From Vegas to vegan! Harry’s stag weekend of yoga, yurts . . . and ‘chakra realignment’
The ultimate proof that new-age Meghan has made her Markle on bad-boy Prince
FORGET Vegas, Verbier and vodka – Prince Harry will be drinking laverbread smoothies and engaging in pre- dawn ancient Celtic chanting for his stag weekend at a spiritual yurt retreat in the valleys of West Wales later this month.
Proving that he’s truly under Meghan Markle’s well-manicured and very new-age thumb, the young Royal has chosen to forgo vigorous rounds of strip billiards in favour of having his chakras realigned at an eco-hotel nestling in the foothills
‘Jagerbombs will be replaced by nettle tea’
of the Beacons. Fearing a repeat of his infamous 2012 Vegas incident, where Harry was photographed with a bevy of scantily clad girls at a riotous pool party, Meghan has taken the unusual step of organising his itinerary for a wild weekend… in the wilderness.
Meghan, 36, has chosen a holistic £ 750- a- night campsite run by her reiki-master friends Mungo Chavez and Jetsun Khandro, who have carefully erected a cluster of sustainable felt yurts in a circle of prehistoric Preseli bluestones.
The site is on an ancient ley line in a Powys valley renowned for its strong magnetic connection to the earth. Guests are offered a cleansing fusion of Druidic rituals, Ayur- vedic yoga and Japanese stress relieving massages alongside a macrobiotic diet based around local ingredients including nettles and liquidised Welsh seaweed – or laverbread – scavenged from the pristine coast of Pembrokeshire.
‘Meghan wants Harry to spend the weekend getting grounded, not inebriated,’ says a friend. ‘She thinks a weekend of meditation and chakra-cleansing in Wales will fit the bill perfectly.’ The camp- site runs solely on solar energy and has no phone reception or charging points, so there’s no danger of Harry having a moment of his stag do inadvertently shared via smartphone.
Not that there will be much in the way of boozy antics to capture on camera. Harry, 33, has promised Meghan he will steer clear of Jagerbombs and will instead quench his April thirst by drinking nettle tea with his group of six male pals. Though he won’t be packing his Hawaiian swimming trunks or Nazi uniform, Meghan has at least allowed Harry to arrange fancydress code of sorts. Guests have been asked to bring organic white cotton shirts and white stretchy trousers for sunset yoga sessions.
But there will be a touch of regal luxury too as Meghan has arranged for her own ‘plant-based’ personal chef, Juno Bean, to join them. Vegan lunches will be prepared using wild garlic, berries and mushrooms foraged by the group.
Chakras are the seven centres of spiritual power in the human body. The cleansing practice was first introduced to Meghan by her mother Doria and has been taken up by Harry. It may all sound like a bit of laver palaver – but his friends insist Harry would be a fool not to follow Meghan’s advice.
PAUL YOUNGER, 53, an NHS procurement manager and father-of-two from South-East London, was diagnosed with tonsillar throat cancer caused by HPV in January. Today The Mail on Sunday publishes the first instalment of his searing personal diary, detailing his gruelling chemo and radiotheraphy sessions – and the devastating effect they have had on his life…
MARCH 9
I’M ON my way to Guy’s Hospital with my partner Helen before my treatment begins, feeling apprehensive. I’ve only had three intimate partners in my life and am numb from l earning that this cancer i s usually transmitted through sexual contact and can lie dormant for decades. I remember a quotation from Churchill: ‘When you’re going through hell, keep going.’
Nurse Laura gives me a leaflet about possible side effects of chemotherapy, especially nausea.
Later, back at home, Helen treats me to some Turkish delight. I wonder whether this sweet I adore will ever taste the same after my treatment.
MARCH 12
ON THE first day of my treatment as an outpatient at Guy’s, I go up to the ‘Chemo Village’. Laura directs me to chair 28, my home for the next six hours. In the distance I can see my birthplace, near the Crystal Palace TV mast. I silently pray for a cure.
At 2pm I’m hooked up to my final bag of fluid and then set off for radiotherapy. The mask I have to wear is really tight, like a straitjacket. I feel like I’m being throttled and my pulse is bursting in my neck.
Helen comes to collect me. I just want to get back to the security of home. I ask if she has a plastic bag and silently pray: ‘Please God don’t make me sick this evening on a packed commuter train.’
MARCH 13
AT ABOUT 6.30am nausea sets in. I manage some tea and cornflakes, washing down seven types of pill as I eat. During my radiotherapy I have a minor panic attack which I manage to overcome. I try to gulp, which is impossible with the tightness of the mask. It’s impossible to open your eyes or your mouth properly.
MARCH 14
ANOTHER sleepless night. I’m really nauseous with violent hiccups and a very dry throat.
Two days before my diagnosis six weeks ago I was in the gym. I ran two miles that morning, I rowed, cycled, lifted some weights and boxed a punch bag. My consultant told me on diagnosis that I had to stop going to the gym immediately and focus on putting weight on to combat future loss from the treatment. Now I am 21 lb heavier. Fitness: another loss.
After treatment I meet Specialist Nurse Tina. She says 80 per cent of people my age have been exposed to HPV, and no one knows what causes the cancer to grow from its dormant state. She mentions the campaign to get our boys vaccinated. This cancer can be wiped out. In the bathroom mirror I notice my neck is already reddening.
MARCH 15
I GOT up three times in the night to gargle with bicarbonate of soda and salt – akin to having a sweaty sock rinsed out in your mouth.
The pills are making me really constipated and bloated. The train to Guy’s is packed with schoolchildren and there’s nowhere to sit. I’m hot, sweaty, and in a panic. Pride prevents me from asking someone to move. When ladies are pregnant they can now wear visible badges: perhaps cancer patients should wear something similar.
On the train home I fall asleep and nearly miss my stop. Later I go public on Facebook about my illness. I ’ m overwhelmed by t he response – more than 150 messages from family and footballing friends, along with phone calls. It’s good to feel loved.
MARCH 16
TODAY I have to start injecting myself with Filgrastim into my stomach to produce more white