Harry and Meghan #299 Spare The book that makes Twilight look like Tolstoy

[lollipop_panda]

Thanks to @Churchill's Ghost for the new thread title. Im posting new thread then will edit later with recap!

old thread here

Harry and Meghan #298 The half price Prince

BIB This is exactly why the RF adopt the never complain never explain policy. It would take scores of people to answer every single negative story in the press. Plus answering them generates more column inches - as evidenced by this book. It seems it is by far the best policy to ignore things...

tattle.life

The fallout continues from the book. @JAR21has been religiously recording all the bits and bobs in the wiki.

if you’re new to the thread you can grab the popcorn and watch away, say hi (which I never did, I’m an introvert so I kinda slipped into to the convo a while ago but I promise you everyone is lovely).

The book is its own statement. Read and make your own opinion.

As always with the Harkles, a plethora of inconsistencies. Thank you to @Anna2020 for the posts.

And an off topic shoutout to @ChaoticArtist for her great exam result!

This is a friendly but cynical and sarcastic community that is well informed about the Harkles. As said at the start of the post, if you’re new and inquisitive about the train wreck that is the Harkles, wiki is in pink at top of page!

 

[Anna2020]

I WOKE TO a text from Jason.
Bad news.
What is it now?
The Mail on Sunday had printed the private letter Meg had written to her father. The letter that Granny and Pa urged her to write.
February 2019.
I was in bed, Meg was lying next to me, still asleep. I waited a bit, then broke the news to her softly.
Your father’s given your letter to the Mail.
No.
Meg, I don’t know what to say, he’s given them your letter.
That moment, for me, was decisive. About Mr. Markle, but also about the press. There had been so many moments, but that for me was The One. I didn’t want to hear any more talk of protocols, tradition, strategy. Enough, I thought. Enough.
The paper knew it was illegal to publish that letter, they knew full well, and did it anyway. Why? Because they also knew Meg was defenseless. They knew she didn’t have the staunch support of my family, and how else could they have known this, except from people close to the family? Or inside the family?
There was nothing in that letter to be ashamed about. A daughter pleading with her father to behave decently? Meg stood by every word. She’d always known it might be intercepted, that one of her father’s neighbors, or one of the paps staking out his house, might steal his post. Anything was possible. But she never stopped to think her father would actually offer it, or that a paper would actually take it—and print it.
And edit it. Indeed, that might have been the most galling thing, the way the editors cut and pasted Meg’s words to make them sound less loving.
But the pain was compounded tenfold by the simultaneous interviews with alleged handwriting experts, who analyzed Meg’s letter and inferred from the way she crossed her Ts or curved her Rs that she was a terrible person.
Rightward slant? Over-emotional.
Highly stylized? Consummate performer.
Uneven baseline? No impulse control.
The look on Meg’s face as I told her about these libels rolling out…I knew my way around grief, and there was no mistaking it—this was pure grief. She was mourning the loss of her father, and she was also mourning the loss of her own innocence. She reminded me in a whisper, as if someone might be listening, that she’d taken a handwriting class in high school, and as a result she’d always had excellent penmanship. People complimented her. She’d even used this skill at university to earn spare money. Nights, weekends, she’d inscribed wedding and birthday-party invitations, to pay the rent. Now people were trying to say that this was some kind of window into her soul? And the window was dirty?
Meg wanted to sue. Me too. Rather, we both felt we had no choice. If we didn’t sue over this, we said, what kind of signal would that be sending? To the press? To the world? So we conferred again with the Palace lawyer. We were given a runaround.
I reached out to Pa and Willy. They’d both sued the press in the past over invasions and lies.
Pa sued over so-called Black Spider Letters, his memos to government officials. Willy sued over topless photos of Kate. But both vehemently opposed the idea of Meg and me taking any legal action. Why? I asked. They hummed and hahed. The only answer I could get out of them was that it simply wasn’t advisable. The done thing, etc.
I told Meg: You’d think we were suing a dear friend of theirs.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.

 

[triesherbest]

fully fell asleep on the tube this morning thanks to listening to his droning on. thanks for the nice nap H

 

[ChastityDingle]

Apologies, thread closed as I was typing this

In one of the extracts earlier in the thread there was talk of roast chicken (Not sure which chicken but hey Ho)
Something along the lines of “rubbing lemon into the chicken before it went into the oven - gravy bubbling on the stove”
WHO MAKES GRAVY BEFORE COOKING THE CHICKEN?!
I appreciate that it’s hardly headline making stuff in amongst the Taliban, SA accusations and frozen penises BUT I’m extremely upset about the bloody gravy!
(Thank you so much to those who are putting up the extracts. I’m skim reading and trying to decide if I want to vomit, drink gin at 8:20am or go out and punch someone Harry)

Yes! The gravy bubbling on the stove had me puzzled when the chicken was only being prepared for the oven !

Darn, they missed a trick there - it was a recipe handed down to Meg or one his mummy used to make, and it needs to be cooked for an hour or more.

Or how come he didn't mention a brand name instead - bought from Whole Foods of course !

 

[Gerry o]

What’s with Lorraine laughing at the sham royal introduction trumpets that were on Stephen Colbert last night and then he joked they were for Tom Hank’s like it’s still disrespectful and she’s laughs like it’s a funny joke She honestly drives me mad can’t hide that she’s a Harry and meg fan

 

[Milliemoo99]

I WOKE TO a text from Jason.
Bad news.
What is it now?
The Mail on Sunday had printed the private letter Meg had written to her father. The letter that Granny and Pa urged her to write.
February 2019.
I was in bed, Meg was lying next to me, still asleep. I waited a bit, then broke the news to her softly.
Your father’s given your letter to the Mail.
No.
Meg, I don’t know what to say, he’s given them your letter.
That moment, for me, was decisive. About Mr. Markle, but also about the press. There had been so many moments, but that for me was The One. I didn’t want to hear any more talk of protocols, tradition, strategy. Enough, I thought. Enough.
The paper knew it was illegal to publish that letter, they knew full well, and did it anyway. Why? Because they also knew Meg was defenseless. They knew she didn’t have the staunch support of my family, and how else could they have known this, except from people close to the family? Or inside the family?
There was nothing in that letter to be ashamed about. A daughter pleading with her father to behave decently? Meg stood by every word. She’d always known it might be intercepted, that one of her father’s neighbors, or one of the paps staking out his house, might steal his post. Anything was possible. But she never stopped to think her father would actually offer it, or that a paper would actually take it—and print it.
And edit it. Indeed, that might have been the most galling thing, the way the editors cut and pasted Meg’s words to make them sound less loving.
But the pain was compounded tenfold by the simultaneous interviews with alleged handwriting experts, who analyzed Meg’s letter and inferred from the way she crossed her Ts or curved her Rs that she was a terrible person.
Rightward slant? Over-emotional.
Highly stylized? Consummate performer.
Uneven baseline? No impulse control.
The look on Meg’s face as I told her about these libels rolling out…I knew my way around grief, and there was no mistaking it—this was pure grief. She was mourning the loss of her father, and she was also mourning the loss of her own innocence. She reminded me in a whisper, as if someone might be listening, that she’d taken a handwriting class in high school, and as a result she’d always had excellent penmanship. People complimented her. She’d even used this skill at university to earn spare money. Nights, weekends, she’d inscribed wedding and birthday-party invitations, to pay the rent. Now people were trying to say that this was some kind of window into her soul? And the window was dirty?
Meg wanted to sue. Me too. Rather, we both felt we had no choice. If we didn’t sue over this, we said, what kind of signal would that be sending? To the press? To the world? So we conferred again with the Palace lawyer. We were given a runaround.
I reached out to Pa and Willy. They’d both sued the press in the past over invasions and lies.
Pa sued over so-called Black Spider Letters, his memos to government officials. Willy sued over topless photos of Kate. But both vehemently opposed the idea of Meg and me taking any legal action. Why? I asked. They hummed and hahed. The only answer I could get out of them was that it simply wasn’t advisable. The done thing, etc.
I told Meg: You’d think we were suing a dear friend of theirs.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.

I think perhaps this should be compared to the stories that came out about Thomas and the letter at the time, and against the court case with the MOS!!

No mention of the leak in People magazine....wasnt Harold aware of this leak of the letter?

Nothing about how Megsie sent copies to Jason Knauf, to check if it was ok...nothing about her Fathers heart attack, and the cruel text exchange......

This book has to be a parody.....a parody of the truth, written by someone with absolutely no sense of humour!

 

[Anna2020]

WILLY ASKED FOR a meeting. He wanted to talk about everything, the whole rolling catastrophe.
Just him and me, he said. As it happened, Meg was out of town, visiting girlfriends, so his timing was perfect. I invited him over.
An hour later he walked into Nott Cott, where he hadn’t been since Meg first moved in. He looked piping hot. It was early evening.
I offered him a drink, asked about his family.
Everyone good.
He didn’t ask about mine. He just went all in. Chips to the center of the table. Meg’s difficult, he said.
Oh, really?
She’s rude. She’s abrasive. She’s alienated half the staff.
Not the first time he’d parroted the press narrative. Duchess Difficult, all that bullshit. Rumors, lies from his team, tabloid rubbish, and I told him so—again.
Told him I expected better from my older brother. I was shocked to see that this actually pissed him off. Had he come here expecting something different? Did he think I’d agree that my bride was a monster? I
told him to step back, take a breath, really ask himself: Wasn’t Meg his sister-in-law? Wouldn’t this institution be toxic for any newcomer? Worst-case scenario, if his sister-in-law was having trouble adjusting to a new office, a new family, a new country, a new culture, couldn’t he see his way clear to cutting her some slack? Couldn’t you just be there for her? Help her?
He had no interest in a debate. He’d come to lay down the law. He wanted me to agree that Meg was wrong and then agree to do something about it. Like what? Scold her? Fire her? Divorce her? I didn’t know.
But Willy didn’t know either, he wasn’t rational. Every time I tried to slow him down, point out the illogic of what he was saying, he got louder. We were soon talking over each other, both of us shouting. Among all the different, riotous emotions coursing through my brother that afternoon, one really jumped out at me. He seemed aggrieved. He seemed put upon that I wasn’t meekly obeying him, that I was being so impertinent as to deny him, or defy him, to refute his knowledge, which came from his trusted aides.
There was a script here and I had the audacity not to be following it.
He was in full Heir mode, and couldn’t fathom why I wasn’t dutifully playing the role of the Spare.
I was sitting on the sofa, he was standing over me.
I remember saying: You need to hear me out, Willy.
He wouldn’t. He simply would not listen.
To be fair, he felt the same about me.
He called me names. All kinds of names. He said I refused to take responsibility for what was happening. He said I didn’t care about my office and the people who worked for me. Willy, give me one example of—
He cut me off, said he was trying to help me.
Are you serious? Help me? Sorry—is that what you call this? Helping me?
For some reason, that really set him off. He stepped towards me, swearing. To that point I’d been feeling uncomfortable, but now I felt a bit scared. I stood, brushed past him, went out to the kitchen, to the sink.
He was right on my heels, berating me, shouting. I poured a glass of water for myself, and one for him as well. I handed it to him. I don’t think he took a sip.
Willy, I can’t speak to you when you’re like this.
He set down the water, called me another name, then came at me. It all happened so fast. So very fast. He grabbed me by the collar, ripping my necklace, and he knocked me to the floor. I landed on the dogs’ bowl, which cracked under my back, the pieces cutting into me. I lay there for a moment, dazed, then got to my feet and told him to get out.
Come on, hit me! You’ll feel better if you hit me!
Do what?
Come on, we always used to fight. You’ll feel better if you hit me.
No, only you’ll feel better if I hit you.
Please…just leave.
He left the kitchen, but he didn’t leave Nott Cott. He was in the sitting room, I could tell. I stayed in the kitchen. Two minutes passed, two long minutes. He came back looking regretful and apologized. He walked to the front door. This time I followed. Before leaving he turned and called back: You don’t need to tell Meg about this.
You mean that you attacked me?
I didn’t attack you, Harold.
Fine. I won’t tell her.
Good, thank you.
He left. I looked at the phone. A promise is a promise, I told myself, so I couldn’t call my wife, much as I wanted to. But I needed to talk to someone.
So I rang my therapist. Thank God she answered. I apologized for the intrusion, told her I didn’t know who else to call. I told her I’d had a fight with Willy, he’d knocked me to the floor. I looked down and told her that my shirt was ripped, my necklace was broken. We’d had a million physical fights in our lives, I told her. As boys we’d done nothing but fight. But this felt different. The therapist told me to take deep breaths. She asked me to describe the scene several times. Each time I did it seemed more like a bad dream. And made me a bit calmer. I told her: I’m proud of myself. Proud, Harry? Why’s that? I didn’t hit him back. I stayed true to my word, didn’t tell Meg. But not long after she returned from her trip, she saw me coming out of the shower and gasped. Haz, what are those scrapes and bruises on your back? I couldn’t lie to her. She wasn’t that surprised, and she wasn’t at all angry. She was terribly sad.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.

 

[curiousbeaver]

What the duck!! He says in interview that the goal of writing the passage on the Taliban was to reduce the number of suicides amongst veterans!

How?

What bleeping planet is this twit living on?

He’s in some kind of alternate reality where paid audience members cheer the utter drivel that spews from his mouth.

 

[lollipop_panda]

fully fell asleep on the tube this morning thanks to listening to his droning on. thanks for the nice nap H

Is it a cure for insomnia? I have terrible insomnia so i might consider buying it now

 

[LadyMuck]

I'm still gobsmacked at watching Tom Bower's revelations on gb news last night that H has been a drug addict for 25 years, is still using and that Doria was a drug dealer! That's why her and,TM split up. And that she was missing for 10 years but legally he can't say anymore about that.

He's an experienced lawyer himself. Can't wait for other journos to pick this up

 

[Anna2020]

SOON AFTER THAT DAY it was announced that the two royal households, Cambridge and Sussex, would no longer share an office. We’d no longer be working together in any capacity. The Fab Four…finis.
Reaction was about as expected. The public groaned, journalists brayed.
The more disheartening response was from my family. Silence. They never commented publicly, never said anything privately to me.
I never heard from Pa, never heard from Granny.
It made me think, really think, about the silence that surrounded everything else that happened to me and Meg. I’d always told myself that, just because everyone in my family didn’t explicitly condemn press attacks, it didn’t mean they condoned them.
But now I asked: Is that true? How do I know? If they never say anything, why do I so often assume that I know how they feel? And that they’re unequivocally on our side?
Everything I’d been taught, everything I’d grown up believing about the family, and about the monarchy, about its essential fairness, its job of uniting rather than dividing, was being undermined, called into question. Was it all fake? Was it all just a show? Because if we couldn’t stand up for one another, rally around our newest member, our first biracial member, then what were we really? Was that a true constitutional monarchy? Was that a real family? Isn’t “defending each other” the first rule of every family?

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.

 

[StSaturnindeLucian]

I am surprised they even had gravy- isn't it so terribly British? Might have given her food poisoning...

Looking at the whole picture and all the accusations of racism etc.

They're now denying the RF is racist. However Harry himself has been racist on many occasions, but has also displaying shocking contempt for his own country.
The Sugars sites are hideous about Britain and how racist and backwards it is. Glass houses or what...

 

[Lady_H]

A N Wilson’s review on Times radio is such an erudite British skewering. He describes Harry’s relationship with Meghan as “saccharine, submissive, disgusting to read about actually, it’s quite nauseating, but he seems to think it’s a great love story.”

 

[Diagnosis123]

He got one hell of an applause as he bounded onto the Colbert stage, with screams from the crowd as they chanted "Harry, Harry, Harry!"

 

[Yupitsme!!]

You know this will peak soon, then it will be free fall into oblivion, they can't keep moaning about family, the ace up the witches sleeve is divorce and she can keep it up for years. But Harry can't.

 

[mumpty]

With regards to the awful things being suggested on Twitter that Haz did in Afghanistan, surely the RF would still take action against libel (if the rumours aren't true) as it is quite damaging to their whole family. Obvs they aren't going to sue for libel, but do the RF send cease and desist letters? Then we would see these tweets being deleted, but currently a good few are still up I think

Also can any legal tattlers tell us possible reasons why Tom Bowers can't say why Doria was missing for 10 years? Surely if it were prison, that is a matter of public record anyhow.

 

[Milliemoo99]

I'm still gobsmacked at watching Tom Bower's revelations on gb news last night that H has been a drug addict for 25 years, is still using and that Doria was a drug dealer! That's why her and,TM split up. And that she was missing for 10 years but legally he can't say anymore about that.

He's an experienced lawyer himself. Can't wait for other journos to pick this up

wow...this is .......interesting, extremely interesting.....after this latest ........publicity, I wouldnt be surprised!


Thank you to everyone who is keeping these threads updated......im still bemused as to the point of the book and all this publicity..

The book seems to be written in such a childish and overblown way, I was thinking of comparing it to something like The Secret Garden, where the poor neglected rich girl, whose family dont care for her at all, finds salvation in a garden! But thats a fictional childrens book. Not reality by any stretch of the imagination.
Also the book has obviously been written by an American, with little or no knowledge of British culture, saying things like The Queen of England!!! huh

 

[Lady_H]

WILLY ASKED FOR a meeting. He wanted to talk about everything, the whole rolling catastrophe.
Just him and me, he said. As it happened, Meg was out of town, visiting girlfriends, so his timing was perfect. I invited him over.
An hour later he walked into Nott Cott, where he hadn’t been since Meg first moved in. He looked piping hot. It was early evening.
I offered him a drink, asked about his family.
Everyone good.
He didn’t ask about mine. He just went all in. Chips to the center of the table. Meg’s difficult, he said.
Oh, really?
She’s rude. She’s abrasive. She’s alienated half the staff.
Not the first time he’d parroted the press narrative. Duchess Difficult, all that bullshit. Rumors, lies from his team, tabloid rubbish, and I told him so—again.
Told him I expected better from my older brother. I was shocked to see that this actually pissed him off. Had he come here expecting something different? Did he think I’d agree that my bride was a monster? I
told him to step back, take a breath, really ask himself: Wasn’t Meg his sister-in-law? Wouldn’t this institution be toxic for any newcomer? Worst-case scenario, if his sister-in-law was having trouble adjusting to a new office, a new family, a new country, a new culture, couldn’t he see his way clear to cutting her some slack? Couldn’t you just be there for her? Help her?
He had no interest in a debate. He’d come to lay down the law. He wanted me to agree that Meg was wrong and then agree to do something about it. Like what? Scold her? Fire her? Divorce her? I didn’t know.
But Willy didn’t know either, he wasn’t rational. Every time I tried to slow him down, point out the illogic of what he was saying, he got louder. We were soon talking over each other, both of us shouting. Among all the different, riotous emotions coursing through my brother that afternoon, one really jumped out at me. He seemed aggrieved. He seemed put upon that I wasn’t meekly obeying him, that I was being so impertinent as to deny him, or defy him, to refute his knowledge, which came from his trusted aides.
There was a script here and I had the audacity not to be following it.
He was in full Heir mode, and couldn’t fathom why I wasn’t dutifully playing the role of the Spare.
I was sitting on the sofa, he was standing over me.
I remember saying: You need to hear me out, Willy.
He wouldn’t. He simply would not listen.
To be fair, he felt the same about me.
He called me names. All kinds of names. He said I refused to take responsibility for what was happening. He said I didn’t care about my office and the people who worked for me. Willy, give me one example of—
He cut me off, said he was trying to help me.
Are you serious? Help me? Sorry—is that what you call this? Helping me?
For some reason, that really set him off. He stepped towards me, swearing. To that point I’d been feeling uncomfortable, but now I felt a bit scared. I stood, brushed past him, went out to the kitchen, to the sink.
He was right on my heels, berating me, shouting. I poured a glass of water for myself, and one for him as well. I handed it to him. I don’t think he took a sip.
Willy, I can’t speak to you when you’re like this.
He set down the water, called me another name, then came at me. It all happened so fast. So very fast. He grabbed me by the collar, ripping my necklace, and he knocked me to the floor. I landed on the dogs’ bowl, which cracked under my back, the pieces cutting into me. I lay there for a moment, dazed, then got to my feet and told him to get out.
Come on, hit me! You’ll feel better if you hit me!
Do what?
Come on, we always used to fight. You’ll feel better if you hit me.
No, only you’ll feel better if I hit you.
Please…just leave.
He left the kitchen, but he didn’t leave Nott Cott. He was in the sitting room, I could tell. I stayed in the kitchen. Two minutes passed, two long minutes. He came back looking regretful and apologized. He walked to the front door. This time I followed. Before leaving he turned and called back: You don’t need to tell Meg about this.
You mean that you attacked me?
I didn’t attack you, Harold.
Fine. I won’t tell her.
Good, thank you.
He left. I looked at the phone. A promise is a promise, I told myself, so I couldn’t call my wife, much as I wanted to. But I needed to talk to someone.
So I rang my therapist. Thank God she answered. I apologized for the intrusion, told her I didn’t know who else to call. I told her I’d had a fight with Willy, he’d knocked me to the floor. I looked down and told her that my shirt was ripped, my necklace was broken. We’d had a million physical fights in our lives, I told her. As boys we’d done nothing but fight. But this felt different. The therapist told me to take deep breaths. She asked me to describe the scene several times. Each time I did it seemed more like a bad dream. And made me a bit calmer. I told her: I’m proud of myself. Proud, Harry? Why’s that? I didn’t hit him back. I stayed true to my word, didn’t tell Meg. But not long after she returned from her trip, she saw me coming out of the shower and gasped. Haz, what are those scrapes and bruises on your back? I couldn’t lie to her. She wasn’t that surprised, and she wasn’t at all angry. She was terribly sad.

Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.

You’re doing God’s work here @Anna2020 thank you!

It’s been discussed ad nauseam, but I think William comes over so well here. The ghostwriters did a decent job with that early dialogue. You can sense his deep concern and sense of helplessness. Sad.

 

[LadyMuck]

 

[Moomoomoo]

Ghostwriter revealed