Christopher Lee

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Harry’s Game.  I’m a Royal. Media Keep Out

22 January 2013

What is Harry’s Game? Harry being the lovable royal rascal of every girl’s dreams – as the royal PR sells it.

So the very gallant prince has finished his tour of Afghanistan as second pilot and gunner in his amazingly hi-tech Apache helo and with everyone’s consent (MOD, Army, Palace, his colonel and the prince himself)  allowed a BBC TV crew to interview him in theatre.  His main message?  The media is shit.

Well, that we knew and know. The media deals in shit because there’s a lot of it about.

It does things like uncovering the Jimmy Savile scandal. It does Wikileaks. It headlines the adultery of Harry’s father and mother – the Prince of Wales and the Princess of Wales. It says No More about the ghastliness of Vietnam.  It splashes the cocaine muddle antics of pop stars who drink and dope themselves to death. It pilories politicians who rip off the system and help themselves to big bucks in the public purse. It discovers plumbers in the Watergate Building and brings down a crooked President of the United States.  There’s a bigger list. That’s enough.

It also does the kiss-my-ass show biz and sports celeb circuit which is the stuff most people want to read.  Harry comes into the last bit. He is a celeb and he exploits it. He’s like a lot of princes in every royal family in British history.  

The Hanoverian princes screwed and spewed their way round London society in much the way Harry does. He comes from an immediate family of party goers and goers of more excitable nature.  

His grandfather, Prince Philip was a hell raiser and woman chaser in his younger day.  His great aunt, the Queen’s sister Princess Margaret had her toes licked and smoked up big in the Caribbean.

His father openly had a mistress and once said he’d like to be one of her Tampax pads.  If there had been a national sex team, his mother would have been a shoo-in, so much so that smutty hacks speculate that one of his his mother’s lovers is his biological father.

His uncle, Prince Andrew was a famous swordsman (and at the same time, a very fine Royal Navy helicopter pilot).

So here we have Harry, wearing a richly earned hero’s image in Afghanistan dismissing his 3am clubbing exits when he looks like any other sweaty jeaned lout on the London all-night circuit with a strip-me-quick blonde at his side.  

In the BBC interview, Captain Wales does the gun on hip and Stand By for take off with only the Wagnerian sound-track missing image thing as good as anyone.  If he’s got half a brain (and he’s got double that) he and the Palace know that his street cred got a 1000 point rise at the end of the interview.  This was made easier  because the interviewer (described elsewhere as a BBC defence correspondent sic) in a lousy operational environment, managed to ask the prince the crassest of questions – is there anyone waiting for you at home?

It may not be a blonde, but there are thousands, maybe millions waiting for Harry at home.  He is far away the most popular royal after his grandmother, certainly more so than his fairy-tale brother with his girlie waves. But Harry curses the media because they won’t let him alone. He comes from the most privileged background with every advantage imagined and paid for by someone else.

In return, the fee paying public who fork out £millions every year for the Royal Family in something that used to be the Civil List simply want to gawp. Gawping is what spectators do.  All but a very close circle of Harry’s friends never get closer than gawping and as much as the media may be shit, it’s the only way in.

An act of fate got him born into the most famous family in the whole world. Most people have to play with crueller decks than that.  Maybe Harry should just get on with being who he is and stop moaning about it.  That’s what the rest of have to do.

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