This episode at Frogmore…
1) it’s very clear Wills was absolutely desperate to get through to him, but failed
2) I don’t even know what to say about his idea of a death cult.
I’m addicted to the funny comments on hereI know we are only in January but this book is the laugh of the year!
Suits again, we will hear about it instead of P&G letter.Our dinner guests were my cousin Euge, her boyfriend Jack, and my mate Charlie. The salmon turned out perfectly and everyone complimented Meg on her culinary talents. They also devoured her stories. They wanted to hear all about Suits. And her travels. I was grateful for their interest, their warmth. The wine was as good as the company, and there was plenty of it, and after dinner we moved into the snug, put on music and silly hats, and danced. I have a fuzzy memory, and a grainy video on my phone, of Charlie and me rolling on the floor while Meg sat nearby laughing. Then we got into the tequila. I remember Euge hugging Meg, as if they were sisters. I remember Charlie giving me a thumbs-up. I remember thinking: If meeting the rest of my family goes like this, we’re home free. But then I noticed that Meg was feeling poorly. She complained of an upset stomach and looked terribly pale. I thought: Uh-oh, lightweight. She took herself off to bed. After a nightcap I saw our guests out and tidied up a bit. I got into bed around midnight and crashed out, but I woke at two A.M. to hear her in the bathroom, being sick, truly sick, not the drunken sick I’d imagined. Something else was going on. Food poisoning. She revealed that she’d had squid for lunch at a restaurant. British calamari! Mystery solved. From the floor she said softly: Please tell me you’re not having to hold back my hair while I’m vomiting. Yes. I am. I rubbed her back and eventually put her to bed. Weak, near tears, she said she’d imagined a very different end to Date Four. Stop, I said. Taking care of each other? That’s the point. That’s love, I thought, though I managed to keep the words inside.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
When you think of the people that they have met as members of the Royal family - at private parties as well as public functions I find it hard to believe that they would be at all impressed by Markle from a show that by 2016 was only on E4 at 3am and didn't make the main channels at all. It had passed its peak a couple of years before.My favourite bit of all this is Harry insisting that everyone in his life loves and is obsessed with Suits. Will, Kate, Eugenie, his friends...
They must have made up the entire viewing figures for that show.
Flashing her knickers..at least she is wearing someFound it - as if you could cycle in that stupid long dress...so chic...so feckin' basic
This isn't a 22 year old, its a 36 year old divorcee acting like she is 22
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Who the fuck has written this shitSecond 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.
Another thing Hazzard has somehow forgotten: when we’re faced with anything from melodramas to public tragedies, we rip the piss out of it. For years. Forever.Love the shade we Brit’s throw
the real TW ...Nice ...
Blind Item #9
With an entire town ordered to evacuate and everyone doing their best to pitch in and help others, the alliterate one was screaming at compa...www.crazydaysandnights.net
Pure goldAfter frenetic bouts of vomiting and nausea, I had a thought… The Royal Family has been around for 1,000 years. It’s survived invasions, bankruptcy, treachery, regicide, dictatorship, Henry VIII and even Wallis Simpson.
The RF is going nowhere. This puny little boil on the arse of humanity and his ghastly wife are not going to win, not going to be able to change anything. Leaks will start, oh yes - dim-bulb royal doesn’t understand that PR exists to portray the good side of their client (while being represented by Sunshine Sachs? Groundbreaking!!) - and they won’t be pretty. We have all these staffers to hear from. Everyone Meghag has ever been rude to. The nasty little secrets covered up for Hazzard, whose ‘cheeky chappie’/‘military hero’ image was burnished by the very men in grey he despises, will seep out. I wonder if Charles will pay Meghag off when she does a narc discard on Harry?
-Oh, also - don’t you just LOVE it when a whiter-than-white white guy tells us what racism is, in the same breath as he describes removing 25 brown people as if they weren’t human? Incredible self-awareness right there.
I like what he said. I suspect he ran it past the RAF press office to check he didn’t say anything that would be inappropriate or upset. I pick up a subtext of team RF (but that could be my own biasTailor at centre of Meghan and Kate's bridesmaid dress row speaks out
Luxury suit and dressmaker Ajay Mirpuri (pictured) has broken four years of silence on the now infamous affair after being tracked down by the Daily Mail.www.dailymail.co.uk
He’s sitting on the fence but confirms the dresses basically all required a full re-do...
The only ' throne' she will ever see is the toilet pan.One could interpret this that Smeg did have 'throne syndrome' - (we see you Smeg!)
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.
Am I the only person in the world who'd never heard of suits or watched it. I think I'm going to drown in my own vomit reading thisSo, she finished her Eat Pray Love thing, then flew from London to Johannesburg, then to Maun, where I’d asked Teej to meet her. (I wanted to do it myself, of course, but couldn’t without creating a scene.) After an eleven-hour odyssey, including a three-hour layover in Johannesburg, and a hot car ride to the house, Meghan had every right to be grumpy. But she wasn’t. Bright-eyed, eager, she was ready for anything. And looking like…perfection. She wore cut-off jean shorts, well-loved hiking boots, a crumpled Panama hat that I’d seen on her Instagram page.
I asked about the flight. She laughed about the Air Botswana crew. They were big fans of Suits, so they’d asked her to pose for a photo.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
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