OMG, the ‘Guardianistas’ are at it again; “Time to strip Prince Harry of his title – “Our flame haired young buck is just too embarrassing – we should invoke the opt-out clause”. We had, VEGAS, NAKED, playing STRIP BILLIARDS highlighted in bold upper case, just in case you missed the point. Shock, horror, pass the smelling salts.
Where do they find these blowhards who write for them? At least they could see that our flame haired young buck is a true redhead. Harry is a young man, a soldier doing a stressful job with the added stress of carrying out his Royal duties such as standing in for Her Majesty at the Olympic closing ceremony admirably. He was having some downtime in private in a hotel in (What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas) Las Vegas.
Are the clowns at the Guardian jealous because he can afford to holiday in Vegas or are they jealous that he looks ‘so fit’ as my female friends would describe him. For Lord’s sake, I know that it is the silly season as far as news goes but leave the young, single, soldier alone. One could criticise his choice of acquaintances, no friend would publish his mobile phone pictures on the internet.
The rest of our holier than thou media, are patting themselves on the back because they have respected his privacy by not publishing the photos. Who do they think they are fooling? Graphic descriptions at some length have filled their pages for at least a couple of days, I use some length rather tongue in cheek.
To own up, just in case some of my friends might consider exposing me on the internet, I have a confession. It was a long time ago, long before this body was old and wrinkled, I was with the serene beautiful one and some friends in Ibiza. We decided to join a cruise boat to Formentera, often described as the last outpost of paradise and had a great time. As we returned the boat anchored just off another small island and the skipper announced over a tannoy that the first person to swim completely naked around the boat would win a large bottle of chilled champagne…
I didn’t consider how high the deck was above the sea and not one to pass up a challenge I stripped off, and dived into the sea, circled the boat as nature intended, with all the hundred or so passengers cheering. Oh dear, I then had to climb up a rope ladder, back over the guardrail and back to where my embarrassed, serene, beautiful one was holding my clothes. My friends were clapping and cheering with the rest of the passengers, although Pollyanna didn’t speak for the rest of the day. I wonder if she was a Guardian reader before we married.
In my defence, I was on holiday and unwinding and as a former matelot I had been conditioned to always obey the last pipe, whether it was ‘hands to dance and skylark’ or ‘hands to bathe’. We are still happily married simply because Pollyanna is quite forgiving and has remarkably good sense. Quite unlike those at the Guardian but I forgive them because we can’t all be serene and beautiful. In case they hadn’t noticed, Harry had already stripped.