King George III was mad, King Edward VIII’s reign was cut short by his genitals and Prince Andrew was an associate of a known paedophile and may, allegedly, be one himself. But has there ever been a specimen like our Prince Harry? I doubt it. This once likeable soldiering cheeky chappie of the Royal Family has gone from an unbelievable level of popularity to an understandable and well justified position of ridicule verging on loathing. He has not achieved this lack of approbation alone, even he could not manage that. It was clearly orchestrated by the dreadful duchess, Megan Markle, and it is going to take a very long time before he regains the affections of the British people, if ever he even achieves that. Nevertheless, it is not for the want of trying. Almost daily he bares another part of his soul to the world, probably looking for sympathy and trying to enlist others in this pandemic of self-pity. The most recent manifestation of his mental illness is The Me You Can’t See on Apple TV+. If only he could assimilate the message that it is the ‘me’ that we do see that is getting on our collective wick. Mate—we don’t want to see any more!
It may have seemed trivial at the time, but I sensed trouble almost from the outset of the arrival of Megan Markle amongst us and her early public appearances. She closed her own car door—much to the shock of many—arriving at an event. Some were shocked at this break in Royal protocol on the basis that ‘princesses don’t close their own car door’. Others were shocked because others were shocked saying it showed how ‘down to earth’ she was. But it became apparent that this was nothing to do with ‘being one of us’, it was an act of sheer petulance and not something done by force of habit. The reason Royals and other VIPs with security details do not close their own car doors is so that, at the first sign of danger, they can quickly be bundled back in. There is not the slightest chance that she would not have had this drummed into her and that she could not have been aware of what she was doing. There was so much more but the slap in the face of the British public who had footed the £32 million cost of her star spangled wedding—the real one—showed a terrible lack of gratitude. She mendaciously claimed that this had not been the real wedding but that it had taken place three days before in the garden at what was obviously the rehearsal. Even the Archbishop of Canterbury had to overturn this view.
But back to our multi-millionaire moaner. He pleads poverty in the midst of unimaginable riches and a poor upbringing verging on child abuse, which is patently ridiculous. Nobody is safe. His father is to blame and, in turn, his grandparents. I guess he will work his way through the Royal Family until he gets to Queen Victoria or he may go all the way back to Mad King George. What he just does not see is that exposing problems—real or imagined—in this way is hurtful and not therapeutic. Providing yourself with an excuse for every flaw in your own character and for every trampled feeling simply keeps you where you are: self-pitying; self-righteous; and miserable. The view is developing that Prince Harry may well have had ‘too much therapy’. While that has a ring of truth to it, I have no idea. But of one thing I am sure: we have had too much of him.
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