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Laurence Inman’s Blog



Reflections on this weeks royal race rows by Laurence Inman.

Remember the ‘Yo Blair’ encounter, when George humiliated Tone ?

'Oh, let me go to Iran George. It doesn't matter if I fail.'

'No, we're sending Condy,' he snapped before going back to tossing popcorn in his stupid mouth.

What many people don’t recall is the exchange just before this. George was telling Tone that the solution to all the trouble in the Middle East was simple: we just get so-and-so to threaten somebody else ‘and this shit’s over.’

'And this shit's over.'

So, there you have it. American foreign policy. World politics. Global diplomacy.

And Laughing Boy (Fettes, Oxford, Middle Temple, RADA – failed the interview) didn’t say, ‘Oh George, you idiot. The stuff you come out with would shame a six-year-old. Resign immediately before things get really bad.’

No, he just kept licking.

Pass the pretzels.

Similarly, what will be remembered of Prince Harry of Wales, Saxe-Coburg, Heidelburg, Leipzig (and all stations east)’s casual racist murmurings will be the offending word, and not the immediate context: ‘Our little **** friend.’

Those words, our, little and friend, speak volumes about Von Harry and his like, the pampered sons of families who infest Belgravia, Chelsea and Mayfair.

When I was a kid I often heard people refer to ‘our dusky brethren’ or ‘our coloured friends.’ At first I took these remarks at face value – they were weighted with welcome and goodwill. Only later did I begin to realise they were rather like Himmler saying ‘our Jewish friends.’

And ‘little.’

Harry’s class are always having to meet ‘little’ people. The man who clears the drains. The man who frightens the pheasants so that Harry can shoot them. The Prime Minister. They’re all tiny and insignificant, but they have to be there to keep Harry’s world warm and well-supplied.

At least Harry’s only the spare. The real prince knows when to keep his trap shut. But beware! We could end up with another 1936-type-scenario. Willy might decide that a life of tree-planting, ribbon-cutting and plaque-unveiling is not for him, and like his great-great-uncle David run off with his girlfriend, glad-handing it with his dictator chums for the rest of his days. In 1936 that left us with stuttering Bertie and his tiny wife – the rest is history.

We could easily end up with Sloane-Danger on the throne!

But wait. Not many people know this, but there is no constitutional reason why the next-oldest brother of the monarch has to succeed. In 1936 we could have had Prince George. He was suave, good-looking and very bright. He married Princess Marina of Greece, the most beautiful woman in the world. The people loved him.

The only trouble was his bi-sexuality and his heroin addiction. He was regularly to be seen cavorting round Soho with the likes of Noel Coward. Then in 1942, even though he was carefully kept away from any combat zone, he flew his plane into the sea off the coast of Scotland.

So, if Willy does a runner, any one of the lower cousins from some distant East European scion of the family would do. It would make a change at least.

Breaking news.....Daddy has decided to deflect attention from H by revealing that he has an Asian pal at the polo club who he always calls ‘Sooty.’ He doesn’t mind, honest. They like it really. They’re all good little chaps with a sense of humour.

I mean, really! Isn’t it time we put these people out of their misery?



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