Yes they do have to do that; it doesn't always work. I guess my anger is more at him in being in that same kind of helicopter he used to kill 25 Afghans (or were they Taliban insurgents? Maybe Smegs will know). If someone is in an Apache over a mega mountainous country like Afghanistan, in my book they aren't helpless. The people on the ground are. I'm not angry at you; just at how stupid, tone deaf and disgusting he isHe didnt get the clearance to shoot sometimes, because if i understood you first had to verify that civilians werent present.
It's also a bit odd that they never did anything other than the stuff they are seeking revenge about.What a bunch of lickspittles!
Tell me, am I alone in being extremely irritated by the so-called writing style this rubbish has been released in?
Its just a collection of bullet points, ie
* I said to Megan.............................
* Granny told me................
* I cried...................
* Blah-de-blah-blah..................
You'd think with his education he could manage somewhat better than this childish nonsense
That is sick sick sick sick sick sickI RANG GRANNY TO TELL her beforehand.
Pa too. And I sent Willy a text.
I also told the Bee, giving him advance notice of the lawsuit, letting him know we had a statement ready to go, asking him to please redirect to our office all the press inquiries it would inevitably trigger.
He wished us luck!
It was amusing, therefore, when I heard that he and the Wasp were claiming to have had no advance warning.
In announcing the lawsuit I laid out my case to the world: My wife has become one of the latest victims of a British tabloid press that wages campaigns against individuals with no thought to the consequences—a ruthless campaign that has escalated over the past year, throughout her pregnancy and while raising our newborn son…I cannot begin to describe how painful it has been…Though this action may not be the safe one, it is the right one. Because my deepest fear is history repeating itself…I lost my mother and now I watch my wife falling victim to the same powerful forces.
The lawsuit wasn’t covered as widely as, say, Meg’s daring to shut her own car door. In fact, it was barely covered at all.
Nonetheless, friends took note. Many texted: Why now?
Simple. In a few days the privacy laws in Britain were going to change in the tabloids’ favor. We wanted our case to be heard before a crooked bat was introduced into the game.
Friends also asked: Why sue at all when you’re riding so high in the press? The South Africa tour was a triumph, coverage was wildly positive.
That’s the whole point, I explained. This isn’t about wanting or needing good press. It’s about not letting people get away with abuse. And lies. Especially the kind of lies that can destroy innocents. Maybe I sounded a bit self-righteous.
Maybe I sounded as if I was on my high horse.
But shortly after announcing our lawsuit I felt energized by a ghastly story in the Express.
How Meghan Markle’s flowers may have put Princess Charlotte’s life at risk. This latest “scandal” concerned the flower crowns worn by our bridesmaids, more than a year earlier. Included in the crowns were a few lilies of the valley, which can be poisonous to children. Provided the children eat the lilies. Even then, the reaction would be discomfort, concerning to parents, but only in the rarest cases would such a thing be fatal.
Never mind that an official florist put together these crowns.
Never mind that it wasn’t Meg who made this “dangerous decision.”
Never mind that previous royal brides, including Kate and my mother, had also used lilies of the valley.
Never mind all that.
The story of Meghan the Murderess was just too good. An accompanying photo showed my poor little niece wearing her crown, face contorted in a paroxysm of agony, or a sneeze. Alongside this photo was a shot of Meg looking sublimely unconcerned about the imminent death of this angelic child.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
I know we know this but great to see it spreading everywhere!
It's almost an admission of truth about his mother.... almost.Deprived of love as a boy? Another dig at the Queen
Is it possible them pair could get more teeth?I am so cringed out, I've never felt so British in my life! Get a fucking grip you big wuss, apply your stiff upper lip. Or, as they say in the theatre (which Smegz probably doesnt know) "tits and teeth dear, tits and teeth!" AKA, just smile and get on with it.
I am absolutely gobsmacked by the audacity of his sayingChrist, what a prize cunt
You see a self-centred selfish duplicitous bastard* who casts a long dark shadow.Weird addition to the thread from me, but yesterday I was talking to my therapist and I asked her what she'd thought of Prince Harry's interview. I mentioned this because the whole thing made me wonder about narcissists in my family and whether they believed the lies that they tell. My therapist then told me she'd felt a lot more empathy towards him since the interview. I'm genuinely questioning her intelligence now
No mention of circling Sunderland?The next few days were given over to a whirlwind work trip.
Manchester, Dusseldorf, then back to London for the WellChild Awards.
But that day—September 8, 2022—a call came in around lunchtime.
Unknown number. Hello?
It was Pa. Granny’s health had taken a turn.
She was up at Balmoral, of course. Those beautiful, melancholy late-summer days.
He hung up—he had many other calls to make—and I immediately texted Willy to ask whether he and Kate were flying up. If so, when? And how?
No response.
Meg and I looked at flight options.
The press started phoning; we couldn’t delay a decision any longer.
We told our team to confirm: We’d be missing the WellChild Awards and hurrying up to Scotland.
Then came another call from Pa. He said I was welcome at Balmoral, but he didn’t want…her.
He started to lay out his reason, which was nonsensical, and disrespectful, and I wasn’t having it.
Don’t ever speak about my wife that way.
He stammered, apologetic, saying he simply didn’t want a lot of people around. No other wives were coming, Kate wasn’t coming, he said, therefore Meg shouldn’t.
Then that’s all you needed to say.
By now it was midafternoon; no more commercial flights that day to Aberdeen.
And I still had no response from Willy.
My only option, therefore, was a charter out of Luton. I was on board two hours later.
I spent much of the flight staring at the clouds, replaying the last time I’d spoken with Granny. Four days earlier, long chat on the phone. We’d touched on many topics. Her health, of course. The turmoil at Number 10. The Braemar Games—she was sorry about not being well enough to attend. We talked also about the biblical drought. The lawn at Frogmore, where Meg and I were staying, was in terrible shape.
Looks like the top of my head, Granny! Balding and brown in patches.
She laughed.
I told her to take care, I looked forward to seeing her soon.
As the plane began its descent, my phone lit up. A text from Meg. Call me the moment you get this.
I checked the BBC website.
Granny was gone.
Pa was King.
I put on my black tie, walked off the plane into a thick mist, sped in a borrowed car to Balmoral. As I pulled through the front gates it was wetter, and pitch-dark, which made the white flashes from the dozens of cameras that much more blinding. Hunched against the cold, I hurried into the foyer.
Aunt Anne was there to greet me. I hugged her.
Where’s Pa and Willy? And Camilla? Gone to Birkhall, she said.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
AND THE NATION CHEERED.The following afternoon Meg and I left for America.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
Dave obviously recounted his mission to Harry during a visit to the HQ Comms shelter, Harry was busy scribbling away the details to keep, for later, to put in his book.I WAS THE FIRST in my squadron to pull the trigger in anger.
We took off, swept over the wall, went vertical, climbed to fifteen hundred feet. Moments later I swung the night sight onto the target area.
There! Eight hot spots, eight kilometers away.
Thermal smudges—walking from where the contact had been.
Dave said: That’s got to be them!
Yeah—there’s no friendly forces out here on patrol! Especially not at this hour.
Let’s make sure. Confirm no patrols outside the wall.
I called the J-TAC.
Confirmed: no patrols.
We flew above the eight hot spots. They quickly broke into two groups of four. Evenly spaced, they went slowly along a track. That was our patrolling technique—were they mimicking us? Now they hopped on mopeds, some two-up, some one-up.
I told Control we were visual on all eight targets, asked for clearance, permission to fire. Permission was a must before engaging, always, unless it was a case of self-defense or imminent danger.
Dave and I were ready to fire that flechette.
But permission still hadn’t come.
We waited. And waited. And watched the Taliban speeding off in different directions.
I said to Dave: If I find out later that one of these guys has injured or killed one of our guys after we let them go…
We stayed with two motorbikes, followed them down a windy road. Now they separated. We picked one, followed it.
Finally Control got back to us. The persons you’re following…what’s their status?
I shook my head and thought: Most of them are gone, because you’ve been so slow. I said: They’ve split up and we’re down to one bike. Permission to fire.
Dave said to use the Hellfire. I was nervous about using it, however; I shot the 30-mm cannon instead.
Mistake. I hit the motorbike. One man down, presumably dead, but one hopped off and ran into a building.
We circled, called in ground troops.
You were right, I told Dave. Should’ve used the Hellfire.
No worries, he said.
It was your first time.
Long after returning to base, I did a sort of mental scan. I’d been in combat before, I’d killed before, but this was my most direct contact with the enemy—ever. Other engagements felt more impersonal. This one was eyes on target, finger on trigger, fire away.
I asked myself how I felt.
Traumatized? No.
Sad? No.
Surprised? No.
Prepared in every way. Doing my job. What we’d trained for.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
Concrete canoe.Shame it wasn't the Titanic he helped her into, still shi t doesn't sink, it only floats
Now I got the Saturday night fever soundtrack playing in my head(with apologies to the late great Robin Gibb)
'I started a joke.. that got the whole world laughing
... but I couldn't see ... that the joke was on me..'
Of course meg asked him to call her immediately instead of letting him speak to his family first. She really can't see she has made herself look like a grade a gaslighter here.No mention of circling Sunderland?
AND THE NATION CHEERED.
Well that's all of them Markled.Thank you to all the professionals, medical experts, and coaches for keeping me physically and mentally strong over the years.
Dr. Lesley Parkinson,
Dr. Ben Carraway and Kevin Lidlow, and also Ross Barr, Jessie Blum, Dr. Kevin English, Winston Squire, Esther Lee, John Amaral, and Peter Charles.
Also Kasey, Eric Goodman, and the two Petes.
Special thanks to my U.K. therapist for helping unravel years of unresolved trauma.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex. Spare
Finally THE END
Especially when she was getting reimbursed by the palace.If Megatron could afford a first class ticket from
Mexico to the UK, she could afford to pay for a full price sofa from sofa.com
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