- Notice
Toothbrush
Member
I'm getting to the point where I think Markle is getting paid to drive this train by an entity that wants to disrupt Britain on a number of levels.
I find it very uncomfortable that we have journalists and commentators in the US fundamentally criticising not only our Head of State, but also the very system by which we assign that role. It's verging on an attack on our political system from a number of US quarters. Harry is such a dunce, he doesn't realise the implications of what's happening.
But then he's never really understood what the Royal Family is, despite actually being a part of it. The Royal Family is essentially the process pool from which Britain gains a Head of State, but the two are somewhat different. He got his police protection because the government pays to protect the Head of State, their immediate family and anyone who acts for the Head of State in a specific context; no-one gets police protection because they are just "Royal" per se.
To expect that protection outside of those categories while The Queen was alive was like the US secret service protecting, I dunno, Biden's adult grandson and his wife while they flew around the world.
Neither Harry or Meghan seem to understand the actual situation. Meghan did the equivalent of, say, marrying Sarkozy's brother or something, who then turns round to say that everyone in France is stupid and racist.
And that Harry admits he picked fights with those protection officers, slapping them and so on? An equvalent here would be someone like Trump Junior hitting one of the White House secret service detail on a regular basis.
It's so beyond the pale, I don't know what to say.
I find it very uncomfortable that we have journalists and commentators in the US fundamentally criticising not only our Head of State, but also the very system by which we assign that role. It's verging on an attack on our political system from a number of US quarters. Harry is such a dunce, he doesn't realise the implications of what's happening.
But then he's never really understood what the Royal Family is, despite actually being a part of it. The Royal Family is essentially the process pool from which Britain gains a Head of State, but the two are somewhat different. He got his police protection because the government pays to protect the Head of State, their immediate family and anyone who acts for the Head of State in a specific context; no-one gets police protection because they are just "Royal" per se.
To expect that protection outside of those categories while The Queen was alive was like the US secret service protecting, I dunno, Biden's adult grandson and his wife while they flew around the world.
Neither Harry or Meghan seem to understand the actual situation. Meghan did the equivalent of, say, marrying Sarkozy's brother or something, who then turns round to say that everyone in France is stupid and racist.
And that Harry admits he picked fights with those protection officers, slapping them and so on? An equvalent here would be someone like Trump Junior hitting one of the White House secret service detail on a regular basis.
It's so beyond the pale, I don't know what to say.
Churchill's Ghost
VIP Member
I cannot believe that odious piece of excrement that is Scobie has the gall to say that the BRF’s silence is “undignified”
Oh my god - dying laughing
Oh my god - dying laughing
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tnbadger
Active member
am still irritated that, after all of these interviews & NF/book/articles, that H/M are not challenged with the facts of Megxit--- that she had set up companies in the US, immediately started filing for trademarks in order to directly profit under the trade name of "sussex royal" and that they were going to be financially independent & get paid what they were worth as "professionals." that she pestered guys in Hollywood (ex- brad pit) & wanted to star in action movies and only work with top directors.... this entire false narrative of fleeing the UK media & the leaking RF has all just been a fabricated series of lies because they cannot admit to themselves that they failed to take Hollywood by storm and that the RF refused to let them profit off their titles...
Meemew
VIP Member
I don’t really give a shit about her yachting or whatever per se. Her choice. However I do give a shit about her stealing charity cash, bullying staff, merching mental health, suicide, miscarriage and racism, and stirring up global hatred to maintain their victim narrative and justify leaving the RF when she hated the job and just wanted to make megabucks deals and trade off hee titles without doing any of the hard work. I’m mightily fucked off that we - the British people who funded her 32m wedding - are now being called racist colonial Brexiteers as a direct result of their interviews, podcasts and Netflix show.
She had been given an unbelievable opportunity to do good while living in luxury within the RF. But it wasn’t good enough for her, she was greedy and wanted the freedom to merch and get freebies without the tiresome engagements with real people. Again, she gets another unbelievable opportunity with Netflix, Spotify and Penguin deals, she can merch and scavenge freebies to her hearts content, but at least do some good with it, tell stories that need to be heard via all the platforms that are paying you millions. But no, all they have done is bitch and moan, talk about themselves and how hard done by they were by the RF with their free homes and designer clothes. They are just fucking cunts to the core.
Also Meghan didn’t come from nothing - her father was a lighting cameraman (or similar I forget) who worked in Hollywood and sent her to private school. It’s hardly a hard luck story. She’s a spoiled grabby bitch.
Finally coming from nothing doesn’t excuse being a cunt, we went through some very tough times as a family, absent father, very little money, barely eking by. That doesn’t give me recourse to utilise and manipulate people, tell lies or stir up hatred to feather my nest.
She’s vile. They both are.
Cáca_Milis
VIP Member
Title suggestion
Harry and Meghan #305 Harry is now a laughing stock, only known for his frozen cock
Harry and Meghan #305 Harry is now a laughing stock, only known for his frozen cock
thenorthremembers
VIP Member
She’s started writing messages on them for Harry…BIB - please remember Megrain actually WROTE on those bananas!
With her own ACTUAL hand!
She had to hold her own pen and EVERYTHING!!
Oh my that's a lot of exclamation marks and capitals, I am must be morphing into Alice Evans aka mAlice
Hula flight
VIP Member
H&M threads#305. He's a dirty idiot and a drunken JACKAL with 8 hour cream on his wedding tackleI do not agree with anything the Taliban do obviously but their quotes about Harry…..wow
leviosa
Well-known member
Wtaf. This is ridiculous. So what he said wasn't wise or clever. But then he's not a particularly wise or clever man. Then he said he'd lifted it directly from a GoT scene so it wasn't like he was sat there with his little willy in his hand making up gross scenes about Meghan. Thirdly - how many times now has he apologised and been held to account about it? He was wrong wrong wrong on every count for this.
However. Are they not wrong? I am genuinely annoyed that not more is being said about Harry backtracking on the racist claim. As usual one rule for them and another for everyone else.
wibble
VIP Member
"I hadn't smiled in months. School was horrible. One of the matrons, named Pat, bullied me unmercifully. After showers she made me wait until last for a towel. She always made me share a it with Norman: a fat, common, bucktoothed boy, with bottle-bottom spectacles; his father was little more than a jumped up accountant. We called him Tojo, At lunch, if we had prunes and custard, Pat would always ensure that I got exactly seven - she said "that was all I was worth and what I would become."... though sometimes she gave me eight.
I missed my family. And most of all I missed Pa's hugs.
At last the summer holidays came. Pa came to collect me in the Aston Martin. Mummy was away in Brighton with her friend: again. I didn't mind. I just wanted to get away from the Pat. Willy was there. He looked so much older now. But he was the same old Willy. full of fun.
No sooner had we left the school than he snatched the school report from my bag - after distracting me with a Twix. I tried to get it back but Pa's security pinned me to the back seat - Willy was in the front, as always. Even the security officer was smirking as Willy read page after page of my tutors unfairly judging me. And to put a cap on it, Pat wrote, "Henry is a vindictive, thoroughly unpleasant boy without a single virtue."
Which wasn't true at all. I could reach onto the top of the cistern in a peeing contest. I could hold my breath for fifty four seconds in a sink of water - sometimes longer if Bates had his way. And at Bulldog I was known as The Demon, for a move I developed of jumping up and kneeing the little kids in the chin - a move that worked for both 'on the floor' and 'off the ground'. Pat stopped me doing this, and banned Bulldog, when Tojo bit off half his tongue and ended up in hospital with concussion.
'They can laugh at me' I thought, as I watched the verdant trees flash past, 'But they wouldn't be laughing if they knew I hadn't smiled in months.'
It wasn't only Willy who had grown. Zara had to. I didn't know where to look. The last time I had seen Zara she was a little girl, just my cousin. Now she was bigger and listening to the Sugarcubes. She still reeked of horses, but she smelled of something else, Willy noticed it too. "It's White Musk," Zara explained, before hurrying off to the stables with two of her mother's bulldogs, Tyson and Bruno.
I liked the broad, almost African, skies of Norfolk. And anywhere was a relief to be out of the reach of that twisted sadist, Pat. But Sandringham haunted me. As it was here in 1843 that my ancestor had been murdered by having a red-hot poker shoved where the sun don't shine: after he was captured by diamond stealing slave traders during the Crusades against Robin Hood. I would lie in bed at night - kept awake by Willy's sleep apnoea - and imagine the curlews on the marshes were ghosts - or the unrestful souls of the dark eyed dead - or Pat's shriek when she saw me choking Tojo to make sure he had both shoulders on the ground - as he fitted, blood spurting from his mouth but still refusing to be yield and be caught - the fat little shit.
Everyone was very serious. John Smith had been elected Prime Minister. Pa and Auntie Anne no longer loved our mummy and Zara's daddy. Right Said Fred were number one. The Firm had called a meeting to decide on what must be done.
It was raining. A summer tumult poured from white skies, swirling with thunder and distant lighting. It pummeled against the window. The glass awash with a distorting lens of liquid film: running downwards, ever downwards; filling the gutters: pattering upon the shingled path in a symphony of gloom. We were directly beneath the cyclonic eye, without hope of respite.
Willy didn't notice. Mummy's new friend had bought him a Gameboy. He didn't buy me one. He said he wasn't made of money, so we'd have to share. He obviously didn't know William, he never shared anything.
Thus I found myself wandering the corridors of Sandringham house. There was no-one in the lounge so I went via the secret passage to the conservatory, then on through the billiard room to the library. I've never liked books. Yet rather than push on to the study, my attention was drawn to a fawn leather bound tome extruding from the shelf. Some greater force drew me, compelled me: ignoring the rasping cries of the magpie on the window ledge, it's beak tapping at the pane in existential warning. Cocking my head I read the book's title along the spine, 'Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackery'. As a person always ready to make peace, I was intrigued. I tilted the book to take it from the shelf, and was startled to hear a grinding of gears from deep within the bowels of the earth.
The bookcase heaved upon an axle, opening with panting sigh, it swung to reveal a passage beyond. To my surprise a spiral staircase of pure crystal faded into illumination: lit by a dark-fire as one only sees when staring too closely at a candle. Thus bidden, I could not but accept the challenge, I stepped into that space and climbed that stairway - unsure if I would find kismet or death - the bookcase sealed into normalcy in my wake.
I smelt Matey. Heard the tinny trill of Steve Wright in the afternoon drifting from a boombox. This was Zara's room. The door to the en-suite was slightly ajar. I crept on my lightest toe to peep. She was sitting in the bath, the showerhead held like a microphone, stumbling over the words to 'It Only Takes A Minute'.
A prehensile human urge gripped me - some deep psychic energy filling me - surging up from the roots of the earth I tapped into the primeordeal - I needed to pee.
But fortune was with me. For by accident, or inscrutable design, my elbow touched the door. Zara caught sight of the peripheral movement and let out a scream unheard since Lizzie caught the Nigel kissing the gay chef. I kicked into survival mode, using all the skills I had learned in Beavers.
Willy must have heard the scream. For he came running. I confess from my vantage beneath the bed, between the po and a crocodile-skin suitcase, I saw only ankles: and the dancing poorly tailored hem of Zara's bathrobe.
I could barely breath. Knowing I stood condemned if discovered.
In my desperation I reached out to the cosmos.
Being favoured, the universe gave answer.
For then I saw it: a single pearl: some lost keepsake of the greater whole.
A token reaching across the aeons to guide the lovelorn and the lost toward their true destiny.
For the first time in months I smiled, .
Zara and Willy, like the saps they are, decided the peeper must have fled the room and went in pursuit: giving me chance to escape
- with my precious pearl.
They never knew it was me.
And never will."
I missed my family. And most of all I missed Pa's hugs.
At last the summer holidays came. Pa came to collect me in the Aston Martin. Mummy was away in Brighton with her friend: again. I didn't mind. I just wanted to get away from the Pat. Willy was there. He looked so much older now. But he was the same old Willy. full of fun.
No sooner had we left the school than he snatched the school report from my bag - after distracting me with a Twix. I tried to get it back but Pa's security pinned me to the back seat - Willy was in the front, as always. Even the security officer was smirking as Willy read page after page of my tutors unfairly judging me. And to put a cap on it, Pat wrote, "Henry is a vindictive, thoroughly unpleasant boy without a single virtue."
Which wasn't true at all. I could reach onto the top of the cistern in a peeing contest. I could hold my breath for fifty four seconds in a sink of water - sometimes longer if Bates had his way. And at Bulldog I was known as The Demon, for a move I developed of jumping up and kneeing the little kids in the chin - a move that worked for both 'on the floor' and 'off the ground'. Pat stopped me doing this, and banned Bulldog, when Tojo bit off half his tongue and ended up in hospital with concussion.
'They can laugh at me' I thought, as I watched the verdant trees flash past, 'But they wouldn't be laughing if they knew I hadn't smiled in months.'
It wasn't only Willy who had grown. Zara had to. I didn't know where to look. The last time I had seen Zara she was a little girl, just my cousin. Now she was bigger and listening to the Sugarcubes. She still reeked of horses, but she smelled of something else, Willy noticed it too. "It's White Musk," Zara explained, before hurrying off to the stables with two of her mother's bulldogs, Tyson and Bruno.
I liked the broad, almost African, skies of Norfolk. And anywhere was a relief to be out of the reach of that twisted sadist, Pat. But Sandringham haunted me. As it was here in 1843 that my ancestor had been murdered by having a red-hot poker shoved where the sun don't shine: after he was captured by diamond stealing slave traders during the Crusades against Robin Hood. I would lie in bed at night - kept awake by Willy's sleep apnoea - and imagine the curlews on the marshes were ghosts - or the unrestful souls of the dark eyed dead - or Pat's shriek when she saw me choking Tojo to make sure he had both shoulders on the ground - as he fitted, blood spurting from his mouth but still refusing to be yield and be caught - the fat little shit.
Everyone was very serious. John Smith had been elected Prime Minister. Pa and Auntie Anne no longer loved our mummy and Zara's daddy. Right Said Fred were number one. The Firm had called a meeting to decide on what must be done.
It was raining. A summer tumult poured from white skies, swirling with thunder and distant lighting. It pummeled against the window. The glass awash with a distorting lens of liquid film: running downwards, ever downwards; filling the gutters: pattering upon the shingled path in a symphony of gloom. We were directly beneath the cyclonic eye, without hope of respite.
Willy didn't notice. Mummy's new friend had bought him a Gameboy. He didn't buy me one. He said he wasn't made of money, so we'd have to share. He obviously didn't know William, he never shared anything.
Thus I found myself wandering the corridors of Sandringham house. There was no-one in the lounge so I went via the secret passage to the conservatory, then on through the billiard room to the library. I've never liked books. Yet rather than push on to the study, my attention was drawn to a fawn leather bound tome extruding from the shelf. Some greater force drew me, compelled me: ignoring the rasping cries of the magpie on the window ledge, it's beak tapping at the pane in existential warning. Cocking my head I read the book's title along the spine, 'Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackery'. As a person always ready to make peace, I was intrigued. I tilted the book to take it from the shelf, and was startled to hear a grinding of gears from deep within the bowels of the earth.
The bookcase heaved upon an axle, opening with panting sigh, it swung to reveal a passage beyond. To my surprise a spiral staircase of pure crystal faded into illumination: lit by a dark-fire as one only sees when staring too closely at a candle. Thus bidden, I could not but accept the challenge, I stepped into that space and climbed that stairway - unsure if I would find kismet or death - the bookcase sealed into normalcy in my wake.
I smelt Matey. Heard the tinny trill of Steve Wright in the afternoon drifting from a boombox. This was Zara's room. The door to the en-suite was slightly ajar. I crept on my lightest toe to peep. She was sitting in the bath, the showerhead held like a microphone, stumbling over the words to 'It Only Takes A Minute'.
A prehensile human urge gripped me - some deep psychic energy filling me - surging up from the roots of the earth I tapped into the primeordeal - I needed to pee.
But fortune was with me. For by accident, or inscrutable design, my elbow touched the door. Zara caught sight of the peripheral movement and let out a scream unheard since Lizzie caught the Nigel kissing the gay chef. I kicked into survival mode, using all the skills I had learned in Beavers.
Willy must have heard the scream. For he came running. I confess from my vantage beneath the bed, between the po and a crocodile-skin suitcase, I saw only ankles: and the dancing poorly tailored hem of Zara's bathrobe.
I could barely breath. Knowing I stood condemned if discovered.
In my desperation I reached out to the cosmos.
Being favoured, the universe gave answer.
For then I saw it: a single pearl: some lost keepsake of the greater whole.
A token reaching across the aeons to guide the lovelorn and the lost toward their true destiny.
For the first time in months I smiled, .
Zara and Willy, like the saps they are, decided the peeper must have fled the room and went in pursuit: giving me chance to escape
- with my precious pearl.
They never knew it was me.
And never will."
CrabbyOyster
Active member
I previously wrote that I thought reconciliation "might not be a bad thing" on the grounds that it is wise to lei your friends close but your enemies closer.
I hang my head in shame dear Tattlers, and confirm that sense has returned to my befuddled thinking. After their response to Clarkson's apologies - plural - I have changed my mind and think that reconciliation is not only unwise but would be downright dangerous for the RF.
To demand apologies then reject them shows me that they don't want to reconcile at all. There was a tiny thread of my that thought "they can't be THAT bad, surely!", but I'm convinced that yes, they can be and actually ARE that bad.
Bring it on RF. Cut them off, cut them out, denounce, refute, and release the Kraken.
FWIW, I think Clarkson is a clever bloke and his words are quite often rooted in things beyond me (I didn't know it was a GOT reference), but even so, anyone with half a brain cell can see that his words weren't inciting violence against ANYONE and at worst were just a bit strange. Personally i don't think there's anything for him to apologise for, and the amazon contact would have probably been coming to an end anyway but the press have leapt on it and twisted it. They did it with the "news" that his farm shop closed "after his column about MM". It did, but not as a consequence of it.
I hang my head in shame dear Tattlers, and confirm that sense has returned to my befuddled thinking. After their response to Clarkson's apologies - plural - I have changed my mind and think that reconciliation is not only unwise but would be downright dangerous for the RF.
To demand apologies then reject them shows me that they don't want to reconcile at all. There was a tiny thread of my that thought "they can't be THAT bad, surely!", but I'm convinced that yes, they can be and actually ARE that bad.
Bring it on RF. Cut them off, cut them out, denounce, refute, and release the Kraken.
FWIW, I think Clarkson is a clever bloke and his words are quite often rooted in things beyond me (I didn't know it was a GOT reference), but even so, anyone with half a brain cell can see that his words weren't inciting violence against ANYONE and at worst were just a bit strange. Personally i don't think there's anything for him to apologise for, and the amazon contact would have probably been coming to an end anyway but the press have leapt on it and twisted it. They did it with the "news" that his farm shop closed "after his column about MM". It did, but not as a consequence of it.
LadyBee_Aus
Well-known member
My turn to play around at a bookstore (airport in Queensland about to fly home)! It’s fun browsing around choosing which book to use!
Thanks to @265 for the thread title.
Old thread here
We don't know or care where TW is.
We've heard enough about a strangers frozen dick.
Jezza apologised in private but it wasn't good enough.
No communication between KC or PoW and the overseas oik.
Ann went to the funeral of the Greek King (RIP).
Carry on tattling.
Old thread here
Harry and Meghan #303 Kiss Meg's shoes or I'll release book two!
I think until an announcement is made by Buckingham palace I will consider any supposed source as someone entertaining themselves by stirring the pot I think the statement made by the king about much loved as they continue their lives OVERSEAS said it all. My recollection may be wrong but I...
tattle.life
We don't know or care where TW is.
We've heard enough about a strangers frozen dick.
Jezza apologised in private but it wasn't good enough.
No communication between KC or PoW and the overseas oik.
Ann went to the funeral of the Greek King (RIP).
Carry on tattling.
MeInMidAmerica
VIP Member
I think he was always a little in love with K. That added to his envy issues with his brother. Perfect wife, perfect family, the heir.
When he met Markle, I think he thought she trumped K…was better spoken, sexier, and as part of the Fab Four…he’d be the guy whose wife everyone wanted, the guy everyone envied.
When she showed herself to be demanding and difficult, he wanted that overlooked for his own ‘prestige’ as well. He just could not have married a flawed woman. He had to have the better of W for once. Any complaints were just trying to make him second best again..like he made a mistake.
All this ridiculous fawning over her is tied to his own pride as well. He is bitter and angry because he is miserable in California and cannot give his brother the satisfaction of admitting it. In my opinion anyway.
When he met Markle, I think he thought she trumped K…was better spoken, sexier, and as part of the Fab Four…he’d be the guy whose wife everyone wanted, the guy everyone envied.
When she showed herself to be demanding and difficult, he wanted that overlooked for his own ‘prestige’ as well. He just could not have married a flawed woman. He had to have the better of W for once. Any complaints were just trying to make him second best again..like he made a mistake.
All this ridiculous fawning over her is tied to his own pride as well. He is bitter and angry because he is miserable in California and cannot give his brother the satisfaction of admitting it. In my opinion anyway.
