Where are all these papped shots then? Do we have them? Have we seen any? This bloke is totally off his trolley - I am actually convinced he day dreams these situations and believes they are reality the book excerpts are fantasy IMO
Where are all these papped shots then? Do we have them? Have we seen any? This bloke is totally off his trolley - I am actually convinced he day dreams these situations and believes they are reality the book excerpts are fantasy IMOWithin hours the boats arrived.
An invasion by sea. Each boat bristled with telephoto lenses, arrayed like guns along the decks, and every lens was aimed at our windows. At our boy. So much for playing in the gardens.
We grabbed Archie, pulled him into the house.
They shot through the kitchen windows during his feeds.
We pulled down the blinds.
The next time we drove into town, there were forty paps along the route. Forty. We counted. Some gave chase. At our favorite little general store, a plaintive sign now hung in the window: No Media. We hurried back to the house, pulled the blinds even tighter, returned to a kind of permanent twilight. Meg said she’d officially come full circle. Back in Canada, afraid to raise the blinds.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex.
Aaaaaarrrrrrgwaannnnnnie.What the hell is a gurgle of recognition?
it was 38 years ago I can only remember the epidural and being confined to bedYou would have known because there is a bag full of pee you have to cart about with you until the catheter comes out
He probablyWhat were options 2 and 4?
A guttural sound!What the hell is a gurgle of recognition?
[Looks at @Sea with suspicious eyes]Of course he (and the royals keep private/historical diaries) but me thinks omid was the ghost writer and meg the narrator embellishing it for effect. This is Hazza's version of finding freedom.
At least its done, until we get the Meg diaries published. I can already imagine it...
'I collapsed, I sobbed, I fell to the ground, I was enveloped in tears, drowning in the depths of my torment, until i heard the singing and sweet comforting sound of cluckclicking ...dolphins, Flipper leading the pod, was here to rescue me...'
Chapter 102
"There is only one true Princess of Wales, and that is you Meghan" said the voice from the blue box, it was the golden lock of Diana, speaking to me. I swept away the old, sweet urine endrenched pregnancy test sticks, and held Diana to my heart, I cried...but now it was tears of joy.'
Bit like a guttural sound but more saliva.What the hell is a gurgle of recognition?
That he wrote 2 chapters on his beard or that people would be interested in reading 2 chapters on his beardHarry and Meghan #300 He wrote two chapters about his beard, don't you think that's terribly weird?
Nope, I was bed bound for hours and then when feeling returned catheter was out and I had to drink loads of water and measure amounts thereafter. Mind you, first was breech and with my small pelvis, an elective section. 2nd was emergency section under epidural.You would have known because there is a bag full of pee you have to cart about with you until the catheter comes out
Ty ChitaFor @Anna2020
An award for your services above the call of duty.
You read the shite so we didn't have to and you brought the contents of it here for everyone to discuss.
View attachment 1874581
I just did a quick Google it says there was a Princess Mary in the Spencer descendants and she was the daughter of Henry VII. I don't know how far back it is because it's all gobbiltygoog.View attachment 1873834
Just imagine Harold as a Plantagenet...he'd be a conspirator in the War of the Roses and think himself oh-so-clever but really he's just being used as bait by the people he thinks he's conspiring with
View attachment 1873840
Very good point - his lack of academic prowess and the bits of his personality we saw leading up to Diana's death are good evidence of this
Mine was 30 years ago. As soon as the feeling came back I was off down the ward dragging the drip and catheter behind meit was 38 years ago I can only remember the epidural and being confined to bed
My God the sprog could read at 10 months!This is the weirdest part of the book for me
They are in Tyler Perry house.
In the front hall was a painting he (Archie) found especially interesting.
He started every day locked on to it. A scene from ancient Rome. We asked each other why. No clue.
Not long after those first steps Archie went marching up to his favorite painting in the front hall.
He stared at it, made a gurgle of recognition. Meg leaned in for a closer look.
She noticed, for the first time, a nameplate on the frame.
Goddess of the hunt. Diana.
Hope he's proud of himselfOh no. I expected it at some point after Hazza’s revelations but…..
No just signed out, literally back in Windsor from central London.So she had an epidural, didn’t tear at all even though it was an induced first birth, numbness gone, was up and walking, passed urine, had all the tests and the baby checked over and signed out within two hours?
LITERAL BOLLOCKS!!!!!
It’s what my soon did as a toddler when he saw food. Especially chocolate puddingWhat the hell is a gurgle of recognition?
This isn t some kind of computer game...its real people how dare he include this ........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
We use cookies and similar technologies for the following purposes:
Do you accept cookies and these technologies?
We use cookies and similar technologies for the following purposes:
Do you accept cookies and these technologies?