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Anna2020

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I WAS EXCITED TO welcome Meg to my home, but also embarrassed: Nott Cott was no palace. Nott Cott was palace adjacent—that was the best you could say for it. I watched her as she walked up the front path, through the white picket fence. To my relief she made no sign of dismay, gave no indication of disillusionment. Until she got inside. Then she said something about a frat house. I glanced around. She wasn’t far off. Union Jack in the corner. (The one I’d waved at the North Pole.) Old rifle on the TV stand. (A gift from Oman, after an official visit.) Xbox console. Just a place to keep my stuff, I explained, moving around some papers and clothes. I’m not here much. It was also constructed for smaller people, humans of a bygone era. Thus the rooms were tiny and the ceilings were doll’s house low. I gave her a quick tour, which took thirty seconds. Mind your head! I’d never noticed until then just how shabby the furniture was. Brown sofa, browner beanbag chair. Meg paused before the beanbag. I know. I know.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
 
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Anna2020

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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
 
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Mollywobbles

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Pa, driving us out into the fields, asked about Meg. Not with great interest, just casually. Still, he didn’t always ask, so I was pleased. She’s good, thanks. Does she want to carry on working?
Say again?
Does she want to keep on acting?
Oh. I mean, I don’t know, I wouldn’t think so. I expect she’ll want to be with me, doing the job, you know, which would rule out Suits…since they film in…Toronto.
Hmm. I see. Well, darling boy, you know there’s not enough money to go around.
I stared. What was he banging on about?
He explained. Or tried to. I can’t pay for anyone else. I’m already having to pay for your brother and Catherine.
I flinched. Something about his use of the name Catherine. I remembered the time he and Camilla wanted Kate to change the spelling of her name, because there were already two royal cyphers with a C and a crown above: Charles and Camilla. It would be too confusing to have another. Make it Katherine with a K, they suggested. I wondered now what came of that suggestion.
I turned to Willy, gave him a look that said: You listening to this? His face was blank.


Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
He already guessed she was a gold digger and would expect designer outfits and a living allowance for spa days, beauty treatments, makeup, hair extensions.
 
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Anna2020

VIP Member
NEXT WAS WILLY. I knew he’d kill me if I let it go another minute. So Meg and I popped over one afternoon, shortly before he and I were due to leave on a shooting trip. Walking up to apartment 1A, under the huge arch, through the courtyard, I felt more nervous than I had before the meeting with Granny. I asked myself why. No answer came to mind. We climbed the gray stone steps, rang the bell. No reply. After a wait the door opened and there was my big brother, a bit dressed up. Nice trousers, nice shirt, open collar.
I introduced Meg, who leaned in and gave him a hug, which completely freaked him out. He recoiled. Willy didn’t hug many strangers. Whereas Meg hugged most strangers. The moment was a classic collision of cultures, like flashlight-torch, which felt to me both funny and charming. Later, however, looking back, I wondered if it was more than that. Maybe Willy expected Meg to curtsy? It would’ve been protocol when meeting a member of the Royal Family for the first time, but she didn’t know, and I didn’t tell her. When meeting my grandmother, I’d made it clear—this is the Queen. But when meeting my brother, it was just Willy, who loved Suits.


Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
 
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docmum

VIP Member
Then I looked at the Jet Ski. Floating on its side. Shit. My iPhone! With all my photos! And phone numbers! MEG! The Jet Ski came to rest on the sandbar. We flipped it right and I grabbed my phone from the console. Soaked. Ruined. All the photos Meg and I had taken! Plus all our texts! I’d known this lads’ trip would be wild, so I’d sent some photos to Meg and other mates before leaving, as a precaution. Still, the rest were surely lost. More, how was I going to be in touch with her? Adi said not to worry, we’d put the phone in rice, a surefire way to dry it out. Hours later, the moment we got back to camp, that was just what we did. We submerged the phone in a big bucket of uncooked white rice. I looked down, highly dubious. How long will this take? Day or two. No good. I need a solution now. Mike and I worked out a plan. I could write a letter to Meg, which he’d take home with him to Maun. Teej could then photograph the letter and text it to Meg. (She had Meg’s number on her phone: I’d given it to her when she first went to collect Meg from the airport.) Now I just had to write that letter. The first challenge was finding a pen among that bunch of muppets. Does anyone have a pen? A what? A pen. I’ve got an EpiPen! No! A pen. A biro! My kingdom for a biro! Oh. A biro. Wow. Somehow I found one. The next challenge was finding a place to compose. I went off under a tree. I thought. I stared into space. I wrote: Hey Beautiful. OK you got me—can’t stop thinking about you, missing you, LOTS. Phone went in river. Sad face…Apart from that, having an amazing time. Wish u were here. Mike left, letter in hand.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
Where’s the biro that Princess Margaret had gifted him? Would have been fecking useful in the end you ungrateful prick.
 
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sohomum

Well-known member
Sorry if this has been mentioned as I haven’t been able to keep up with these threads, but I haven’t even got to the end of the first page of Spare yet and have noticed an error.

The first line says Harry is waiting in the garden of Frogmore a few hours after his Grandfather’s funeral, but halfway down the page it then says it’s only a few hours after getting the call from the Queen to say Philip had died. Which is it?! He wasn’t buried the same day he died.

Should I even bother reading more if this is how inaccurate it is already? 😂
 
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FerreroRocher

Chatty Member
Hazno on Colbert:

"My words are not dangerous, their spin on my words is dangerous"

Perhaps shut the fuck up then? You are not a celebrity. You are a failed prince. No-one likes you.

Also Hazno on Colbert, making out that context of his words are important, yet wouldn't provide context to clarify the implication of racism in the RF for over 2 years. Utter cunt.
 
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goldshoes

Chatty Member
MEG CAME TO LONDON. September 2017.
We were in Nott Cott. In the kitchen. Preparing dinner. The whole cottage was filled with…love. Filled to overflowing. It even seemed to spill out the open door, into the garden outside, a scrubby little patch of ground that no one had wanted, for a very long time, but which Meg and I had slowly reclaimed. We’d raked and mown, planted and watered, and many evenings we sat out there on a blanket, listening to classical music concerts wafting over from the park.
I told Meg about the garden just on the other side of our wall: Mummy’s garden. Where Willy and I played as kids. It was now sealed off from us forever. As my memories had once been. Whose garden is it now? she asked. It belongs to Princess Michael of Kent. And her Siamese cats. Mummy despised those cats. As I smelt the garden, and considered this new life, cherished this new life, Meg was sitting on the other side of the kitchen, scooping Wagamama from cartons into bowls.
Without thinking I blurted out: I don’t know, I just… I had my back to her. I froze, mid-sentence, hesitant to go on, hesitant to turn around. You don’t know what, Haz? I just… Yes? I love you. I listened for a response. There was none. Now I could hear her, or feel her, walking towards me. I turned and there she was, right before me.
I love you too, Haz.
The words had been on the tip of my tongue almost from the start, so in one sense they didn’t feel particularly revelatory, or even necessary. Of course I loved her. Meg knew that, Meg could see it, the whole world could. I loved her with all my heart as I’d never loved anyone before. And yet saying it made everything real. Saying it set things in motion, automatically. Saying it was a step.


Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
Prince Charles was right - completely cuntstruck


also wagamama? not fragrant roast chicken?
 
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estellastheme

Chatty Member
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.
Imagine thinking Eat Pray Love is high art that makes one cultured. Fuck me at being constantly amazed by how just how dumb he is. He’s the kind of dumb where I have to wonder how he manages to shower without waterboarding himself or put a t-shirt on without strangling himself.
 
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Shemakesmemad

VIP Member
I’d always told myself that there were firm rules about relationships, at least when it came to royalty, and the main one was that you absolutely must date a woman for three years before taking the plunge. How else could you know about her? How else could she know about you—and your royal life? How else could both of you be sure that this was what you wanted, that it was a thing you could endure together? It wasn’t for everybody. But Meg seemed the shining exception to this rule. All rules. I knew her straightaway, and she knew me. The true me. Might seem rash, I thought, might seem illogical, but it’s true: For the first time, in fact, I felt myself to be living in truth.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
That’s worked out really well for you hasn’t it 🙄
 
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Glaschelle

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PA 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.
FOR! F***!! SAKE!!! The princess she was born to be!!!

This is bloody mental - he's bloody mental!!! She was trying to charm the old goat. It's blantely obvious!!!

God he's really been played hasn't he!!!

I know I'm late to the party today (flaming work expecting you to actually do some work) but I'm loving the exerts from the book. He's totally unhinged. How have the palace managed to keep that a secret for so long

And just for the record, I'd never heard Suits or migraine till Harold,'s announcement. Nor had i seen any pap photos. She's definitely wasn't hounded like Kate and Diana (part of the problem I'm sure)

But God can you imagine their lives now??? Megz theres three people in your marriage and worse for you, one of them is a ghost. At least Diana had a living, breathing human being she could rage against.
 
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ChaoticArtist

VIP Member
She was aglow??? Definitely smegz writing
Someone saw that she was one of the wicked witches, water didn't work so they went the old-fashioned way.


New thread yay! And love the title!


Couldn't post in the last thread:

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
Oh so many jokes. My phone battery had to be low right now.



*cracks knuckles and warms up fingertips waiting for phone to charge*

What an intro. Give him a Pulitzer just for that. Did they get an AI to write it?

So he had a heart attack the first time they met? Leaving aside the hyperbole, what happened when he saw her without makeup the first time? And yeah, people say that, it's a common-ish expression, but it sounds sooo trite. (Just remembered that scene in We Bought a Zoo where the dad is telling his kids about the first time he saw their mom, and just stopped and stared before he built up the courage to go talk to her - that was beautiful! ♥)

Who tries to unders ..you are meeting your date and .. I get feeling nervous or feeling butterflies, but who stands there trying to 'understand' it?

Couldn't understand more data. Yeah, here we get you Sparry. You and your tiny brain.

Left her luggage at Soho House...bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!! Way to our your wife as the Ho she is 😂😂😂😂

Her many careers 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 You forgot yachting, Sparry. But maybe she counts it as an extra-curricular? Wouldn't want to share those singles with the IRS, would she?

Argentina. *snorts*

All part of the plan. The plan to catch herself the richest idiot she could, play-act being a humanitarian and live a super-glam life off someone else's hard work and wealth forever.


Even the modern Mills and Boon's are better written. Can't say who's written this - not Sparry, but either TW or the ghostwriter or a staff member who were pissed off with her. It comes off as 'OMG Smegs is an angelllllll - so beautiful, so smart, so intelligent, the best at everything!!!' on the surface, but seems to lack any warmth or real affection.

It sounds like my ex in the lovebombing phase - he was definitely in lust and impressed by my credentials etc, but there was a definite lack of affection so I always doubted him and held back (with good reason, as it turned out), and the gold-digger went off with a bigger fish. Even sharing our deepest secrets, daily thoughts and feelings etc, we could never achieve real intimacy. And that is what this extract sounds like.

I can't listen to Sparry's voice, but it would be interesting to hear how he has read this part.

When William talks about Catherine, even if it is a short sentence or something generic like she sends her best wishes or she says hello, you can hear genuine warmth in his voice. Even in that address in the Scottish parliament.
 
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Sooz

Chatty Member
He's so fucking THICK I can't stand it.

Even his romantic letters are just "I miss u xoxo"

Thick as two short planks.
 
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LadyMuck

VIP Member
So he rowed with KC and PW about not defending smegz in the press, yet he is vile and cruel to Pat the matron at Ludgrove and the older women who he slept with and thinks that's OK.

He's a vile thing. Can't even call him a human being
 
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