Ginger & Pulp Friction
THIS column is coming to you live from a Cornish cliff top beneath a cloudless blue sky.
And it is absolutely stunning. No matter what the haters say about our glorious country(ies) you really can’t beat the British Isles. Our coasts, our forests, our mountains, our countryside and, yes, even our cities.
Even in the foulest of weather I genuinely think we live in one of the best places on Earth. And we should be proud of that.
We are also, on the whole, a lovely bunch of people.
With all the doom and gloom peddled by the usual subjects of fear-mongering scientists, ego-driven politicians and heritagehating academics, we should never forget the good things in life. And be proud of what we have and who we are.
So make sure your glass is always half full and celebrate our gorgeous summer to the max.
ONE of the most fascinating and influential global figures of our time is going to share his adventures, losses and life lessons with us all next year.
He is a man of such immense importance to all our lives that we would be lost without his influence and benevolence. How any of us have got through the pandemic without him, God only knows.
He has kept our spirits high, our lives safer and supported us every step of the way. To be totally honest I am absolutely in love with the man and will be eternally grateful that he is sharing his journey with us all in a book that will eventually, let’s be honest, be as revered as the Bible, Koran and Torah.
Of which giant of our times are we talking? Which world leader/saviour/ God has meant this much to us all recently?
Er, a posh ginger bloke who hooked up with some two-bit Yank soap actress and knocked out a couple of kids.
It’s true. The Queen’s once favourite grandchild has decided to bestow his loyal subjects with a self-penned opus detailing his incredibly fascinating and humble life. For 16million quid.
It will be published next year and our Nazi uniform/p-word using hero says: “I am writing this not as the prince I was born, but as the man I have become.
“I can help show that no matter where we come from, we have more in common than we think. I will share what I’ve learnt over the course of my life so far and am excited for people to read a firsthand account of my life that’s accurate and wholly truthful.”
Though, cough, recollections may vary obviously…
And it’s already started with a lie hasn’t it? Because in what way is a man literally born as a spare in any way that “globally influential”?
All he’s actually done is make a living from his Royal status by constantly whinging about his incredibly privileged life, his hideous “racist” family and vile “hate-filled” country of origin.
At the same time, naturally, as protesting about the importance of his privacy and how he wants to be left alone to be “just an ordinary loving father and husband”. Oh and let’s not forget the endless sanctimonious lectures on how we should all live our lives in an environmentally aware, eco-friendly, vegan, chicken-rescuing way from an £11million mansion in sun-soaked California where Tom Cruise is a neighbour.
The sheer, utter, breathtaking hypocrisy of this deluded, self-obsessed brat is stunning. He would be nothing without his royal connections yet professes to hate everything about them. Does he really think the fame-hungry missus would be with him if he were just a balding ex-squaddie from Rotherham? Or that he’d have the win double of obsequiousness, Oprah Winfrey and James Corden, fighting over who can get the furthest up his pampered posterior?
Plus the timing is gobsmacking. It’s the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee in 2022, which should be a time for this newly widowed 95-year-old woman to gather her family around her and reflect on a life of dedication and duty.
Surely at some point the navel-gazing numpty formally known as Prince thinks about the effect his behaviour has on his granny? Though, given it’s quite clear he can’t stand his brother, sisterin-law or father, probably not.
From a family point of view it’s more depressing than anything even Eastenders could come up with.
Hilariously the last time I dared to write about a geezer who had implied our beautiful country was a racist hellhole (before moving to the home of the Ku Klux Klan where they shoot one another) I was accused by the Ginger and Whinger fan club of being jealous because he didn’t marry me, a “raddled old hag” (they may have had a point on that bit.)
So before they start I’d like to make it very clear that if I wanted to listen to a balding, redheaded geezer moaning and feeling sorry for himself, I can do that already thank you.
He’s called the husband.