Bleating

On the whole I think that Prince Harry might have had a better time if he had married Number Two Daughter after all.

I ought to remind you that he could not have married Number One Daughter, because apart from having been married to Number One Son-In-Law at the time, she did actually meet him once as a part of her Army career, or at least met other people who had met him, I forget which. Anyway, she subscribed to the generally-held military opinion that he was a bit of a muppet. This is not a good basis for a relationship, even though it would appear that practically the entire population of the UK is now in agreement.

I am really quite astonished to discover that anybody might think that broadcasting intimate details of their family squabbles to a breathlessly intrigued worldwide audience, might in any way help to improve friendly relationships. Announcing to the world that all of your relatives are horrid is unlikely to make said relatives yearn for your company at Christmas dinner. This is true even if you weep into a lace-edged lawn handkerchief whilst you are doing it.

It is an unutterably rubbish thing to do. It is worse than giving your granny back the acrylic cardigan she gave to you last Christmas. It is worse than telling your mother how she could improve on her method of cooking sprouts. It is worse than breaking wind at the dinner table and then looking accusingly at your sister-in-law.

It is even, and somebody in my own family did this once, mentioning no names, worse than getting hideously drunk and being sick in a handy saucepan, which you then hide under your bed and forget about for a fortnight.

In fairness to Number Two Daughter, she was very young at the time.

They are not going to be asked back.

I can only think that perhaps Boris has promised to make Good Prince Hal into Important Head Of Military Matters and Chief of All Other Soldiers in exchange for doing the interview. It might not have achieved family harmony amongst the Windsors, but it has certainly distracted all of our attention from whatever current skulduggery in which the Government is engaged whilst nobody is looking.

I am no longer interested in Prince Harry and his woebegone misunderstood wife. I started off by not being interested, because it is terribly proletarian to be interested in the Royal family’s soap operas and I am trying my best to get into the middle classes. After a little while I gave in, and secretly read a bit here and there. By this morning there wasn’t anything else to read and so I read it all with a clear conscience, because clearly it has now started to come under the respectable headline of Current Affairs.

I have now become bored with it, and would now very much prefer to read anything at all that was not about Prince Harry, as long as it wasn’t about Nicola Sturgeon, but to no avail. Out of about twenty stories on the front page, about eighteen were headed with a picture of sorrowful Californian self-pity.

I even turned on the BBC in my search for alternative news, to see if anything interesting was happening in BBC Land.

It turned out to be a man, lamenting about how capitalists had broken the moon by announcing that they owned it. He explained that this had spoiled all joy in the moon for him.

You do not need to pay a licence fee just for listening to the BBC on the radio, and it is a jolly good job, that’s all I can say.

I made some biscuits and went to the farm for some more moss for my archway. I was pursued, once again, by the sheep, who do not lead very exciting lives. It appears that my appearance has become their daily highlight. This is because sheep do not read newspapers or listen to the radio, what a lot they are missing.

I took another picture of the sheep.

It reminds me of a picture I saw in the paper of the media waiting outside Buckingham Palace.