I looked at Willy, really looked at him, maybe for the first time since we were boys. I took it all in: his familiar scowl, which had always been his default in dealings with me; his alarming baldness, more advanced than my own; his famous resemblance to Mummy, which was fading with time. With age.
In some ways he was my mirror, in some ways he was my opposite. My beloved brother, my arch nemesis, how had that happened?
I felt massively tired. I wanted to go home, and I realized what a complicated concept home had become. Or maybe always was.
I gestured at the gardens, the city beyond, the nation, and said: Willy, this was supposed to be our home. We were going to live here the rest of our lives.
You left, Harold.
Yeah—and you know why.
(Spare, Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex)
.........
What a nasty petulant thing to include Williams baldness in his book.