When you’ve concluded that the media are “destroying our mental health,” is it a good idea to then do multi-platform media interviews on multiple continents?
When “public pressure” about your private life is causing you “drama, stress and tears,” do you then turn around and agree to participate in an intimate six-part Netflix series about every aspect of your life, including how you apply makeup in one of the five bathrooms at your borrowed California mega-mansion?
When “fearing for our lives,” do you go on the aforementioned Netflix series and chat about whether you’ve got sufficient security, up to and including whether you’ve remembered to lock the doors at night?
Or — my personal favourite — after lamenting over and over (and over) about how it’s “incredibly sad” that family have grown apart, do you write a book detailing how your brother criminally assaulted you, or that your stepmom leaked stories about you, or that the rest of the family thought dressing up as a Nazi was really funny?
No, of course you wouldn’t. You don’t typically say one thing in front of a global audience of millions, and then — days later — go and do the polar opposite in front of a global audience of millions. Because you’re a normal person. You’re sane.
The Duke and Duchess of Sussex — Harry Mountbatten-Windsor and Meghan Markle — no longer appear to be sane, however. With the publication of Prince Harry’s magnum opus this month, the pair have elevated humble-bragging to an art form.
You know what humble-bragging is, don’t you? The dictionaries define it as “an ostensibly modest or self-deprecating statement whose actual purpose is to draw attention to something.” And that’s the on-again, off-again royal couple all over, ain’t it? They say they don’t want attention — but they would die without attention.
The erstwhile prince has titled his 416-page book ‘Spare,’ which is sort of funny, when you think about it. Because, after months and months of Harry and Meghan complaining about all the attention they get, and then doing all they possibly can to attract yet more attention, all of us are just saying: “Spare us.” Spare us the sanctimony and solipsism and self-pity. Spare us, please.
But they won’t, of course, because these two pampered, spoiled children couldn’t spell “restraint” let alone ever practice it. Eyeball this gem from Harry, and see if you can keep down your lunch:
“[Meghan] sacrificed everything that she ever knew, the freedom that she had, to join me in my world. And then, pretty soon after that, I ended up sacrificing everything I know to join her in her world.”
After reading that, don’t you wish they’d both get on a spaceship, piloted by their neighbour and mother-confessor Oprah, and be rocketed to the outer reaches of space to their brave new new “world,” never to return? I sure do.
Is it sad that the Royal Family — not just Harry and Meghan — are destroying the monarchy? Not really. They’ve all been busily dismantling their reputations for years, now, with an endless torrent of tawdry, seamy guck about extramarital affairs, sex scandals and racist attitudes. If the monarchy is going to die, however, should it finally do so at the hands of these puffed-up creeps?
Maybe, maybe not. One thing is for certain: It’s now completely obvious that Queen Elizabeth, God bless her, was the glue that held the whole royal shebang together. With her sad passing, her children and grandchildren — always easy to dislike — have become even more dislikable. They make the villains on Dallas or Yellowstone look like beatified saints.
Will we all keep paying attention? Some will. Harry’s ‘Spare’ door-stopper will be a bestseller, because people always pay attention to plane crashes, not plane landings. But, slowly and surely, Harry and Meghan and the rest of the royal cabal are accelerating their own demise.
Harry and Meghan, you see, demand crucifixion. And, then, once they get it?
They complain about the view.
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