In Which I Step Back From My Royal Duties

The mixed public response to Harry and Meghan’s decision to undergo a joint royal-ectomy has been surprising. After I heard about it, I expected people to react with a similar level of bemusement as to when Shia LaBeouf declared he was ‘not famous anymore’ by writing said sentiment on a brown paper bag, which he had filled to the brim with his own head. The boomer contingent of the vocal respondents of the news seem to also have chosen to wear bags over their heads, but with a hastily written ‘I am not racist anymore’ over the front. And instead of a cheap brown style, they have opted for a plain crepe paper design, filtering everything they see through a suffocating haze of whiteness.

A strange upshot of the news was Eamonn Holmes’ remarks about his dislike for Meghan Markle, based purely on her appearance and having never met her. Instead of repeating and discussing those remarks at length here, I decided that I would visit Eamonn myself, based on the weird assumption that in getting to know him, I would be in a better position to offer an opinion on him. Having never heard of me, and knowing only that I am a white, English man, he chose some random adjectives out of his head, and decided that I was to be trusted, and allowed in his home.
Unfortunately he wasn’t there when I arrived, as he had taken a last minute trip to the cinema to see the terrible film ‘Cats’ (the idea for which I am solely responsible according to last week’s blog). I asked his wife why he had chosen to see the film, given its terrible reviews, and she explained that Eamonn was sceptical of the opinions of people who had actually seen the film, as they were biased by information and experience. I had already left by the time he had returned home, but politely texted him to ask what he thought of the film. He told me that after buying a ticket, he had sat in the cinema foyer, eating popcorn with his eyes closed, imagining what the film might be like. He added that all he knew about the film beforehand was that Jennifer Hudson and Idris Elba were in it, but that the film was definitely shit for unrelated reasons.

Harry & Meghan’s decision to try to move towards being financially independent seems beyond reproach though doesn’t it? I hope for everyone’s sake they can manage it, although if they don’t I did recently play a Nazi on Doctor Who, a role that seems suited to Harry’s interests if it should become available again (I have decided I am allowed one humblebrag per blog). Obviously Meghan is already an actress, but I worry that she is now only seen as a princess, and would struggle to get cast as a series regular on Suits again. Surely she’ll be relegated to cameos in The Crown, Internet pop-up ads for skincare (‘middle-aged women hate her!’) and terrible Comic Relief sketches where she is hilariously revealed to be the next James Bond or something. My money’s on her releasing her own fragrance in a year’s time: Treason, by Meghan.

Obviously I can completely relate to their situation, also wanting to be financially independent from my grandmother. No-one likes grovelling, and asking for a £50 birthday donation two months early just sounds sarcastic. I am in a bit of a dry spell work-wise though while I wait for some dosh to come through. I’m trying to stay busy in the meantime, but with every creative task I keep telling myself there’s something else I should be doing that’s more worthwhile. It’s a defeatist chain of self-criticism, like a human centipede where the person in front of you continuously asks: ‘is this really the best use of your time?’ At least the actual human centipede participants had someone else to blame for wasting their time. Assuming you consider the consumption of human shit a waste of time, which personally I do, but I’m not here to yuck anyone’s yums.
To be honest, I’ve never even seen The Eamonn Human Centipede, but I’m certain it’s ‘incredibly irritating’, ‘awful’ and ‘manipulative’.

Next time on the bandwagon – Who has two thumbs and loves writing? This drawing I made of a dog, with chimpanzee hands, and the brain of Hilary Mantel.