Way of the World
The King, we’re told, has “evicted” the Duke and Duchess of Sussex from Frogmore Cottage. And, according to Omid Scobie, their impressively well-connected biographer, the Sussexes can’t believe it. “Sources”, he reports, tell him that the King’s decision “has left Harry and Meghan stunned”.
But has it? Really? If so, there’s a question I very much hope Mr Scobie will get the opportunity to ask them.
In what meaningful sense can you claim to have been “evicted” from a house you don’t actually live in?
The Sussexes certainly used to live in Frogmore Cottage. I grant them that. Three years ago, however, they very publicly chose to move out of it and live more than 5,000 miles away on the other side of the world instead. I’m surprised if they’ve forgotten. It was quite big news at the time.
At any rate, despite not living in it – or, even more crucially, owning it – the Sussexes apparently wished to retain Frogmore Cottage as their UK “base”.
Why precisely they would need a UK “base”, however, is unclear. We don’t even know whether they’re planning to come back to the UK for the Coronation. But if they aren’t planning to come back to attend the most important event of Harry’s father’s life, what on earth are they planning to come back for? Have they been booked to headline the main stage at Glastonbury? Is the Duke expecting to win the Booker Prize? (Obviously, this is just my little joke. The Booker is awarded solely for works of fiction. Whereas the Duke’s autobiography, as we all know, is a scrupulously accurate work of objective fact.)
Still, this isn’t the first time the Duke has been upset about losing access to a property he hasn’t inhabited for years. Long after he moved out of Clarence House, where he’d lived from the ages of 19 to 28, he was put out to learn that Camilla, the then Duchess of Cornwall, had turned his old bedroom into her dressing room. “I tried not to care,” he writes in his autobiography. “But, especially the first time I saw it, I cared.” Frustratingly, though, he says no more, thus leaving the reader in the dark as to why he would think the room should have been left as it was, given that it was no longer his. Perhaps the Duke had expected his old bedroom to be preserved for the nation, with future generations eagerly queuing up for guided tours of it. “And here, ladies and gentlemen, we have the historic room in which a young Prince Harry, the celebrated author and humanitarian, first played Mortal Kombat: Deadly Alliance on his Playstation 2…” Yet now, as well as a bedroom he doesn’t sleep in, the Duke has lost a house he doesn’t live in. A cruel blow. I suppose he’ll just have to live in his own house, instead.
We all remember how awful lockdown was. Still, look on the bright side. It could have been worse. We could have been forced by law to murder our cats.
Incredibly, it almost happened. Lord Bethell, a former health minister, revealed this week that, in the early days of the pandemic, the Government feared Covid was being spread to humans by their pets.
“In fact,” he said, “there was an idea at one moment that we might have to ask the public to exterminate all the cats in Britain.”
What a horrifying suggestion. The ultimate dead cat strategy. I only wonder how the Government would have broken the news. I suppose, as prime minister, Boris Johnson would have made one of his solemn televised addresses to the nation.
“Folks, I want to thank you all for your stupendous efforts to send this wretched disease packing. But I fear that, alas, we must introduce one small additional measure to safeguard public health.
“Stay Home. Protect the NHS. Kill Tiddles.”
Thank goodness it never came to pass. For one thing, I would have hated to read Matt Hancock’s Whatsapp messages about it.
“I said I’d kill 100,000 cats a day, and I WANT TO HIT MY TARGET…”
Many people have been both bewildered and appalled by the photos from a supposed “baby sensory” show in which an assortment of drag queens and performers in bondage-style gear cavorted before an audience of parents and their tiny children. One photo shows a topless woman wearing nothing but a tiny red thong and heart-shaped nipple pasties. I don’t remember seeing that sort of thing on The Sooty Show.
Critics want to know why on earth such an event was held. Personally, though, I think there’s an even more important question.
What sort of parent would want to take their children to it?
I can’t say for certain. But I think I can take a guess. It’s the sort of parent who is so insufferably progressive that watching a show like this makes them feel even smugger than normal, if that’s possible. Just imagine the lovely warm glow of self-congratulation that must spread over them, as the leatherclad dancers gyrate and writhe.
“Gosh, I’m just SO open-minded! So incredibly tolerant and inclusive! I’m taking my nine-month-old baby to watch a load of semi-naked men prance about in make-up and thigh-length boots, and I don’t feel uncomfortable about it in the least! Imagine being the sort of hateful, bigoted old Tory prude who would object to all this innocent joy! I do hope my children grow up to be as kind, caring and compassionate as me!”