END OF THE FAIRYTALE
IT HASN’T even been two years since that glorious golden day when the world watched a former bad-boy prince marry a sleek beauty in a chapel cloaked in splendour and steeped in tradition.
The global hype was off the charts – even Prince William and Kate’s wedding, wonderful though it was, paled in comparison.
This was the fairytale to end all fairy-tales. Harry, that once lost and direction-less lad, had fallen for a woman of the world, a woman who clearly loved her prince but had a strong mind of her own.
What a pair they’d make, he with his easy charm and sense of fun, she with her California confidence and street smarts.
Harry and Meghan, observers predicted, were going to shake things up. In fact, they could be the best thing to happen to the royal family in a long time: they had the common touch, the glamour, the star power.
But what they didn’t have, as has become all too obvious, was the will to sacrifice their dreams on the altar of duty.
They couldn’t do it – they didn’t want to do it.
To be fair, we shouldn’t be all that surprised. Almost since day one they’ve been determined to do things their way, carving their own path when it came to charity work, the arrival of baby Archie, social media, even holidays.
And when they gave a TV interview after their tour of Southern Africa, in which they confessed to feeling unsupported by the royal family and persecuted by the media, it was clear they weren’t happy.
Then suddenly, in the second week of 2020 and just after their six-week break in Canada, there it was: the announcement
