sorry. So sorry. We just held each other, until I slowly became aware of the most delicious smells. I looked around. Hang on. You mean…after all that…you still made lunch? I wanted to feed you before I left.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
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