![]() It’s doubtful that when the paper’s respected editor CP Scott declared in 1921 ‘Comment is free, but facts are sacred’ he was imagining a radiant future in which his publication became a PR sheet for a petulant princeling accusing his brother of breaking his baubles. Of course, they have to dress up the fact that, by breaking this story, they’ve nailed their colours to a Heat-flavoured ship of fools, hence yesterday’s scolding headline, ‘Harry’s allegations are not just about a royal fist fight – but the very real dangers of hereditary power’. As it is, some dry goods got damaged.įounded in the earnest desire to spread a radical message of equality and liberty, we have already seen the Guardian’s decline into a frivolous viper’s nest where decent writers are hounded out of their jobs and the editor hires her husband to write columns asking ‘Must We Settle For Fanny?’ Now their pre-publication kerfuffle brings them officially into the Californian court-in-exile of the Sussexes, not quite on the elevated level of fairy godfather Elton John but well above Groom of the Stool Omid Scobie. ‘ Spare is a remarkable volume… Harry is unsparing in his recounting of intensely private scenes and conversations in which the altercation between the two princes forms a startling passage.’ The brotherly bust-up is camper than I imagined – more Bette Davis and Joan Crawford than Elizabeth I and Bloody Mary – while William’s parting shot to a prostrate Harry made me imagine an unwritten Smith’s song: ‘Harold, as you lay there on the dog bowl looking feckless/Who could blame me if I’d felt like ripping off your necklace?/But your fall was accidental as in kitchenette we barrelled/I don’t love you anymore – but I didn’t attack you, Harold.’ Though it’s unedifying, it made me kind of fall in love with being English again – it’s just so silly.There’s a reason why we produced comic operetta while other cultures produced po-faced operatic epics of love and death if this was many other countries, the brothers might well have shot each other. As it is, some dry goods got damagedĪnd neither, it seems, can the Guardian, who helpfully opened the floodgates yesterday when one ‘Martin Pengelly in New York’ obtained a copy ‘amid stringent pre-launch security around the book’. ![]() If this was many other countries, the brothers might well have shot each other. Though serious-minded types may turn their backs with a moue of distaste, speaking as someone who has been a hack since she was too young to vote, I can’t get enough of this sort of rubbish. Sometimes it feels as though Prince Harry is using the world’s media as his therapy couch – and sometimes it’s like having a drunk crying on your shoulder and telling you his life story in a bar. ![]() ![]() ![]() Dissing duchesses getting aerated over hormones, teenage deflowerings in desolate fields, cocaine ingested by noble noses, accusations of ginger bastardy, attempted derailing of putative wicked stepmothers and maternal approval from beyond the grave for the 16-toilets lifestyle – the burbling stream of confession never stops. We had barely absorbed the first wave of revelations – jewellery mashed, dog bowls smashed, a brother trashed – before the new tsunami of tattle related to Prince Harry’s imminent book Spare broke over our fevered faces. ![]()
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