Blood brothers not rabid royal rivals
LET’S steel ourselves for an avalanche of animosity. It seems to have been decreed that it is impossible for two married brothers to live in close harmony, especially when each has a superlatively attractive wife. We’ve binged on soaps and gorged on reality TV to the point where we simply cannot believe that two gorgeous women are capable of rather liking one another.
We are hopelessly addicted to family feuds, internecine warfare, nefarious plotting and all sorts of spine-tingling edge-of-the-seat behaviour. That’s why Prince Harry and Meghan’s decision to establish their family home a full 25 miles outside London at Frogmore Cottage in the grounds of Her Majesty’s Windsor Estate, is being greeted with a cacophonous chorus of disapproval.
Royal observers are detecting gaping cracks in the relationship between Harry and William and festering rivalry between Kate and Meghan. So serious, we are told, is the schism that no one would be surprised if self-proclaimed pundits flung in a few nuggets of so-called information about George, Charlotte and Louis flinging chunks of Lego and Farley’s rusk at their uncle and aunt.
Of course rabid rivalry makes a riveting story, cordial companionship doesn’t. Meghan and Kate hailing from dramatically different backgrounds yet rubbing along together pretty well is hardly headline making. Instead we settle down comfortably to tales of jealousy, social incompatibility and most particularly intense competitive wearing of high-street versus high-end designer fashion.
Two stunning females dressing in the privacy of their own boudoirs and sallying forth in their chosen outfits to bring a touch of royal glamour to the lives of their loyal subjects is not sensational enough to satisfy our appetite for scandal.
SO INSTEAD, we are now being served a diet of Kate Vs Meghan – a bloody battle played out in boots, belts and frocks. We’re supposed to believe in hostile handbags at dawn, aggressive tiara wearing and combative couture.
Gentle reader, I know you are far too discerning to buy into what Boris Johnson would call this “pyramid of piffle”. Nothing is rotten in the House of Windsor. William and Harry are bound by the tragically premature loss of their mother and the unshakeable fact that not a soul on the planet understands their bizarre position the way they do. They are and always have been allies, co-conspirators, partners in crime and each other’s most trusted and guaranteed confidants.
They enjoy spending time together, share jokes and secrets that the rest of the world will never discover and wouldn’t risk breaking their bond for any reason. What’s more, Kate and Meghan are not a couple of naïve ingénues.
They are seasoned women of the world, far too sensible and pragmatic to countenance destroying their husband’s most precious fraternal union. Both are kind-hearted, generous and spirited. Not scheming harpies out to separate devoted brothers. Meghan and Harry are moving because they fancy it. There is no malice aforethought. End of.
GENTLEMAN GEOFF WASN’T STUMPED BY MY EMBARRASSING OWN-GOAL
I AM still blushing as I write this. Never again will I hesitate when asked for my most embarrassing moment.
On Sunday evening the other half and I hurtled in late – we’d apologised in advance – to the Grand Order of Water Rats ball at London’s Grosvenor House hotel.
We tried to slink into our seats as unobtrusively as possible. I was seated next to a gentleman who peered at my place card and said: “Vanessa Feltz. That name is familiar. What is it you do exactly?” I explained that I present the Early Breakfast Show on Radio 2, Breakfast on Radio London, am an agony aunt on This Morning and write this column for the Daily Express. I had a good old gander at his place card.
It read, Sir Geoff Hurst MBE. “Likewise”, I said, “your name is very familiar. I think you are a sportsman. Are you a cricketer?”
To his eternal credit Sir Geoff “hat-trick” Hurst gently explained that he’d scored three goals, one of them the winner, in the 1966 World Cup final.
Only then did I notice the procession of adoring fans queueing up to express their undying affection for our greatest sporting legend.
Very kindly he signed his place card for me. He wrote: Best wishes, Geoff Hurst ’66. “NOT CRICKET!” I will never, ever live it down.