Most men in their seventies, if they had to attend an arduous public event, would hope that their younger son’s presence would be the last thing they had to worry about. They might assume their offspring would be on hand to attend to their ageing parent; to offer comfort and support when required, and to discreetly deal with any difficulties that arose during the course of the day. That their child would be the greatest cause of the angst they might feel about the ceremony is not, in virtually every imaginable case, a woe that most people could ever consider.
For King Charles, alas, what’s going on with Prince Harry is probably most of what he thinks about these days. His son’s bestselling memoir, available in all reputable and disreputable outlets alike, has sold more copies than any non-fiction book in recent memory; and so Charles has the disgruntling knowledge that his child is now considerably more famous than he is.
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