When Harry met Meghan


*It’s All Bollocks And That’s Official

Extracted from Finding Freedom by Omid Scobie and Carolyn Durand, the breathless and gushing serialisation in the Times is yet more prole-fodder from the House of Murdoch.

In search of something mindless to read while pondering on another problem, I delved into the Sunday Times’ Harry/Meghan fairy-tale earlier today.

My time was not wasted; it was yet another confirmation of Rupert Murdoch’s hatred of the British class system, and the liberal media’s determination to present everything as a racial issue.

Large tranches of the extracts are beyond parody: the initial meeting at Soho House treated as if Meghan the Trophy Hunter didn’t know who Harry was – and of course, the instant chemistry.

Meghan told a friend that she and Harry talked so much, about things she rarely shared with anyone.“I’ve never felt that safe,” Meghan told this friend, “that close to someone in such a short amount of time.”

Er, yes, well – there is an algebraic equation that runs:

Safety = Untold Wealth x unearned privilege +Fuck me, I’m penniless, divided by, um,

fuck me, I’m penniless = what’s not to like?

You may wonder why I choose this tawdry tale to make a point. Here’s why….

Rupert Murdoch is a very smart communicator: he knows that simply saying “The Royal Family is crap” would get him nowhere in Britain. But he also knows that ‘death by a thousand nibbles’ will destroy part of what still glues Great Britain together, and that the fast lane to applauded virtue signalling is ‘poor lonely little girl undone by inflexibly rigid Royal racists’.

The truth is, until circles around Meghan Markle introduced the ethnicity element, hardly anyone was aware that she had a black parent.

From the moment she arrived in the Royal Family, it was obvious this lady was trouble. But Rupert Murdoch remains a man committed to the globalisation of everything, and the destruction of national sovereignty – for fewer negotiating points mean bigger and better deals.

Murdoch just loves to present thoughtful discernment as ‘Toff’ snobbery. This is the biggest joke of all, for his father’s fortune enabled Old Roop to have a Toff’s education topped off by an Oxbridge degree.

No doubt, the Millennial fluffies and a few daft old dears will read this Mills & Boon claptrap – “they were each already dancing around the idea that this just may be a forever thing” – and go aaaaaagh a lot. But on this occasion, the ageing dissembler has hit a bum note: the Brits are variously bored, embarassed, distracted and disappointed in Harry’s choice of mate.

There is no appetite for a second Mrs Simpson in the UK. Rather, there is an unease about other stuff that is far more important.