Some years ago, a family friend rang her niece, announcing herself as “hello, it’s Mimi”. The younger woman, distracted by kids, a barking dog and fish fingers burning under a grill, heard only the word ‘me’ and – not unreasonably – asked “who?” Mimi repeated herself. The din on the other end of the line was still in full swing, so the enquiry came back once again as to who the hell was calling.
A Simple Misunderstanding
Infuriated and assuming her niece was now willfully mishearing her, the aunt angrily slammed down the phone. The two women never spoke again, stubbornly entrenched as they were on either side of a simple misunderstanding and neither willing to back down.
I remembered this story as I read the latest he-said-this and they-said-that gossip about Prince Harry and Buckingham Palace. The latest row – I know, I’m rolling my eyes too – is all about security arrangements for Harry, who flew in to the UK on a series of charity engagements including promoting the Invictus Games.
The Royal Row
Did he receive an offer of Royal accommodation? Did he dither about accepting it, turn it down and then change his mind? Did his dad, the King, make an offer of bed and board for him and then retract it or decide it was simply too late to organise everything? We’ll never really know. But if we look at this whole tale of woe dispassionately it’s all a ridiculous mess. If the central players lived at number 14 and not Windsor Castle people would shake their heads at the foolishness of it all.
Of course the Royal Family are not like us. They inhabit palaces, have servants and you have to make formal appointments to see each other. Spontaneous get-togethers in the garden, burgers on the barbecue, are not where it’s at for them. But that doesn’t mean they, like the rest of us, can’t be blindly pig-headed. So isn’t it about time this endless saga stopped?
A Call for Reconciliation
The King is an elderly man and has been unwell. Harry has children who don’t have a relationship with their grandad or indeed many others on his side of the family. Unpleasant things have been said and accusations made and there is mistrust and ill-feeling. But has it honestly come to this? Isn’t life too short to get in a flap about which bed someone is going to sleep in?
People fall out for all sorts of reasons – sometimes for very good reason – but there is rarely anything which can’t ultimately be fixed by an honest conversation. I reckon that time has come for Harry and his father, without the interference of aids, friends or other relatives. Things may seem terribly broken but they can be repaired. They say you can choose your friends but not your family, but blood – even bad blood – is thicker than water.
One More Thing: Technology Woes
How infuriating it is when technology turns against you. Last month my computer refused to start, then a smart speaker went off piste and finally – and most painfully – the telly died. I assumed I’d be off to Argos to buy another but instead found a repairman who arrived with a hand-held electronic device and the air of an IT expert. He fixed it in no time.
All very different to the days of Rediffusion when a bloke with a tool box took the back off and fiddled about with wires, fuses and what my dad mysteriously called ‘the tube’. It didn’t help that in the ‘70s our telly doubled as a handy shelf for ornaments and vases of flowers. After an incident with some carnations, it was out with the old set and in with the new.
I was seven and when it arrived my black and white world was transformed. My parents too were agog, amazed that after years of guessing which ball was which, they could watch the snooker in colour, the way God – and Ray Reardon – intended.
