Whistleblowers are traditionally punished for whistling, and when I first wrote about M. Markle back in the distant day, one reader castigated me as bitchy. Another said I had skewered my victim with the accuracy of an Exocet missile.
The story began of course, back in the dark ages of 2018, with the engagement interview and later at a meeting of the Fab Four, with her information for us all that she was going to hit the ground running (part of her campaign to bring the 1000 year old monarchy up to date.)
Then the strange saga began – first with what we all know as Tiara – Gate, when Harry pronounced the immortal words – “what Meghan wants, Meghan gets.” But she didn’t – instead of the tiara feared to have Russian links which might trigger an international incident (with Putin over a tiara?) the poor bride had to settle for the magnificent diamond bandeau tiara, especially made for Queen Mary in 1932, and this Queen Never wore jewellery that wasn’t magnificent.
Next came the Tragedy of the Tights – with tiny bridesmaids having to wear bare legs in new shoes ( sore, blister creating ) instead of traditional white tights, and Princess Catherine three weeks out of childbirth and difficult pregnancy, getting stick, either for causing our heroine to cry according to Markle herself, or the postnatal mother with two other under fives to cope with, to cry .
Private emails later published unforgivably by a duplicitous Harry who didn’t realise how tough they made his wife sound, show a rather uncompromising Markle berating Catherine for not joining all the other mothers for fittings. Later Markle, during a tour of South Africa whinged about being vulnerable as a mother during and after birth, but this had never occurred to her when relating to a fragile Catherine who suffered hyperemesis gravidarum throughout her pregnancy – nasty morning sickness for nine months, (I know what it’s like )
Then there was the Mystery of the Invisible Family. No “Daddy” (as she later called him to “wring the public’s heart”, she wrote to Jonathan Knauf about her father spat), no uncle who wangled an internship for her at the embassy in Argentina, (didn’t last long as she failed the exams ) no bishop uncle, no brother or sister or extended family who figure in old family photos. All Markled.
Just Doria, the absent mother during her childhood when her father brought her up, and a parade of Hollywood names like Oprah Winfrey and the Clooneys who admitted they’d never met Markle.
All the rules were bent for Harry and his American bride – King Charles and Camilla were not allowed to marry in a church as Camilla was divorced, just the registry office for them – but touchy Harry got his way, and the Church of England broke its own rules and laid on the works for divorced Meghan Markle.
She went full on, dressed like a Royal virgin bride, and inserted into the lovely Anglican ritual the top, African American, activist bishop who overran by his stipulated five minutes with a full blown radical rant of over fifteen minutes, railing about poverty, racism and war. She organized a gospel choir who performed ‘Stand by me’, and a beautiful black English teenage cello player also performed in the church.
As she stepped out of the Rolls Royce once used by the Duchess of Windsor on her way to the Duke’s funeral, she slapped aside the helpful hand proffered by a royal attendant, and processed into the St George’s alone, until met by a courteous Prince Charles who escorted her to the besotted groom.
Afterwards they danced and partied into the night accompanied by their new Hollywood mates, while Harry’s besties and old school friends were left out of this jolly, a telling hint of things to come… the first obvious Markling, though we may have missed the other less important dropped buddies, like Liz Cundy and Piers Morgan.
Later, in the notorious Oprah interview sprinkled with lies and barbs directed at the family which had welcomed them, broken all its long established rules, and given them a 30 million wedding, a house, and significant marks of good will, M. Markle described the ‘framed’ document hanging on the wall of their Montecito home, which was the certificate of their ‘secret wedding’ three days before the spectacle put on for the peasants and hoi polloi.
She described how they ‘called up’ the Archbishop of Canterbury ( I could just imagine this ‘woke’ smug prelate pulling up his episcopal skirts and running over to Kensington Palace to do their bidding) to come round and marry them in the garden. He was obliged to disown his part in this imaginary ceremony, saying that to have done so would have been a criminal act, with no license, no witnesses etc etc.
To my knowledge no one has called them out on this story and asked to see the ‘Framed Certificate’.
Before they flounced off on what eco-warrior Harry called “their Freedom Flight” on yet another private jet, ( they always use private jets, while the Wales fly commercial on private trips and business class on official trips) M. Markle had managed to ruffle a good few feathers, and incurred much ridicule too, including the time she wrote uplifting messages on bananas to give to female street sex workers in Bristol.
Later it wasn’t ridicule, but disbelief and then rage at her misuse of power in a way that no Royal had ever done before – showing her contempt for the ordinary Brit, when she had forty dedicated tennis watchers turfed out of the Wimbledon seats they had queued and paid for, so she could sit in splendid isolation with two friends, showing off to them how powerful and special she was.
Catherine tried to mend matters by taking her to the tennis with Pippa the following day, but even then, M Markle refused to conform with the formal dress code, but shuffled in wearing over – long trousers and a casual striped shirt. When Oprah questioned her, she denied that Catherine had been helping her defuse the scandal.
Sadly she even manipulated royal aides to unknowingly lie to the public when she allowed them to announce the birth of her son, while she’d already gone home from hospital with him three days before.
Everything she did seemed to demonstrate her contempt both for the ancient Royal institution and for the ordinary and openhearted Brits who had welcomed her so warmly a few years before. And it seemed as though she just didn’t ‘get’ what the institution was about.
She was recorded on their Australian tour saying as people shook hands with her:
“I can’t believe I’m not getting paid for this”.
When she and her “Prince of England ” as he pompously described himself in a recent interview, left the country in 2020 they castigated the Brits, and the Royal Family as racist and victims of ‘unconscious bias.’ Meghan Markle had lasted one year and eight months in England.
Ensconced in California, opening her heart – if she had one – to Oprah Winfrey, she claimed she had been silenced, she had had to give up her car keys and her passport – so how did she manage to slip out for Serena Williams’s ( slow motion Markling in progress?) gift of a $400,000 to $500,000 baby shower in New York, and holidays with the Clooneys and Elton John at their Mediterranean villas?
Harry told us he found her weeping on the floor because she was so desperate during pregnancy – (what was wrong with sofa or a bed, I’ve used both for that purpose) and she recounted how close to suicide she became. At the same time she was guest editing Vogue magazine at her own request, working with her buddy Edward Enninful (since Markled) and designing stuff for Dress Smart – a women’s charity. What a woman !
Since then, her mockery of the loving and beloved Queen with her infamous courtesy and war of words – including a shot at the Queen – ‘We can all live lives of service. Service is universal;’ her continual attempts to one up Princess Catherine, trying to steal her thunder every time Catherine wows the public in a gold dress, or climbs a mountain or two; putting out pictures of the back of her children’s heads as soon as Catherine issues an anniversary photo or announcement, and her strange undignified stunts like twerking in the delivery room, or leaping into a swimming pool on her birthday, have not endeared her to critics like me.
For six years now she has carried on her vendetta against the blameless family she obviously despises, never missing an opportunity to undermine them, even boasting to the magazine The Cut that she’d never been asked to sign an NDA, as though she didn’t recognise that the family had never expected her to bad-mouth, undermine and lie about them to the world. Decent people don’t either air or invent dirty family linen to expose to the outside world, never mind the whole world.
Is her penchant for making her daughter walk barefoot in crowded places like Disneyland where thousands of people walk and spit out their chewing gum, or in a garden centre on the gravel, or on the grass at Montecito with beetles or bugs underfoot, meant to demonstrate what a carefree informal life her children enjoy, compared to the immaculate Wales children? Is the daughter’s unkempt untrimmed hair ending in rats-tails some gesture to show what freedom they all have? Beats me.
This diatribe about one of the world’s most disliked women according to some polls has allowed me to get my disgust of this strange, compulsive liar and poseur off my chest.
Good thing I am too unknown and insignificant to be Markled like so many of her besties like poor Jessica Mulroney, or sued like so many of her other critics.
And now California has been Markled. For how long I wonder.
England is cold and wet or dry and too hot, depending on climate change, while California is warm and sunny, and swarms with minor celebrities who would willingly gush over a faux duchess. I don’t think England need worry for long about the return of the Markles.
Food for Threadbare Gourmets
Since I learned that older women ( like me) need a lot more protein than younger women, I’ve become an authority on protein counts in food, as opposed to calories.
One of my favourite staples after learning this blinding piece of intelligence, are green Puy lentils – so delicious I can eat them on their own, but just as good as an accompaniment to salmon, chicken or just fried onions and mixed vegetables- even sausages.
No soaking needed. Just a wash. Fry gently an onion, stick of celery and a finely chopped carrot in olive oil. Cook until soft, then add a clove of chopped garlic, and fry for a minute.
Then add a cup of lentils, three cups of chicken stock, a bay leaf, two sprigs of thyme or some dried thyme, salt and black pepper, and simmer until the lentils are soft and have absorbed all the liquid, about 25 minutes. If the lentils are still firm and the liquid is all absorbed, add a little more and cook till the lentils are soft but firm, not mushy.
Take out the bay leaf and thyme sprigs and serve. I often have plenty left over, and re-heat in the microwave with added knobs of butter, or a splurge of virgin olive oil to keep the lentils lubricated.
Food for Thought
There are three forms of culture; worldly culture, the mere acquisition of information; religious culture, following rules; elite culture, self-development.
Sufi Master -Revelation of the Veiled
ThesoundofwaterNZ 