Spare 2 ??

[Mylovelygreendress]

I wonder if this is true ?

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-14606395/fears-Prince-Harry-spare-book-sequel-blasting-Royals.html

At first I was surprised that the RF didn’t counter the numerous allegations thrown by H and M however I now see that not responding at all ( in public at least ) is absolutely correct .
Imagine the frustration of H and M ?

I mean what kind of person doesn't want to pick up the phone to be shouted at? Oh yes, any normal person.

"sources close to Harry"!

According to the 'People' article

"Friends note that during each of Harry’s last three U.K. visits, Charles has been unavailable —including this month, despite Harry’s court date having long been scheduled and known ahead of the King’s overlapping state visit to Italy."

Am I reading this right? Are they implying that a State Visit which will have been organised months in advance and coordinated at the highest level between two governments, should have been arranged around Harry's legal cases?

Aside from the fact that it wasn't expected that Harry would attend as it was only an appeal hearing which didn't require his presence, why on earth would the King organise state affairs around his adult son? Harry is basically unemployed and could travel over to London pretty much any time he wants. The constraints on the King's time and movements are rather different.

Spare 2? Spare us!

I agree the titles don’t matter that much, particularly in the US.

The problem is the monetising of them. This is why I prefer Duchess of Sussex to Princess Meghan. I know it should be Princess Henry/Harry but it wouldn’t be that.

I don’t know if it’s possible, but I do wonder if they could change the Dukedom to a lifetime one rather than hereditary.

I thought it was a sensible idea to make Duke of Edinburgh a lifetime peerage. This way it reverts to the monarch.

H wouldn’t like it but he would keep his title so couldn’t whinge too much as Archie would still be a Prince.

Harry will whinge if titles are taken away. He whinges anyway. However I agree about the duchess v Princess titles. Many will regard the Princess title as superior whereas it’s the royal duchess one which is. Confusing for some!

I think for Charles it's the use of HRH which is really crucial. I don't think they really care about her merching the Duchess title. She shouldn't be doing it, but Sarah Ferguson does the same and the senior royals don't seem that bothered. HRH is the royal 'trademark' and without that, the peerage titles don't have an obvious royal association.

<a class="break-all" href="https://archive.ph/2025.04.18-182855/www.mirror.co.uk/3am/us-celebrity-news/meghan-markle-prince-harry-crisis-35082175" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://archive.ph/2025.04.18-182855/www.mirror.co.uk/3am/us-celebrity-news/meghan-markle-prince-harry-crisis-35082175

what do we think about this? Problematic for the Sussex’s or another storm in a teapot!

I’m late to the party with this one but I asked ChatGPT what they thought Spare 2 would be like and got this gem:

SPARER: Even Less Spare
By Prince Harry, The Artist Formerly Known As HRH

Chapter Two: The Group Chat From Hell

Charles texted the family group chat:
“London Bridge is down.”
Will replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
I sent a dove emoji, then deleted it.
Meghan sent a carefully worded statement in a Notes app screenshot:
“The Duchess of Sussex is heartbroken and, in this time of global reflection, asks for privacy while she speaks to Oprah again.”
Camilla responded with a wine glass emoji and a picture of a horse.
I realized we were no longer a family. We were a meme page.

Chapter Nineteen: Wills Goes Full Wales

When William became Prince of Wales, he released a statement that read:
“Humbled, honoured, and ready to serve.”
I released a counter-statement:
“Humbled, vegan, and ready to surf.”
William began learning Welsh. He opened a food bank. He helped fix a tractor. He was photographed holding a leek like it was Excalibur.
One tabloid wrote:
“William: Diana’s Legacy in a Barbour Jacket.”
I tried to start a sustainable lavender farm in Montecito. A wild goat ate all the crops”

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Jealousy Manifestation Spiral

After Kate's piano went viral (again), Meghan suggested I take up an instrument.
“You used to play tambourine at Eton, right?” she asked.
“It was a brief phase.”
“We could do a musical podcast series,” she said. “Like Royal Riffs: Healing Through Sound.”
Spotify ghosted us.
Meanwhile, the Palace released behind-the-scenes footage of Kate gracefully nodding to the conductor while a string quartet erupted in harmonized loyalty to the Crown. She wore a sapphire blue gown. Her hair shone like angelic swan feathers. The press called her “The Mozart of Windsor.”
Meghan started learning the ukulele. I bought a rain stick.
Neither of us made it past day two.

I would pay to read this 🤣

They aren’t working for me @jeffgoldblum

@PrettyFlyforaMaiTai 😂😂😂

This is going to rumble on and on. He is like a silly tantrumming child.

ChatGPT is vicious 😮🤣

Chapter Forty-Two: The Bald and the Bearded

For years — decades even — I had one thing.
William was the heir. William was the golden child. William had the first dibs on castles, crowds, and ceremonial swords. But I had the hair.
Thick. Ginger. Windswept like a Devonshire stallion with access to salon-grade conditioner. The public loved it. They whispered, “He’s the fun one. The one with follicles.”
I was smug. Not loudly — just the quiet, righteous smugness of a man who watched his brother’s crown thin out like a medieval parchment.
I’d lean in at public events and say things like, “Want to borrow my shampoo?”
Or: “Did you know baldness skips a generation?”
Or, if I was feeling bold: “Meghan says she’s never dated someone this hairy.”
He’d roll his eyes. I’d smile like a smug fox in a forest of follicles.

Then it happened.
William… grew a beard.
Not just any beard. A regal beard. Salt-and-pepper, full, perfectly rugged — like he’d just stepped off a horse after negotiating peace between two feuding Scandinavian kingdoms.
The Daily Mail headline said it best:
“WILLIAM THE WILD: KING-IN-WAITING BRINGS BEARD AND BRAWN”
The public swooned.
“He looks like a Viking!”
“Finally, a King with Game of Thrones energy!”
“This is the sexiest Charles has never been!”
I was appalled.
“That’s my thing,” I hissed to Meghan, clutching a vintage copy of GQ UK from my military days.
“He’s allowed to have facial hair, babe,” she said, stirring her ashwagandha.
“Not cool facial hair!” I barked. “Not emotionally deep facial hair!”

I started noticing the signs.
A little more hair in the brush. A few more visible scalp flashes under bright Montecito sun. Then, one morning, I caught a glint in the mirror — a cruel, circular betrayal near the crown.
“Is that…” I whispered.
Meghan walked past, glanced casually and said, “It’s just your energy parting.”
Reader, it was not an energy parting.

I spiraled.

1. Googled “non-toxic royal hair regrowth treatments”
2. Ordered 3 litres of cold-pressed rosemary oil
3. Wore a silk bonnet for a week “for scalp integrity”
4. Briefly considered asking Elton John for a donor hair plug
5. Cried quietly into a monogrammed towel marked “Duke of Sussex”

Meanwhile, William launched a beard-care line with proceeds going to children’s mental health charities. He did a photo shoot in a tweed coat with a rescued greyhound. Vogue called him “A King for the Tinder Age.”

I wanted to issue a statement:
“Harry remains committed to being the more rustic, textured royal.”
Meghan stopped me.
Instead, I posted a black-and-white Instagram of myself gazing out to sea, with the caption:
“The tides may change. But the heart remains ginger.”
People thought it was about climate change. I let them.

At night, I stare into the mirror.
I whisper to myself:
“You’re still the cool one. You have vibes. You did mushrooms in California.”
But sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder:
What if the only thing that made me the hot one… was time?
Now?
He has the beard.
He has the sympathy.
He has the fans.
I have… a growing spot and a half-used jade scalp roller.
It’s not fair!

Sorry @NewAgeNewMe, make sure you click the top link with archive, if you click near the bottom it doesn’t work.

Hahahaha at Chat GPT especially

“a cruel, circular betrayal near the crown.” 😂😂😂😂

Chapter Fifty-Four: Not So Fast, Not So Furious: The 12MPH Getaway

We were in New York. The city that never sleeps and absolutely never looks away from a camera. It was supposed to be a low-key night. A charity gala, a few photos, some tasteful trauma references. Meghan wore a radiant gold dress, I wore anxiety and a navy suit.
Then it happened.
The Chase.
The Great Escape.
The Taxi That Time Forgot.
We left the venue and noticed… photographers. Cameras. Flashbulbs. At least six people. Maybe even eight. One of them might’ve been a teenager on a CitiBike, but still — danger.
Meghan clutched my arm. “They’re everywhere.”
I nodded solemnly. “This is just like Paris.”
We ducked into a yellow cab like fugitives on the run from… mild public interest.

We told the driver, “GO! Lose them!”
He looked confused. “Lose who?”
Meghan peered dramatically through the rear window.
“They’re tailing us.”
He shrugged. “That’s just traffic, ma’am.”
Still, we insisted. He took two lefts, one right, and then got stuck behind a double-parked Amazon van for nine full minutes. We reached a staggering speed of 12 miles per hour.
Every time we turned a corner, I yelled “Faster!” like I was in The Bourne Identity: Duke Edition.
The cabbie sighed. “Do you want to go somewhere or just… drive in circles?”
“We can’t be seen,” I whispered, ducking behind a seatbelt.
A tourist tapped on the window at a red light and said, “Hey, are you that guy from Suits?”
Meghan didn’t blink.

Back at the hotel, we called our team.
“They nearly died,” said a spokesperson. “It was a catastrophic chase.”
“Were you chased?” asked a journalist.
“Well... not chased, more like… lightly trailed with interest.”
The NYPD released a statement:
“There were no injuries, no collisions, and no high-speed anything. Honestly, we’ve had more intense drama in a Starbucks queue.”
The taxi driver went on TV.
He said, “Nice couple. Paid cash. Kinda dramatic.”

William was spotted the next day riding the Tube. Alone. No security. Just a Pret sandwich and the patience of a monk.
Tabloids fawned:
“Wills the Man of the People — Even Flushes Public Toilets”
“Prince of Calm Amid Sussex Chaos”
Meghan posted a quote on Instagram over a black background:
“Sometimes the world will call your safety ‘drama.’ But you know your truth. As ever.”

Was it a chase?
A situation?
A slightly chaotic taxi ride with mild claustrophobia and some enthusiastic tourists?
Yes. All of the above. Or none. Memory is a fickle thing — especially when it’s being pitched to Netflix.
But one thing’s for certain:
Next time we’ll take an Uber Black.
As ever,
Harry.

not so fast, not so furious 😂😂

Brilliant @PrettyFlyforaMaiTai

Agree 👍!

Ny sister started a huge argument with me last week about how ill treated MM and PH are. She got so overwrought it was like listening to a lunatic. For context sis is a highly educated barrister. I finally had to pretend to agree to get her to calm down.

She also added that she’s skeptical about whether Kate even had cancer. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Wow!!!
so it is a cult then! How else can you describe normally intelligent people clinging onto a narrative that’s been proven to be fake?

At least my mum believes Kate has had cancer. But she doesn’t trust her or William. God only knows why. I’d suspect Alzheimer’s but she’s as sharp as a tack elsewhere.

I’m sure I heard at the time he had a 3 book deal.

But given the insane success of Spare (and know the MN rules, we all have to pretend everything they do is a failure, but by all possibly measures, that book was a commercial success), it would be incredibly odd if his publishers weren’t trying to push him to “write” another. It is unlikely he’d have the same success with a second book, but it’s a safe bet as celeb ghost written memoirs go, even with a third of Spare’s sales it would be good for the genre.

If Meghan’s next series is as popular as the first we might get a cookbook for Christmas.

Tom Bower is writing a new book about H and M
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-14627377/prince-harry-meghan-markle-crisis-reconciling-family.html

I could do this all night 🤣

Eurovision and Emotional Damage

It was meant to be a relaxing night.
Something light.
Sparkly.
Distracting.
“Let’s just watch Eurovision,” I said, reaching for the hummus.
Meghan tilted her head. “Really? Isn’t that the one where people dressed like elves in space boots?”
“Exactly,” I replied. “No royals. No press. Just pure, glittery chaos.”
We settled in with snacks: air-popped popcorn, beetroot chips, and Meghan’s chia-seed protein bites (which tasted like regret, but I said nothing).
The show began.
The crowd roared. The camera panned across the Liverpool arena.
Kalush Orchestra exploded onto the stage — drums, smoke, pink bucket hats.
Then came Sam Ryder, beaming like a solar panel in human form.
Then Joss Stone, barefoot and ethereal, warbling something about unity.
Then… was that…
Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber? At a golden piano?
I blinked.
“This is quite the lineup,” I murmured, mildly impressed.
Meghan nodded slowly. “Okay, this is kind of epic…”
And then it happened.
The camera cut to a dimly lit, majestic room — gold trim, chandeliers, oil paintings of dead kings named George — and there, like a Regency spectre summoned by a PR ritual…
Catherine.
At a grand piano.
Calm. Composed. Dressed in Ukrainian
blue, of course.
Fingertips poised. Back straight. Eyes down.
She began to play.

The music swelled.
The crowd lost it.
Twitter combusted.
The BBC announcer used the phrase “surprise royal cameo” three times in 15 seconds.
TikTok had memes within minutes.
Even Piers Morgan smiled — smiled — in a weird, paternal way.
Meghan froze mid-bite.
“She’s in the show?” she whispered.
I stared. “That’s… Buckingham Palace. That’s our old piano!”
Meghan narrowed her eyes. “It was our piano. We literally used that in the Commonwealth Christmas special before we got iced.”
Now Catherine was accompanying the Ukrainian winners like it was nothing. Just a casual piano number between Andrew Lloyd Webber and the spirit of pan-European harmony.

“People are going to eat this up,” I said, feeling a familiar sinking in my stomach.
And they did.
Headlines screamed:

• “Eurovision’s Real Winner? The Piano Queen of Kensington”
• “Princess of Harmony! Catherine Unites Continents Through Melody”
• “Can She Play at Glastonbury Too?”

Joss Stone posted a selfie with Catherine and the caption: “The real queen of the keys.”
Sam Ryder reposted it with twelve star emojis.
Even the Kalush Orchestra gave her a fist bump.
Meghan set her popcorn down slowly.
“She probably only learned to play to steal the spotlight.” she pronounced, picking up the remote. “I’m done”
“But you’re going to miss Finland dressed as a neon goblin,” I said as she stood up and left with her bottle of collagen infused smart water.

Later, Meghan went silent on Instagram for 48 hours. Then returned with a minimalist post:
A quote in Helvetica on a beige background.
“You can’t always choose the stage. But you can choose to be the light. As ever, Meghan’

Catherine trended globally. Again.

That night, I found Meghan at the laptop researching keyboard lessons and humming something that sounded suspiciously like the Ukrainian national anthem.
I didn’t say a word.