To read or not to read

That is the question.

I am not one of the gazillion people who bought and devoured Andrew Morton’s Diana book. (And I’m kinda glad now that the dirty tricks involved in persuading that poor, beleaguered woman to get involved have been revealed.)

I cannot deny I may very well be prepared to buy and read her son’s autobiography Spare. 

I watched his interview last night with Stephen Colbert.

And then, just to underscore pretty much everything Harry had just said, I spotted this rubbish, context-free front page posted by a friend on Facebook.

As the mate who posted it pointed out, “High sugar soft drinks can go right through you.” Har, har. (Opium, on the other hand, is definitely known for making you puke.)

Is this memoir self-serving? No doubt. But as is often pointed out, there are three versions to every story: yours, mine and the truth. The latter generally laying somewhere in the middle of the two former.

Yes, I watched the Oprah interview and, yes, I watched the Netflix series. The former made me cringe a bit. The latter had me not infrequently nodding in agreement. (Although I did find Meghan referring to Harry as “H” irritating as hell.)

As I wrote when they announced their plans to get out of Dodge, Harry has always been his mother’s son. No surprise to learn during the interview with Stephen Colbert that for some time after Diana’s death young Harry convinced himself that she wasn’t really gone, that she’d faked her death to escape the press and was hiding out somewhere, plotting her escape and getting ready to come back to rescue him and his brother. No surprise, denial after all being the first stage of grieving, but it was still very sad to think of that twelve-year-old boy holding out hope.

He’s an engaging story teller, I’ll give him that. And that may be what the bulk of the book is: stories. But they’re his stories to tell. His version of events are his to tell. There’s nothing to stop Wills telling his own version. (Oh, ha, ha, of course there is. Royal protocol, don’t you know?)

Not that William has been completely silent on royal dysfunction.

And he got a pat on the back for doing it. Of course he did. He’s the hero. And if there’s a hero, there has to be a villain. (Ask anyone who ever wrote a panto script.)

I’m sure William and his father and his stepmother wished Harry would just shut the fuck up. He hasn’t. On balance I’d say good on him.

Oh, go on then, Hazzer. I’ll cough up for a copy.