Well we knew H was a drug user...all that constant sniffing he does drives me mad. He did it at the memorial service when the tasty Major Johnny was sitting behind him and Smegs!!
- Status
New to Tattle Life? Click "Order Thread by Most Liked Posts" button below to get an idea of what the site is about:
We must ask @Anna2020 if she is ok!
That much sugar is not healthy for anyone and when the sugar is used to disguise the taste of poison it is even worse.
Thank you for taking one for the team, you deserve a mushy
That much sugar is not healthy for anyone and when the sugar is used to disguise the taste of poison it is even worse.
Thank you for taking one for the team, you deserve a mushy
I actually feel so awful for Moehringer. He’s a Pulitzer Prize-winning author whose prose is exquisite. It seems clear that a) he had awful material to work with and b) the Claw took over the editing process. I posted a copy of a tweet last night that said he had been ‘liking’ negative comments on Hazza/Markle/the ‘book’…
Oh god...a new ick has been unlocked. I've almost caught up on the threads (famous last words lol)Stephen Colbert asks "Would you like a cocktail before we begin?" and Harry enthusiastically responds
View attachment 1873372
The revelations re: physical abuse or…? Could someone please catch me up - I haven’t had a twitter account in years.
What really grinds my gears about people on the bird site it how there are no shades of grey, H&M are perfect and this account is 100% factual. I am very ambivalent to the RF, so haven't followed details of the ins and outs of their lives and yet I can see glaring inconsistencies in what he has written. Which leads me to think either Harry's brain has been so messed up by drugs he has mixed things up significantly and therefore calls into question all his recollections of what happened OR Megs wrote the whole thing with her own agenda. In any autobiography, surely everyone knows what is written in there is to some degree subjective? Why are is this one any different?
Also, people are able to equally think PA is an awful human, the British press have their own agenda/subtle racism AND H&M still be wrong. It doesn't have to be just one of the above.
Also, people are able to equally think PA is an awful human, the British press have their own agenda/subtle racism AND H&M still be wrong. It doesn't have to be just one of the above.
Nice collection of cringe here:
www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-11619399/CRINGE-Prince-Harrys-toe-curling-quotes-memoir-Spare.html
www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-11619399/CRINGE-Prince-Harrys-toe-curling-quotes-memoir-Spare.html
Here it is folks, the infamous necklace which William allegedly broke.
"It's got my kids heartbeats on it (engraved cardiograms) and a friend of mine in Botswana made this piece, a tiger's eye"
"It's got my kids heartbeats on it (engraved cardiograms) and a friend of mine in Botswana made this piece, a tiger's eye"
WE GOT WORD from Sara that The Sun was about to run a story saying The Duke and Duchess of Sussex were stepping away from their royal duties to spend more time in Canada.
A sad little man, the newspaper’s showbiz editor, was said to be the lead reporter on the story. Why him? Why, of all people, the showbiz guy?
Because lately he’d refashioned himself into some sort of quasi royal correspondent, largely on the strength of his secret relationship with one particularly close friend of Willy’s comms secretary—who fed him trivial (and mostly fake) gossip.
He was sure to get everything wrong, as he’d got everything wrong on his last big “exclusive,” Tiaragate.
He was equally sure to cram his story into the paper as fast as possible, because he was likely working in concert with the Palace, whose courtiers were determined to get ahead of us and spin the story.
We didn’t want that. We didn’t want anyone else breaking our news, twisting our news.
We’d have to rush out a statement.
I phoned Granny again, told her about The Sun, told her we might need to hurry out a statement.
She understood. She’d allow it, so long as it didn’t “add to speculation.”
I didn’t tell her exactly what our statement would say.
She didn’t ask.
But also I didn’t fully know yet. I gave her the gist, however, and mentioned some of the basic details I’d outlined in the memo Pa had demanded and which she’d seen. The wording needed to be precise. And it needed to be bland—calm.
We didn’t want to assign any blame, didn’t want to stoke the fires. Mustn’t add to speculation.
Formidable writing challenge.
We soon realized it wasn’t possible; we didn’t have time to get our statement out there first. We opened a bottle of wine.
Proceed, sad little man, proceed. He did.
The Sun posted his story late that night, and again on the morning’s front page.
Headline: WE’RE ORF!
As expected, the story depicted our departure as a rollicking, carefree, hedonistic tapping out, rather than a careful retreat and attempt at self-preservation.
It also included the telling detail that we’d offered to relinquish our Sussex titles.
There was only one document on earth in which that detail was mentioned—my private and confidential letter to my father. To which a shockingly, damningly small number of people had access. We hadn’t mentioned it to even our closest friends.
January 7, we worked some more on the draft, did a brief public appearance, met with our staff.
Finally, knowing more details were about to be leaked, on January 8 we hunkered down deep inside Buckingham Palace, in one of the main state rooms, with the two most senior members of our staff. I’d always liked that state room. Its pale walls, its sparkly crystal chandelier. But now it struck me as especially lovely and I thought: Has it always been so? Has it always looked so…royal?
In a corner of the state room was a grand wooden desk. We used this as our workspace. We took turns sitting there, typing on a laptop. We tried out different phrases. We wanted to say that we were taking a reduced role, stepping back but not down. Hard to get the exact wording, the right tone. Serious, but respectful.
Occasionally one of us would stretch out in a nearby armchair, or give the eyes a rest by gazing out of the two huge windows onto the gardens. When I needed a longer break I set off on a trek across the oceanic carpet. On the far side of the room, in the left corner, a small door led to the Belgian Suite, where Meg and I had once spent the night. In the near corner stood two tall wooden doors, the kind people think of when they hear the word “palace.” These led to a room in which I’d attended countless cocktail parties.
I thought back on those gatherings, on all the good times I’d had in this place.
I remembered: The room right next door was where the family always gathered for drinks before Christmas lunch. I went out into the hall.
There was a tall, beautiful Christmas tree, still brightly lit. I stood before it, reminiscing.
I removed two ornaments, soft little corgis, and brought them back to the staffers. One each. Souvenir of this strange mission, I said. They were touched. But a bit guilty. I assured them: No one will miss ’em. Words that seemed double-edged.
Late in the day, as we crawled closer to a final draft, the staffers began to feel anxious. They worried aloud if their involvement would be discovered. If so, what would it mean for their jobs?
But mostly they were excited. They felt that they were on the side of right; both had read every word of abuse in the press and on social media, going back months and months.
At six P.M. it was done.
We gathered around the laptop, read the draft one last time.
One staffer messaged the private secretaries of Granny, Pa and Willy, told them what was coming.
Willy’s guy replied immediately: This is going to go nuclear.
I knew, of course, that many Britons would be shocked, and saddened, which made my stomach churn. But in due course, once they knew the truth, I felt confident they’d understand.
One of the staffers said: Are we doing this?
Meg and I both said: Yes. There’s no other choice.
We sent the statement to our social media person.
Within a minute there it was, live, on our Instagram page, the only platform available to us.
We all hugged, wiped our eyes, and quickly gathered our things.
Meg and I walked out of the Palace and jumped into our car. As we sped towards Frogmore the news was already on the radio. Every channel. We picked one. Magic FM. Meg’s favorite. We listened to the presenter work himself into a very British lather.
We held hands and shared a smile with our bodyguards in the front seat. Then we all gazed silently out of the windows.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
A sad little man, the newspaper’s showbiz editor, was said to be the lead reporter on the story. Why him? Why, of all people, the showbiz guy?
Because lately he’d refashioned himself into some sort of quasi royal correspondent, largely on the strength of his secret relationship with one particularly close friend of Willy’s comms secretary—who fed him trivial (and mostly fake) gossip.
He was sure to get everything wrong, as he’d got everything wrong on his last big “exclusive,” Tiaragate.
He was equally sure to cram his story into the paper as fast as possible, because he was likely working in concert with the Palace, whose courtiers were determined to get ahead of us and spin the story.
We didn’t want that. We didn’t want anyone else breaking our news, twisting our news.
We’d have to rush out a statement.
I phoned Granny again, told her about The Sun, told her we might need to hurry out a statement.
She understood. She’d allow it, so long as it didn’t “add to speculation.”
I didn’t tell her exactly what our statement would say.
She didn’t ask.
But also I didn’t fully know yet. I gave her the gist, however, and mentioned some of the basic details I’d outlined in the memo Pa had demanded and which she’d seen. The wording needed to be precise. And it needed to be bland—calm.
We didn’t want to assign any blame, didn’t want to stoke the fires. Mustn’t add to speculation.
Formidable writing challenge.
We soon realized it wasn’t possible; we didn’t have time to get our statement out there first. We opened a bottle of wine.
Proceed, sad little man, proceed. He did.
The Sun posted his story late that night, and again on the morning’s front page.
Headline: WE’RE ORF!
As expected, the story depicted our departure as a rollicking, carefree, hedonistic tapping out, rather than a careful retreat and attempt at self-preservation.
It also included the telling detail that we’d offered to relinquish our Sussex titles.
There was only one document on earth in which that detail was mentioned—my private and confidential letter to my father. To which a shockingly, damningly small number of people had access. We hadn’t mentioned it to even our closest friends.
January 7, we worked some more on the draft, did a brief public appearance, met with our staff.
Finally, knowing more details were about to be leaked, on January 8 we hunkered down deep inside Buckingham Palace, in one of the main state rooms, with the two most senior members of our staff. I’d always liked that state room. Its pale walls, its sparkly crystal chandelier. But now it struck me as especially lovely and I thought: Has it always been so? Has it always looked so…royal?
In a corner of the state room was a grand wooden desk. We used this as our workspace. We took turns sitting there, typing on a laptop. We tried out different phrases. We wanted to say that we were taking a reduced role, stepping back but not down. Hard to get the exact wording, the right tone. Serious, but respectful.
Occasionally one of us would stretch out in a nearby armchair, or give the eyes a rest by gazing out of the two huge windows onto the gardens. When I needed a longer break I set off on a trek across the oceanic carpet. On the far side of the room, in the left corner, a small door led to the Belgian Suite, where Meg and I had once spent the night. In the near corner stood two tall wooden doors, the kind people think of when they hear the word “palace.” These led to a room in which I’d attended countless cocktail parties.
I thought back on those gatherings, on all the good times I’d had in this place.
I remembered: The room right next door was where the family always gathered for drinks before Christmas lunch. I went out into the hall.
There was a tall, beautiful Christmas tree, still brightly lit. I stood before it, reminiscing.
I removed two ornaments, soft little corgis, and brought them back to the staffers. One each. Souvenir of this strange mission, I said. They were touched. But a bit guilty. I assured them: No one will miss ’em. Words that seemed double-edged.
Late in the day, as we crawled closer to a final draft, the staffers began to feel anxious. They worried aloud if their involvement would be discovered. If so, what would it mean for their jobs?
But mostly they were excited. They felt that they were on the side of right; both had read every word of abuse in the press and on social media, going back months and months.
At six P.M. it was done.
We gathered around the laptop, read the draft one last time.
One staffer messaged the private secretaries of Granny, Pa and Willy, told them what was coming.
Willy’s guy replied immediately: This is going to go nuclear.
I knew, of course, that many Britons would be shocked, and saddened, which made my stomach churn. But in due course, once they knew the truth, I felt confident they’d understand.
One of the staffers said: Are we doing this?
Meg and I both said: Yes. There’s no other choice.
We sent the statement to our social media person.
Within a minute there it was, live, on our Instagram page, the only platform available to us.
We all hugged, wiped our eyes, and quickly gathered our things.
Meg and I walked out of the Palace and jumped into our car. As we sped towards Frogmore the news was already on the radio. Every channel. We picked one. Magic FM. Meg’s favorite. We listened to the presenter work himself into a very British lather.
We held hands and shared a smile with our bodyguards in the front seat. Then we all gazed silently out of the windows.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
Harry and Meghan #300 Delusions of Intelligence
Doria wasn't ' around much while meghan grew up"
LOLLLLLLSSSSS
LOLLLLLLSSSSS
Will Colbert take the piss in future shows about H's interview.
More lies
her EVERY intention was to get back to californis in the USAYes- for services above & beyond the call of duty!We must ask @Anna2020 if she is ok!
That much sugar is not healthy for anyone and when the sugar is used to disguise the taste of poison it is even worse.
Thank you for taking one for the team, you deserve a mushy
New thread and such an apt title! 
And thank you so much, @lollipop_panda, for including my result in the recap!
I can't tell anyone IRL (grey-rocking everyone), narc mum is still refusing to congratulate me though she's mentioned what she will do with my hypothetical future salary 
, and dad can't make a fuss because it will set her off. So it's really nice that I get to celebrate with you all. Really glad that I found this place! You've kept me sane-ish 
I had also planned to make my grand entrance in thread #200 after more than a year of lurking, but life had other plans
but we're here now and it's almost thread #300 and I keep thinking that this must be a typo, riiiight? Have we tattled that much so quickly? 
A belated welcome to you though, @lollipop_panda, and everyone else who joined us recently but I missed because I can hardly keep up
And thank you, @Anna2020, for sharing all those excerpts.
and some fruits and veggies for vitamins.
Saw BBC for a bit last night and today, no coverage in the bulletin, but a headline in the ticket about Sparry condemning 'dangerous spin' about his Taliban comments. What spin, Sparry? Maybe try bring sober for once, the spinning will stop. bleep.
And thank you so much, @lollipop_panda, for including my result in the recap!
I can't tell anyone IRL (grey-rocking everyone), narc mum is still refusing to congratulate me though she's mentioned what she will do with my hypothetical future salary , and dad can't make a fuss because it will set her off. So it's really nice that I get to celebrate with you all. Really glad that I found this place! You've kept me sane-ish I had also planned to make my grand entrance in thread #200 after more than a year of lurking, but life had other plans
but we're here now and it's almost thread #300 and I keep thinking that this must be a typo, riiiight? Have we tattled that much so quickly? A belated welcome to you though, @lollipop_panda, and everyone else who joined us recently but I missed because I can hardly keep up And thank you, @Anna2020, for sharing all those excerpts.
and some fruits and veggies for vitamins.Saw BBC for a bit last night and today, no coverage in the bulletin, but a headline in the ticket about Sparry condemning 'dangerous spin' about his Taliban comments. What spin, Sparry? Maybe try bring sober for once, the spinning will stop. bleep.
BIB: it was probably just his weekly coke delivery from his dealer
Funny! pisstake of Sparry, quite affectionate to KC!
Eight bizarre revelations about King Charles you probably missed in Spare
When the Duke of Sussex’s book came out, who knew there’d be such surreal tidbits about the monarch’s lives, loves and late night habits?
ByGuy Kelly11 January 2023 • 7:00am
Spare certainly offered a unique insight into our King
It’s up to booksellers to decide where they place copies of Spare, Prince Harry’s quietly released collection of therapy notes. Biography? Could do. Fiction? Oh, you wag. Erotic thriller? That depends how sexy you found War Horse.
One place they’re unlikely to put it is in British History – understandably, given it contains passages like: “I took a hit, looked at the rinsed creamy blue of the California sky. Someone tapped me on the shoulder, said they wanted me to meet Christina Aguilera.”
But to do that would be to overlook Spare’s value as a resource for surreal titbits about the lives, loves and late-night habits of our new King, Charles III. Or as Harry calls him, “Pa”. Here is what we have learned from his son.
1. The royal nose
In a past life Charles “must’ve been a bloodhound”, his son reckons. “He was always sniffing things. Food, roses, our hair,” says Harry.
Maybe, Harold muses, suddenly code-switching to sound like Joan Rivers, “he took all those long sniffs because it was hard to smell anything over his personal scent. Eau Sauvage. He’d slather the stuff on his cheeks, his neck, his shirt. Flowery, with a hint of something harsh, like pepper or gunpowder, it was made in Paris.”
Advertisement
Advertisement : 2 sec
Impressively arch from the voice of 12-year-old Harry, there, and restraint from the ghostwriter not to invoke the most recent “face” of the perfume, Johnny Depp, when Sauvage comes up.
2. He takes a teddy everywhere
The King supposedly can’t bear to be without his teddy CREDIT: Chris Jackson
Before Camilla truly joined the family, it is written, Charles had a teddy bear. I will resist probing (although note that teddies are popular with royals – Andrew collects them). But the passage in question, about the teddy who had helped him get through Gordonstoun, is sweet. It still goes with him everywhere.
“It was a pitiful object,” observes Harry, a man who can lose his mind over a damaged necklace, “with broken arms and dangly threads, holes patched up here and there... Teddy expressed eloquently, better than Pa ever could, the essential loneliness of his childhood.”
He and Willy thought their father deserved better. “Apologies to Teddy, Pa deserved a proper companion. That was why, when asked, Willy and I promised Pa that we’d welcome Camilla into the family.” And that makes Teddy exceptional in being the only creature who receives a sincere apology in Spare.
3. He likes his women like he likes his coronation…
…which is to say: stripped back, demure, with minimal obvious accoutrements. When Meghan met her future in-laws, Harry gave her some advice. “Her hair was down, because I suggested she wear it that way. Pa likes it when women wear their hair down. Granny too. She often commented on ‘Kate’s beautiful mane’.” Honestly, this family and horses. Therapists must have a field day. A paddock day.
Anyway, “Meg was wearing little make-up, which I’d also suggested,” her de facto stylist Harry continues. “Pa didn’t approve of women who wore a lot.” Of… make up? Or generally? The sentence ends there.
4. He starts the day with a headstand
The King is a creature of habit. When Harry was growing up, he’d start the day with headstands – in his boxers and in private. If he heard someone about to come in he would go: “No! Don’t open! Please God don’t open!” He also had a bar to hang on “like a skilled acrobat”.
5. He’s forever appearing at the end of Harry’s bed
Harold must be a deep sleeper. On several occasions in Spare, he wakes up to find the actual Prince of Wales sitting at the foot of his bed, like a Christmas stocking.
How long has he been there? All night? Usually he has something important to say, but in one instance, he looms over his “darling boy” and “tickle my face until I fell asleep”. Say what you like about Charles but any parent knows that if you want your child to drift off quietly, you relentlessly tickle their face.
6. He bathes with a ghettoblaster
As Willy and Harold tucked into fish fingers and cottage pie, “we heard Pa padding past in his slippers, coming from his bath”. Charles “was carrying his ‘wireless’, which is what he called his portable CD player on which he liked to listen to his ‘storybooks’ while soaking”.
This may have been 1997, but it is difficult to understand why the Balmoral budget couldn’t stretch to a CD player in Charles’s bathroom, to save him from hauling the thing around and risking electrocution. The only plausible explanation is that these “storybooks” are not something he wants people to know he listens to. Charles, there’s nothing embarrassing about The Goon Show.
7. He should be on Gogglebox
“He never read [the press]. He read everything else, from Shakespeare to White Papers on climate change, but never the news.(He did watch the BBC, but he’d often end up throwing the controller at the TV.)” Same, Charles. This is the King, however, so we cannot be sure he didn’t have the literal controller of BBC News called in, picked up by a protection officer and hurled across the room.
8. He sleeps on the job
Harry writes about how hard his father works. Often, he and Willy would “find him at his desk amid mountains of bulging post bags. More than once we discovered him, face on the desk, fast asleep. We’d shake his shoulders and up he’d bob, a piece of paper stuck to his forehead.” That is no way to treat a man who is simply sniffing every letter he’s received before replying.
Eight bizarre revelations about King Charles you probably missed in Spare
When the Duke of Sussex’s book came out, who knew there’d be such surreal tidbits about the monarch’s lives, loves and late night habits?
ByGuy Kelly11 January 2023 • 7:00am
Spare certainly offered a unique insight into our King
It’s up to booksellers to decide where they place copies of Spare, Prince Harry’s quietly released collection of therapy notes. Biography? Could do. Fiction? Oh, you wag. Erotic thriller? That depends how sexy you found War Horse.
One place they’re unlikely to put it is in British History – understandably, given it contains passages like: “I took a hit, looked at the rinsed creamy blue of the California sky. Someone tapped me on the shoulder, said they wanted me to meet Christina Aguilera.”
But to do that would be to overlook Spare’s value as a resource for surreal titbits about the lives, loves and late-night habits of our new King, Charles III. Or as Harry calls him, “Pa”. Here is what we have learned from his son.
1. The royal nose
In a past life Charles “must’ve been a bloodhound”, his son reckons. “He was always sniffing things. Food, roses, our hair,” says Harry.
Maybe, Harold muses, suddenly code-switching to sound like Joan Rivers, “he took all those long sniffs because it was hard to smell anything over his personal scent. Eau Sauvage. He’d slather the stuff on his cheeks, his neck, his shirt. Flowery, with a hint of something harsh, like pepper or gunpowder, it was made in Paris.”
Advertisement
Advertisement : 2 sec
Impressively arch from the voice of 12-year-old Harry, there, and restraint from the ghostwriter not to invoke the most recent “face” of the perfume, Johnny Depp, when Sauvage comes up.
2. He takes a teddy everywhere
The King supposedly can’t bear to be without his teddy CREDIT: Chris Jackson
Before Camilla truly joined the family, it is written, Charles had a teddy bear. I will resist probing (although note that teddies are popular with royals – Andrew collects them). But the passage in question, about the teddy who had helped him get through Gordonstoun, is sweet. It still goes with him everywhere.
“It was a pitiful object,” observes Harry, a man who can lose his mind over a damaged necklace, “with broken arms and dangly threads, holes patched up here and there... Teddy expressed eloquently, better than Pa ever could, the essential loneliness of his childhood.”
He and Willy thought their father deserved better. “Apologies to Teddy, Pa deserved a proper companion. That was why, when asked, Willy and I promised Pa that we’d welcome Camilla into the family.” And that makes Teddy exceptional in being the only creature who receives a sincere apology in Spare.
3. He likes his women like he likes his coronation…
…which is to say: stripped back, demure, with minimal obvious accoutrements. When Meghan met her future in-laws, Harry gave her some advice. “Her hair was down, because I suggested she wear it that way. Pa likes it when women wear their hair down. Granny too. She often commented on ‘Kate’s beautiful mane’.” Honestly, this family and horses. Therapists must have a field day. A paddock day.
Anyway, “Meg was wearing little make-up, which I’d also suggested,” her de facto stylist Harry continues. “Pa didn’t approve of women who wore a lot.” Of… make up? Or generally? The sentence ends there.
4. He starts the day with a headstand
The King is a creature of habit. When Harry was growing up, he’d start the day with headstands – in his boxers and in private. If he heard someone about to come in he would go: “No! Don’t open! Please God don’t open!” He also had a bar to hang on “like a skilled acrobat”.
5. He’s forever appearing at the end of Harry’s bed
Harold must be a deep sleeper. On several occasions in Spare, he wakes up to find the actual Prince of Wales sitting at the foot of his bed, like a Christmas stocking.
How long has he been there? All night? Usually he has something important to say, but in one instance, he looms over his “darling boy” and “tickle
6. He bathes with a ghettoblaster
As Willy and Harold tucked into fish fingers and cottage pie, “we heard Pa padding past in his slippers, coming from his bath”. Charles “was carrying his ‘wireless’, which is what he called his portable CD player on which he liked to listen to his ‘storybooks’ while soaking”.
This may have been 1997, but it is difficult to understand why the Balmoral budget couldn’t stretch to a CD player in Charles’s bathroom, to save him from hauling the thing around and risking electrocution. The only plausible explanation is that these “storybooks” are not something he wants people to know he listens to. Charles, there’s nothing embarrassing about The Goon Show.
7. He should be on Gogglebox
“He never read [the press]. He read everything else, from Shakespeare to White Papers on climate change, but never the news.(He did watch the BBC, but he’d often end up throwing the controller at the TV.)” Same, Charles. This is the King, however, so we cannot be sure he didn’t have the literal controller of BBC News called in, picked up by a protection officer and hurled across the room.
8. He sleeps on the job
Harry writes about how hard his father works. Often, he and Willy would “find him at his desk amid mountains of bulging post bags. More than once we discovered him, face on the desk, fast asleep. We’d shake his shoulders and up he’d bob, a piece of paper stuck to his forehead.” That is no way to treat a man who is simply sniffing every letter he’s received before replying.
DAYS LATER THERE was a meeting at Sandringham.
I don’t remember who called it the Sandringham Summit. Someone in the press, I suspect.
On my way there I got a text from Marko about a story in The Times.
Willy was declaring that he and I were now “separate entities.”
“I’ve put my arm around my brother all our lives and I can’t do that anymore,” he said.
Meg had gone back to Canada to be with Archie, so I was on my own for this summit.
I got there early, hoping to have a quick chat with Granny. She was sitting on a bench before the fireplace and I sat down beside her.
I saw the Wasp react with alarm.
He went buzzing off and moments later returned with Pa, who sat beside me.
Immediately after him came Willy, who looked at me as if he planned to murder me.
Hello, Harold.
He sat across from me.
Separate entities indeed.
When all participants had arrived, we shifted to a long conference table, with Granny at the head.
Before each chair was a royal notepad and pencil.
The Bee and the Wasp conducted a quick summary of where we were. The subject of the press came up pretty quickly.
I referenced their cruel and criminal behavior, but said they’d had a ton of help.
This family had enabled the papers by looking the other way, or by actively courting them, and some of the staff had worked directly with the press, briefing them, planting stories, occasionally rewarding and fêting them.
The press was a big part of why we’d come to this crisis—their business model demanded that we be in constant conflict—but they weren’t the only culprits.
I looked at Willy.
This was his moment to jump in, echo what I was saying, talk about his maddening experiences with Pa and Camilla.
Instead he complained about a story in the morning papers suggesting that he was the reason we were leaving.
I’m now being accused of bullying you and Meg out of the family!
I wanted to say: We had nothing to do with that story…but imagine how you might feel if we had leaked it. Then you’ll know how Meg and I have felt the last three years.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
I don’t remember who called it the Sandringham Summit. Someone in the press, I suspect.
On my way there I got a text from Marko about a story in The Times.
Willy was declaring that he and I were now “separate entities.”
“I’ve put my arm around my brother all our lives and I can’t do that anymore,” he said.
Meg had gone back to Canada to be with Archie, so I was on my own for this summit.
I got there early, hoping to have a quick chat with Granny. She was sitting on a bench before the fireplace and I sat down beside her.
I saw the Wasp react with alarm.
He went buzzing off and moments later returned with Pa, who sat beside me.
Immediately after him came Willy, who looked at me as if he planned to murder me.
Hello, Harold.
He sat across from me.
Separate entities indeed.
When all participants had arrived, we shifted to a long conference table, with Granny at the head.
Before each chair was a royal notepad and pencil.
The Bee and the Wasp conducted a quick summary of where we were. The subject of the press came up pretty quickly.
I referenced their cruel and criminal behavior, but said they’d had a ton of help.
This family had enabled the papers by looking the other way, or by actively courting them, and some of the staff had worked directly with the press, briefing them, planting stories, occasionally rewarding and fêting them.
The press was a big part of why we’d come to this crisis—their business model demanded that we be in constant conflict—but they weren’t the only culprits.
I looked at Willy.
This was his moment to jump in, echo what I was saying, talk about his maddening experiences with Pa and Camilla.
Instead he complained about a story in the morning papers suggesting that he was the reason we were leaving.
I’m now being accused of bullying you and Meg out of the family!
I wanted to say: We had nothing to do with that story…but imagine how you might feel if we had leaked it. Then you’ll know how Meg and I have felt the last three years.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
No photos though eh H. No evidence
I'm shocked at the level of pettiness displayed by Harold which of course lessens the effect of any real grievances he may have had. How can anyone take this outpouring of self pity seriously? He's clearly more than a few sandwiches short of a picnic 
I'm still struggling to post due to the Samsung update and can't keep up with all the threads but am still here and will be back posting more soon hopefully.
I'm still struggling to post due to the Samsung update and can't keep up with all the threads but am still here and will be back posting more soon hopefully.
Is that a piss take? It might be the same bit of cord but no way did he have that when the confrontation took place……for a start the sprogs weren’t born! So, the confrontation episode should read that William broke a bit of black cord?
- Status