Prince Harry, an Old Etonian, is somehow stuck in a rut. He hastily married a woman who sort of turned out to be his Div Master and a Prae along with being a hard-hitting matron, all at the same bloody time.
The former working royal does not get much of a jaunt up Judy’s Passage any more, so he has to do a few solo walks by himself, relegated to the non-specialist ways.
He also does not care for cricket at Mespots either, and is consequently now not even known as a dry Bob. In fact, what does Harry do all day anyway? He’s as useless as a Slack Bob munching away on his tucker at Rowland’s inanely with no solid mission at hand.
No Pop
In the early days of the ill-fated marriage, he was often sent up for good, but these days, there is none of that, just plain old rip after rip and bills.
What the Div Master Wants, the Div Master Gets
The Beak gives Harry the fixtures, and he has to abide by them without fail, otherwise all hell breaks loose and his tuck box will be empty for the next month, worse still, he might even have to bend over for the Conduct as punishment.
Sent off for chores is also de rigueur; doing this photo shoot, calling the PR men, calling the lawyers, calling Netflix for more cash, and all that tedious stuff.
Being stuck in some morose Yankee land is conjointly playing on the prince’s emotional strings. Gone are the days of sauntering up the Long Walk dreaming about snorting cocktails at Mahiki, sadly now the prince is in a permanent state of Lock Up and EW with not even a Chambers or a Half in sight.
