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

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“ I also set a framed photo of my mother on a little table. Meg’s idea.”















Dear God. She really has infantilised him, trapped him and parentified herself, hasn’t she? I actually find this incredibly disturbing - it’s like 550 pages of Stockholm Syndrome. When she starts degrading him in preparation for dumping him, he’s going to need to be sectioned. I’m not taking the piss, here - I do think he’ll absolutely implode, and it will be horrible to watch.

😳 I found that really creepy
 
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The revelations re: physical abuse or…? Could someone please catch me up - I haven’t had a twitter account in years.
In a nutshell, a blind item from a couple of years ago has resurfaced with more meat added to the bone - it was all covered up by the Palace but one woman is about to come forward with her story and photographs and allegedly it's happened again in California. The word rape is being used which it wasn't in the blind.

The first part I could believe because squaddies are generally vile and think they're above the law. The CA story I don't believe at all.

 
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The private secretaries began to address Granny about the Five Options.
Your Majesty, you’ve seen the Five Options.
Yes, she said. We all had.
They’d been emailed to us, five different ways of proceeding.
Option 1 was continuance of the status quo: Meg and I don’t leave, everyone tries to go back to normal.
Option 5 was full severance, no royal role, no working for Granny, and total loss of security.
Option 3 was somewhere in between.
A compromise. Closest to what we’d originally proposed.
I told everyone assembled that, above all, I was desperate to keep security. That was what worried me most, my family’s physical safety. I wanted to prevent a repeat of history, another untimely death like the one that had rocked this family to its core twenty-three years earlier, and from which we were still trying to recover.
I’d consulted with several Palace veterans, people who knew the inner workings of the monarchy and its history and they all said Option 3 was best for all parties.
Meg and I living elsewhere part of the year, continuing our work, retaining security, returning to Britain for charities, ceremonies, events.
Sensible solution, these Palace veterans said. And eminently doable.
But the family, of course, pushed me to take Option 1. Barring that, they would only accept Option 5.
We discussed the Five Options for nearly an hour.
At last the Bee got up and went around the table, handing out a draft of a statement the Palace would soon be releasing.
Announcing implementation of Option 5.
Wait. I’m confused. You’ve already drafted a statement? Before any discussion? Announcing Option 5? In other words, the fix was in, this whole time? This summit was just for show?
No answer.
I asked if there were drafts of other statements. Announcing the other options.
Oh yes, of course, the Bee assured me.
Can I see them?
Alas—his printer had gone on the blink, he said.
The odds! At the very moment he was about to print out those other drafts!


Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
 
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His retconning of their announcement is hysterical and sad considering they did it without anyone knowing because they thought it would be a fait accompli to get their demands met by Granny. What a shitshow.
 
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The revelations re: physical abuse or…? Could someone please catch me up - I haven’t had a twitter account in years.
If you go to thread #298 and read around page 40 you will find it.
I was reading late last night and someone (sorry can't remember who) had posted the allegations in detail. Nasty stuff.
If you read backwards and forwards you'll find it, there were screenshots.
 
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Can’t stay here, we said.
And, yet…? Brief as it was, that taste of freedom had got us thinking.
What if life could be like that…all the time? What if we could spend at least part of each year somewhere far away, still doing work for the Queen, but beyond the reach of the press? Free. Free from the British press, free from the drama, free from the lies. But also free from the supposed “public interest” that was used to justify the frenzied coverage of us.
The question was…where?
We talked about New Zealand. We talked about South Africa. Half the year in Cape Town maybe? That could work. Away from the drama, but closer to my conservation work—and to eighteen other Commonwealth countries.
I’d run the idea by Granny once before. She’d even signed off on it. And I’d run it by Pa, at Clarence House, the Wasp present. He told me to put it in writing, which I’d done immediately. Within a few days it was in all the papers and caused a huge stink. So now, at the end of December 2019, when I was chatting with Pa on the phone, saying we were more serious than ever about spending part of the year away from Britain,
I wasn’t having it when he said that I must write it down.
Yeah, um, did that once before, Pa. And our plan immediately got leaked and scuppered.
I can’t help you if you don’t put it in writing, darling boy.
These things have to go through government.
For the love of…
So. In the first days of January 2020, I sent him a watermarked letter broadly outlining the idea, with bullet points, and many details.
Throughout the exchanges that followed, all marked PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL, I hammered the essential theme: we were prepared to make any sacrifice necessary to find some peace and safety, including relinquishing our Sussex titles.
I rang to get his thoughts. He wouldn’t come to the phone.
I soon received a long email from him saying we’d have to sit down and discuss the whole thing in person. He’d like us to come back as soon as possible. You’re in luck, Pa! We’re coming back to Britain in the next few days—to see Granny.
So…when can we meet?
Not before the end of January.
What?
That’s more than a month away.
I’m in Scotland. I can’t get there before then.
I really hope and trust that we will be able to have further conversations without this getting into the public domain and it becoming a circus, I wrote. He responded with what felt like an ominous threat: You’ll be disobeying orders from the monarch and myself if you persist in this course of action before we have a chance to sit down.


Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
This bit.

.
These things have to go through government.
For the love of…

bleeping hell, he's got no idea at all, has he?

Of course it's got to go through the Government, at the very least the FCO. And Charles would naturally need a written plan. He can't just ring up the Foreign Secretary, say "Hey, mate, Harold fancies living in X. Sort it out will ya?"

Even a member of the RF can't just up sticks and head off to the Commonwealth for a semi-permanent move because they want to.

Security.

Status of RF members other than the Monarch. It differs in some of the Realms.

What if the chosen country didn't want them there?

Smeg wasn't a UK citizen either. So there may have been additional visa implications for her.

I'm not surprised he thinks the advisors thought he was stupid. Whatever gave them that idea?
 
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In a nutshell, a blind item from a couple of years ago has resurfaced with more meat added to the bone - it was all covered up by the Palace but one woman is about to come forward with her story and photographs and allegedly it's happened again in California. The word rape is being used which it wasn't in the blind.

The first part I could believe because squaddies are generally vile and think they're above the law. The CA story I don't believe at all.

I guess its a case of wait and see. I’m on the fence
 
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I started laughing.
Is this some kind of joke?
Everyone was staring away or down at their shoes.
I turned to Granny: Do you mind if I take a moment, get some air?
Of course!
I left the room.
I walked into a big hall and ran into Lady Susan, who’d worked for Granny for years, and Mr. R, my former upstairs neighbor in the badger sett. They could see I was upset and they asked if there was anything they could do for me. I smiled and said, No, thank you, then went back into the room.
There was some discussion at this point of Option 3. Or was it Option 2?
It was all starting to give me a headache. They were wearing me down.
I didn’t bloody care which option we adopted, so long as security remained in place.
I pleaded for continuation of the same armed police protection I’d had, and needed, since birth.
I’d never been allowed to go anywhere without three armed bodyguards, even when I was supposedly the most popular member of the family, and now I was the target, along with my wife and son, of unprecedented hate—and the leading proposal under discussion called for total abandonment? Madness. I offered to defray the cost of security out of my own pocket. I wasn’t sure how I’d do that, but I’d find a way.
I made one last pitch:
Look. Please. Meg and I don’t care about perks, we care about working, serving—and staying alive.
This seemed simple and persuasive.
All the heads around the table went up and down. As the meeting came to a close there was a basic, general agreement.
The many fine, granular details of this hybrid arrangement would be sorted out over a twelve-month transitional period, during which we’d continue to have security.
Granny rose. We all rose. She walked out.


Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
 
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I RANG GRANNY on January 3.
We’re coming back to Britain, I said. We’d love to see you. I told her explicitly that we hoped to discuss with her our plan to create a different working arrangement.
She wasn’t pleased. Neither was she shocked. She knew how unhappy we were, she’d seen this day on the horizon. One good chat with my grandmother, I felt, would bring this ordeal to an end.
I said: Granny, are you free?
Yes, of course! I’m free all week. The diary is clear.

That’s great. Meg and I can come up for tea and then drive back to London. We have an engagement at Canada House the next day.
You’ll be exhausted from the travel. Do you want to stay here?
By “here” she meant Sandringham.
Yes, that would be easier, and I told her so.
That would be lovely, thank you. Are you planning to see your father too?
I asked, but he said it’s impossible. He’s in Scotland and can’t leave until the end of the month.
She made a little sound. A sigh or a knowing grunt.
I had to laugh.
She said: I have only one thing to say about that.
Yes?
Your father always does what he wants to do.
Days later, January 5, as Meg and I boarded a flight in Vancouver, I got a frantic note from our staff, who’d received a frantic note from the Bee. Granny wouldn’t be able to see me.
Initially Her Majesty thought this would be possible, it will not…The Duke of Sussex cannot come to Norfolk tomorrow.
Her Majesty will be able to arrange another mtg this month.
No announcements about anything shall be issued until such a meeting takes place.
I said to Meg: They’re blocking me from seeing my own grandmother.
When we landed I considered driving straight to Sandringham anyway. To hell with the Bee. Who was he to try to block me?
I imagined our car being stopped at the gate by Palace police. I imagined smashing past security, the gate snapping across the bonnet. Diverting fantasy, and a fun way to spend the trip from the airport, but no. I’d have to bide my time.
When we reached Frogmore I rang Granny again.
I imagined the phone ringing on her desk. I could actually hear it in my mind, brrrang, like the red phone in the VHR tent. Troops in Contact!
Then I heard her voice.
Hello?
Hi, Granny, it’s Harry. Sorry, I must have misunderstood you the other day when you said you didn’t have anything going on today.
Something came up that I wasn’t aware of. Her voice was strange.
Can I pop in tomorrow then, Granny?
Um. Well. I’m busy all week. At least, she added, that was what the Bee told her…
Is he in the room with you, Granny?
No answer.


Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
Christ on a bike, he's even divulging the Queen’s conversation now.
 
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In a nutshell, a blind item from a couple of years ago has resurfaced with more meat added to the bone - it was all covered up by the Palace but one woman is about to come forward with her story and photographs and allegedly it's happened again in California. The word rape is being used which it wasn't in the blind.
Yes, I raped a sex-worker. It's important for me to talk about, it's part of my healing process. The press will spin this of course. :rolleyes:

I wonder how the healing process is going for the Taliban / Goat Herders he killed? Oh, that's right, they're dead because they had the audacity to defend their country from an occupying force (who eventually ran away and achieved nothing).
 
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I’m still shaking my head in disbelief at what I have heard and read. If life is so good and the RF and the UK so bad why does he want any part of it? But yet here he is still gripping on to the Titles, willing to help with the Commonwealth, wanting his Pa and his brother back, reconciliation …… if I had been treated like ‘his truth’ tells us I would have turned my back on all of it and walked off into the sunset.
If he has been taking drugs for 25 years then I fear there will be no way back and it will all end in tragedy. He appears to not want help, or is being prevented from getting the right help he needs, and is on the slippery slope. Seeing him like this and having to just stand and watch must be heartbreaking for his family.
Exactly.

He seems to be thorough enjoying the publicity right now. He looks positively gleeful in the clips with Stephen Colbert.

He has spewed vitriol and hatred at pretty much everyone who ever crossed his path, including or indeed especially his family.
What happens when all of the publicity dies down?
He has not alone burnt bridges, he has nuked them.

I know Tom Bowers described him as really unintelligent, but my goodness, Harry is really intent on proving him right.

This also springs to mind - "It is better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt" - Abraham Lincoln.
 
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MEG AND I MOVED our office into Buckingham Palace. We also moved into a new home. Frogmore was ready. We loved that place. From the first minute. It felt as if we were destined to live there.
We couldn’t wait to wake up in the morning, go for a long walk in the gardens, check in with the swans. Especially grumpy Steve. We met the Queen’s gardeners, got to know their names and the names of all the flowers. They thrilled at how much we appreciated, and praised, their artistry.
Towards the end of April 2019, days before Meg was due to give birth, Willy rang.
Something had happened between him and Pa and Camilla. I couldn’t get the whole story, he was talking too fast, and was way too upset.
He was seething actually. I gathered that Pa and Camilla’s people had planted a story or stories about him and Kate, and the kids, and he wasn’t going to take it anymore. Give Pa and Camilla an inch, he said, they take a mile.
They’ve done this to me for the last time.
I got it. They’d done the same to me and Meg as well.
But it wasn’t them, technically, it was the most gung-ho member of Pa’s comms team, a true believer who’d devised and launched a new campaign of getting good press for Pa and Camilla at the expense of bad press for us. For some time this person had been peddling unflattering stories, fake stories, about the Heir and Spare, to all the papers
I suspected that this person had been the lone source for stories about a hunting trip I’d made to Germany in 2017, stories that made me out
to be some fat-bottomed seventeenth-century baron who craved blood and trophies,
when in reality I was working with German farmers to cull wild boar and save their crops.
I believed the story had been offered as a straight swap, in exchange for greater access to Pa, and also as a reward for the suppression of stories about Camilla’s son, who’d been gadding around London, generating tawdry rumors. I was displeased about being used like this, and livid about it being done to Meg, but I had to admit it was happening much more often lately to Willy.
And he was justifiably incandescent. He’d already confronted Pa once about this woman, face-to-face. I’d gone along for moral support. The scene took place at Clarence House, in Pa’s study. I remember the windows being wide open, the white curtains blowing in and out, so it must’ve been a warm night.
Willy put it to Pa: How can you be letting a stranger do this to your sons?
Pa instantly got upset.
He began shouting that Willy was paranoid. We both were. Just because we were getting bad press, and he was getting good, that didn’t mean his staff was behind it.
But we had proof. Reporters, inside actual newsrooms, assuring us that this woman was selling us out.
Pa refused to listen. His response was churlish, pathetic. Granny has her person, why can’t I have mine? By Granny’s person he meant Angela. Among the many services she performed for Granny, she was said to be skilled at planting stories.
What a rubbish comparison, Willy said. Why would anyone in their right mind, let alone a grown man, want their own Angela?
But Pa just kept saying it. Granny had her person, Granny had her person. High time he had a person too.
I was glad that Willy felt he could still come to me about Pa and Camilla, even after all we’d been through recently. Seeing an opportunity to address our recent tensions, I tried to connect what Pa and Camilla had done to him with what the press had done to Meg.
Willy snapped: I’ve got different issues with you two!
In a blink he shifted all his rage onto me. I can’t recall his exact words, because I was beyond tired from all our fighting, to say nothing of the recent move into Frogmore, and into new offices—and I was focused on the imminent birth of our first child. But I recall every physical detail of the scene. The daffodils out, the new grass sprouting, a jet taking off from Heathrow, heading west, unusually low, its engines making my chest vibrate. I remember thinking how remarkable that I could still hear Willy above that jet.
I couldn’t imagine how he had that much anger left after the confrontation in Nott Cott. He was going on and on and I lost the thread. I couldn’t understand and I stopped trying. I fell silent, waiting for him to subside.
Then I looked back. Meg was coming from the house, directly towards me. I quickly took the phone off speaker, but she’d already heard. And Willy was being so loud, even with the speaker off, she could still hear. The tears in her eyes glistened in the spring sunshine. I started to say something, but she stopped, shook her head. Holding her stomach, she turned and walked back to the house.


Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
Aww diddums. Admits they bullied staff and made them cry, calling it constructive criticism. Probably learnt that at the same narc conference as my former boss and unfortunately current relatives. Then instead of supporting your brother like you're claiming to, you're making it about yourself and your Ho. And then you're surprised when he's raging at you? And you want us to sympathise with you?

You're asking them to tell you what you did wrong (a moved pulled by my narcs too), but when they were telling you, you were counting blades of grass and seeing tears sparkle in your wife's eyes. Amazing eyesight, by the way. All those carrots.

He's such a bleep.

And also, his Ho wouldn't know artistry if it bit her on her bum.
 
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On You Tube Talk TV have posted a couple of vids about the boring bits in the book, absolutely hilarious! The gobshite talking about being bathed by the matrons at Ludlow and the time his mates shaved his head and the "volcanoes of red hair" lying on the floor!!
 
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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?
Like Triggers broom in Only Fools and Horses, it’s the same necklace even though he’s replaced the cord and the bits dangling from it are different but it’s definitely the same necklace 😂
 
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For me there was one more piece of unfinished business.
I went off to find the office of the Bee.

Luckily, I ran into the Queen’s friendliest page, who’d always liked me.
I asked for directions; he said he’d take me himself. He led me through the kitchen, up some back stairs, down a narrow corridor.
Just that way, he said, pointing. A few steps later I came upon a huge printer, churning out documents.
The Bee’s assistant swung into view.
Hello! I pointed at the printer and said:

This seems to be working fine?
Yes, Your Royal Highness!
Not broken?
That thing?
It’s indestructible, sir!
I asked about the printer in the Bee’s office. That one work too?
Oh, yes, sir! Did you need to print something out?

No, thank you. I went farther down the corridor, through a door.
Everything suddenly looked familiar. Then I remembered. This was the corridor where I’d slept that Christmas after returning from the South Pole.
And now along came the Bee. Head on.
He saw me and looked extremely sheepish…for a bee.
He could tell what I was up to. He heard the printer whirring away. He knew he was busted.
Oh, sir, please, sir, don’t worry about that, it’s really not important.
Isn’t it? I walked away from him, went downstairs.
Someone suggested that before I left I should step outside with Willy.
Cool our heads. All right. We went up and down the yew hedges. The day was freezing. I was wearing only a light jacket, and Willy was in a jumper, so both of us were shivering. I was struck again by the beauty of it all. As in the state room, I felt as if I’d never seen a palace before. These gardens, I thought, they’re paradise. Why can’t we just enjoy them?
I was braced for a lecture. It didn’t come.
Willy was subdued. He wanted to listen. For the first time in a long time my brother heard me out, and I was so grateful.


I told him about one past staff member sabotaging Meg. Plotting against her. I told him about one current staff member, whose close friend was taking payments for leaking private stuff to the press about Meg and me. My sources on this were above reproach, including several journalists and barristers.
Plus, I’d made a visit to New Scotland Yard.
Willy frowned. He and Kate had their own suspicions. He’d look into it. We agreed to keep talking.


Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex. .
 
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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!!
And his behaviour at the statue unveiling. He was high as a kite
 
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