Harry and Meghan #298 The half price Prince

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He's so bleeping 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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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
Where exactly does Harry think regular Brits live? Has he ever wondered what the average house in the UK is like?
 
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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
Dolt. She needed time to learn the ropes - and by your own admission you failed to teach her! You didn’t tell her to curtsey to your brother or your stepmother meaning she was failing just because you had a beef about them.
 
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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
 
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I can’t believe how much I’ve missed whilst being at work. I’m skipping so much in trying to catch up. Probably a good idea for my blood pressure though.
 
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Okay you guys. A lot of you were there for this with me and gave me a lot of blessings and good wishes, so it's really fitting that you all be the first to know this (and since my parents are currently sleeping and my dog will rip me apart if I wake them up 😂😂). I cleared the professional exam that I sat for in November!!

They just released the results and now I'm shaking from more than the cold!! 😂😂😂

Chocolates and tea/coffee for all! ♥


Except Sparry and his Ho. They wasted burgers 🙄

That deserves a row of dancing mushies!!

:m:m:m:m:m:m:m:m:m:m:m
 
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He's so bleeping THICK I can't stand it.

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

Thick as two short planks.
Still better than the "I miss your boobs" texts I used to get even though he hadn't touched or even seen them. I'm sure Sparry meant the same. Or lower.
 
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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
Frat House? It was built by Sr Christopher Wren, Prine real estate in Kensington, not only Kensington but KP. It’s worth a bloody fortune
 
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We agreed that if we were serious about giving ourselves a chance, a real chance, we’d need a serious plan. Which meant, among other things, making a vow never to let more than two weeks pass without seeing each other.
We’d both had long-distance relationships, and they’d always been hard, and part of the reason had always been lack of serious planning. Effort. You had to fight the distance, defeat that distance. Meaning, travel. Lots and lots of travel.
The burden therefore would fall on Meg. In the early days, it would have to be her spending time on planes, her crisscrossing the ocean—while still working full-time on Suits. Many days the car came for her at 4:15 A.M. to take her to set. It wasn’t fair for her to shoulder the burden, but she was willing, she said. No choice, she said. The alternative was not seeing me, and that, she said, wasn’t feasible. Or bearable. For the hundredth time since July 1, my heart cracked open. Then we said goodbye again. See you in two weeks. Two weeks. God. Yes.


Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
 
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It really does sound delusional. Either that, or this is TW script for her (Made for TV) movie that she's directing.

Maybe that's on the cards...A movie. Who will the cast be I wonder?
 
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This is a piece from respected Scottish journalist Bill Leckie who wouldn’t normally write about Haz but seems to have been stirred into having his say. I couldn’t link it so just had to type it out myself.

‘Poor wee Harry can lash out at the world all he likes. But someday he’ll have to admit who his REAL fight’s with. Himself.
The guy’s so clearly at odds with everything he’s told himself is true, everything those around him have told him is true, that he no longer seems to know what he believes.
He hurls out accusations that always lack evidence. He makes statements and then denies them. He blames his brother, his dad, his grandparents, the Press and Big Boys Who Ran Away for everything wrong in his life.
Yet his most pressing issue is an unwillingness to deal with choices he’s made that are proving more and more difficult to justify.
Princess Margaret, purposeless in her big sister’s shadow, made self destructive choices and became a husk of the person she could have been.
Harry, sadly, is on the same path’.
 
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I felt pretty sure she hadn’t googled me, because she was always asking questions. She seemed to know almost nothing—so refreshing. It showed that she wasn’t impressed by royalty, which I thought the first step to surviving it. More, since she hadn’t done a deep dive into the literature, the public record, her head wasn’t filled with disinformation.
After Willy and I had laid flowers at Mummy’s grave, we drove together back to London. I phoned Meg, told her I was on my way. I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, not wanting to give myself away to Willy.


There’s a secret way into the hotel, she said. Then a freight lift.

All went according to plan. After I’d met the friend and navigated a sort of maze through the bowels of Soho House, I finally reached Meg’s door. I knocked and suspended breathing while I waited. The door flew open. That smile. Her hair was partly covering her eyes. Her arms were reaching for me. She pulled me inside and thanked her friend in one fluid motion, then slammed the door quickly before anyone saw. I want to say we hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. But I don’t think there was time.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
The friend was Marcus Anderson I bet
 
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Then I looked at the Jet Ski. Floating on its side. tit. 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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Then I looked at the Jet Ski. Floating on its side. tit. 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.
No biro? He should have kept the one that Princess Margaret gave him for Christmas.
 
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