The astonishing truth is that both of them are acting like toddlers at a see-saw that’s glued to the ground. Harry won’t stop airing laundry in books and documentaries. Charles won’t stop pretending the laundry room doesn’t exist. The result? A pile of dirty socks that smells like broken trust and missed birthday calls.
But here’s the hilarious kicker: they both agree on one thing. Harry, in Spare, writes that his father “suffered greatly” under the media spotlight. Charles, in a rare moment of vulnerability, once told a friend that he “couldn’t bear to lose another son.” So they love each other. They just hate each other’s lifestyle choices with the burning passion of a thousand Granny’s cucumber sandwiches.
So, from ‘Spare’ to Sandringham? It’s a tragicomedy about two stubborn blokes who forgot that family is supposed to be the one kingdom you don’t fight over. But hey, at least they’ve given the rest of us a decade of delicious gossip. Pass the tea, and let’s watch the next act. I hear Harry’s buying a house in Portugal, and Charles is building a new pond. The geese won’t know what hit them.
