Hang on! Just pulling on my Bison pelt and Davy Crockett fur hat in a bid to stave off the cold and encourage my fingers to work … I jest but needs must and I may be driven to join Alexander Fuller in her yurt in Wyoming – she lives above her horse – before long. Actually, ‘driven to’ suggests a bad thing when, I believe, she has got it so right. She has chosen to live the simplest life, akin to nature, in a bid to be at one with herself, cleansed of a vile world gripped by the worst of humanity: those driven by greed and ego. I envy her courage – and her yurt. Believe me, her style and creativity would make Kelly Hoppen come out in a cold sweat! It’s called the personal touch.
One paragraph in and I am already off on a tangent. Oh, well. 2023. It’s dark. It’s rainy. It’s miserable and everybody is flat – and every year, one questions why one chooses to live in this climate? Why? I mean, let’s face it, Britain is an utter shambles; a corrupt utter shamble. A costly, corrupt utter shambles devoid of leadership and, increasingly, pandering to the lowest common denominator. Who can afford to live here anymore, let alone wants to? Well, aside from the thousands of immigrants who, seemingly unchecked, are rewarded for their rowing prowess with 5-star accommodation at the taxpayer’s expense … Answered my own question. It does seem more miserable than usual, though, January. Meanwhile, there is no escape from Prince Harry!
So, Christmas came and went and I remained stoic in my decision not to watch the series of six Netflix documentaries. Becca had dipped in – even Manny, too – but not me. However, everyone gone, decorations down, 19 Crimes poured, it was either continue with my Bridget Jones’ impersonation – perfecting the key change in All by Myself – or lose myself in Montecito with the controlling ventriloquist and her dummy, not forgetting the sixteen bathrooms! My singing voice isn’t what it used to be, sadly …
You know what? I was right. Any rendition of All by Myself would have been preferable to six hours of THIS! Give me strength! I don’t think, in all my days, anything on television has enraged me as much. No, I tell a lie. On Christmas Eve, Manny suggested we watch a film entitled The Worst Person in the World. Note to self: do not re-live trauma! No words. Just don’t! Christmas Eve, 2022. To think we could have watched paint dry … In the words of country singer, Trace Adkins, after he had spent time with the Backstreet Boys on the American Celebrity Apprentice of 2008 – ‘That’s two hours of my life I can never get back!’, or words to that effect.
Back to Montecito, though … or the journey to. Anyone ever come across a pathological liar? I have. Two and counting. Strange, both were narcissistic divas. A common thread. Anyway, back to six hours of their truth. It doesn’t help that I struggle with the opening: the historic footage morphing into black and white imagery of them, smiling, laughing, having so much fun and so in love. Buy it? Not for a second but hats off to the attempt to give the whole thing some weight. As for the music … Just me, or is it Downton Abbey-esque? What, though, of the content? Almost tolerable in the first three episodes – Harry being, initially, more of a focus – but introduce the ‘successful’ American actress and Pinocchio would be proud! The thing is, I have read respected Royal author, Tom Bower’s biography of Meghan – Revenge. A true incite in whose pages the now deified Doria, for one, earns no colours – not a drug in sight! Meanwhile, the ruthless ambition of the protagonist is a running theme from the start; someone who has used and discarded throughout her life, money and fame her raison d’être. She came to London in 2016, focused on finding a rich, British husband, about which she was more than public. Footballer Ashley Cole was a chosen victim but, somehow, he escaped. Not so, poor, vulnerable Harry. The mutual acquaintance who brokered the meeting must forever live with the guilt … Although, apparently, they ‘met’ on Instagram.
Whatever. To be honest, the negative critique of these Netflix documentaries could run to thesis proportions, the sickly-sweet insincerity of Meghan absolutely nauseating, not to mention the feigned tears – right?! Remember, she is blameless. She tried desperately to fit in but her popularity soared to heights which threatened the other family members and they, along with the press, turned on her. End of. Nothing to do with her bullying her staff. Nothing to do with her diva behaviour. Oh, no. It was everything to do with her being of mixed race. Amazing. When did the colour of one’s skin become a Get Out of Jail Free card in terms of behaviour? Unacceptable behaviour. She wrote a lovely five-page letter to her father, though, excerpts of which were published by the Daily Mail (for which she sued, successfully, although God knows how!). In the meantime, all the texts which went back and forward between she and Jason Knauf – their Communications Secretary at the time – regarding the careful choice of emotive wording in the event of a leak? Well, they just slipped her mind …
Where did all these so-called ‘friends’ appear from? The ones pleading her case, ‘tearful’ at her treatment? Most black, no sign at the wedding. Perhaps they were relegated in favour of the Clooneys, Oprah or Idris Elba and his wife, dear friends yet to be introduced? Could it be that they were actors, paid for the purpose of the documentary? Then, there was saintly Doria’s ‘tears’ as she recalled learning of her daughter’s suicidal thoughts … My father – Pop – was an eminent Consultant Psychiatrist. He abhorred hysterics but when it came to suicide, one thing about which he was adamant was that those who talk about it have no intention of taking their own lives.
What of the insulting, disrespectful slavery history lesson? What of the lengthy explanation for the abusive tweets, racist, of course? Supposedly, orchestrated by a small group of vengeful women including her half-sister – whose middle name and date of birth, she claims, she has no idea. The list goes on – and on, and on! To summarise, then, Me-g did nothing wrong. She couldn’t help being so popular, overshadowing the entire Royal Family. She couldn’t help being of mixed race, thrown to the wolves by the press and exposing a culture or racism not only in the Windsors but prevalent throughout the country. She just wanted to fit in and to serve … Obviously! Perhaps, then, she should have paid more heed to the words of Michael Jackson in Black or White: ‘I’m not going to spend my life being a colour’. Yes, yes. Ignore the fact that he spent his whole life trying to change the colour of his skin but … Remove the allegations of racism and what is left? A massive ego driving a ruthless ambition? Granted but, among the wealth of comments, there was one I noticed which stood out for its simplicity: could it be just that Meghan Markle is not a very likeable person? Ironically, the racist accusations only seemed to take flight as the true diva emerged and the men in grey suits were forced to invest in more oil for the swing doors of the Sussex staff offices, subject to excessive use! For Me-g, herself, admits that being bi-racial was never an issue growing up, or, indeed, as a Z-list actress. Everyone assumed she was white. Nobody cared until she did; until she played the race card in a misguided attempt to deflect from her behaviour and save her own skin. Age old. Big mistake, though. Huge mistake!
For goodness sake, I haven’t even had a chance to ‘discuss’ Harry’s interview with Tom Bradby – to be continued, perhaps – but, suffice to say, he had me onside in the first half only, focusing on his mother’s death and relations with his family pre-Me-g. I, too, shared his pain and frustration at being met with accusations of delusion and paranoia from his blood family when, hurt, all he wanted was for them to listen; to help him understand why. Guilt prevented mine from doing so but, in Harry’s case, how could they tell him that they couldn’t stand Meghan? That she was the problem? Apparently, she was behind him, off-camera, during the interview. Apparently, she took her favourite calligraphy pen to the notes for his book – extensively! Apparently, she dresses him … Seriously, though, loving the black t-shirts and tracky bottoms, Harry! What happened to the linen shirts, chinos and desert boots? We all know. It dawned on me that much of the footage reminded me of the Katie Price reality documentaries (seen bits!) in which the world revolves around her; her hair, her make-up, her nails, her clothes and her ego. Pay any idiot to be sycophantic … Meanwhile, the tragedy is that Harry – once the second most popular member of the Royal Family – has been reduced to one of those hen-pecked husbands who follows his wife around the supermarket of a weekend, pushing her trolley – or sits outside the changing room for hours, complements and wallet to hand. The power of the wrong woman!
Anyone still with me? Worth it for the quote to follow. Not even halfway through January but this one will be hard to top. The irony. The ignorance.
‘It’s amazing what people will do when offered a huge amount of money.’
Yes, Harry, isn’t it?!
This is Trish, signing off – eventually. No element of force was involved …