What Harry could learn from King Constantine of Greece

Shot in the once upon a time city of dreams, now one of nightmares, the sweeping solipsism expressed made paranoia a kind of totalising faith. Behind the nauseating self-promotion, a so-called prince and his Hollywood diva hogged the headlines. Far, far east lay a dead man, one who had absolutely nothing in common with the self-absorbed, egotistical and narcissistic Englishman. On the contrary, King Constantine II went to meet his maker the same way he had lived his 82 years: uncomplaining, dignified and deserving of much more than he ever received from his people.

I write this with a heavy heart because I’ve been a friend of the dead king since my youth, and the enduring friendship lasted despite my having written favourably about the colonels – the very ones who caused him to lose his throne. King Constantine’s cannot have been a happy life after the loss of his throne, yet there’s never been a hint of self-pity, nor criticism of his enemies.