But isn’t that what First Class is all about?
I mean, I assume that Meghan’s not slumming it in coach.
Coach, where your free earphones don’t work, that one plastic cup of soda is never enough, and your knees are all squooshed up into your boobies (assuming you are female, like Meghan—who claims that her “boobs” are “magical”). Yes—Meghan really not only said that, but she wrote it in her own blog which, of course, has been erased from the planet now that her blood turned blue.
But reports of Meghan’s “first solo trip since the wedding” were confusing because, just a few weeks ago, Kensington Palace had issued reports stating that Meghan and Prince Harry were going to spend August with the Queen at her Balmoral castle in highland Scotland.
You know Scotland. That’s the place where Claire Randall, bored with her dour hubby, walks through the Craigh Na Dun standing stones and back into the eighteenth century, and meets that dishy, dashing ginger Highlander, Jamie Fraser, and together they eat haggis, have wild sex, cure people with herbs, and help fight the Jacobites. What I don’t get about the Jacobites is why they are called that, when the British royal they supported was King James II—NOT King Jacob! I mean, duh! What’s up with that King Jacob not King James thing?
Anyway, Meghan and Prince Harry were supposed to be spending the summer with the Queen and her court, who all hole up at Balmoral where they take long walks in the cold rain, endeavor to catch salmon and trout by fly-fishing on the River Dee, shoot at giant stags—has nobody seen “The Queen?”—take tea, eat haggis, drink rare single malts unsullied by soda and ice, and ponder why it was a “Jacobite Uprising” and not a “James-obite Uprising.” Then, the royals put on wooly plaid tartans and scratchy socks with little flags on them, and head to the Highland games, where they watch benignly as ginger-haired folks do sword dances and throw hammers about. During the hammer-throwing breaks, people go walking all around the Craigh Na Dun standing stone, but nobody gets to go back into time. All of this Scottish Highland flinging about was supposed to introduce Meghan, who hails from Los Angeles, to the most fierce and fightingest people of part of her newly-adopted kingdom-homeland. Not that Jamie Fraser and his MacKenzie clan would be pleased with that. After all, they were warring with the British when Claire famously took her walk back into time.
But it looks like Harry and Meghan never went. Not to Scotland.
We were just scratching our heads because the photos came out on Sunday of the Queen, her cadaverous-looking husband, Prince Philip, their puffy-faced son Prince Charles, Charles’s wife-mistress, Camilla, Princess Anne’s sexy daughter, Zara, and her family, and even of the hapless Prince Edward, his ever-dutiful wife, Sophie, and their young daughter, Lady Louise, all squooshed into fancy Range Rovers, heading to services at Crathie Kirk, where the minister’s name is Kenneth MacKenzie, which makes us wonder if he’s a descendent of Jamie Fraser’s uncle, fought in the Jacobite-not James-obite cause, and travels back and forth through time. Meghan and Prince Harry were supposed to be squooshed into a Range Rover, caravanning to Father Mackenzie’s church service with the royal gang-- but they were nowhere to be seen.
That’s when the news suddenly broke that Meghan was instead supposedly on her way to Toronto, squooshed up super-anonymously in First Class. But then, just as soon as the Air Canada carrying her was landing, more news broke that Meghan and Prince Harry had instead been holidaying with movie star celebrity George Clooney and his human rights lawyer wife, Amal, at their mansion on Lake Como, squooshed into lounge chaises by the pool, eating pasta, berating butlers, critiquing the wines, and discussing important human rights matters with Amal.
We were puzzled by that because the news gave details that seemed designed to annoy the royal gang who have their wellies and hooded rain coats on, and spend their vacation days splashing in puddles, whipping fishing poles about, shooting at stag, eating haggis and crumbly shortbread, and dodging the clattering swords and flying hammers.
Is it all fake news?
Where are Meghan and Prince Harry, anyway?
It was even more confusing because, BEFORE Meghan and Harry were supposed to head to Balmoral but instead supposedly went to Lake Como, Harry flew First Class to Botswana—a solo trip, without Meghan. Botswana, as in Africa. Botswana is famous for its rhinos, which Prince Harry has vowed to save. That Prince Harry went solo struck us as odd because, during their courtship, the royal couple’s famous third date had been in Botswana—for Meghan’s birthday—and that is where they supposedly really fell in love, blah blah blah-dee blah. Anyway, with Meghan’s latest birthday coming up, it seems odd that they didn’t go to Botswana together, repeat the magic, and get all squooshed up in one of those super-luxury safari tents to re-celebrate their epic love.
Is there trouble in paradise?
Then, after we were all adjusting to Meghan and Harry’s absence from Balmoral, Meghan not going to Botswana, Meghan not going to Toronto, and Meghan and Harry getting all squooshed up at Lake Como with movie stars, news outlets announced that Meghan was actually heading to Los Angeles on a “solo” trip to see her mother, Doria Ragland—but no word about whether she’d also see her father, Thomas Markle. The media outlets suggested that Meghan would be stopping in Toronto on her way back to London, to see her celebrity friends there.
Or is Meghan trying to get the “Suits” television team to write her BACK into the show?
Is there trouble in paradise?
Then, media outlets with “sources” at Kensington Palace suggested that, after Meghan squooshed herself back on the plane and landed in London, she and Prince Harry would then don waterproof boots and jackets, and join the Queen up at Balmoral.
And then, the media got even more complicated.
Somewhere in or after all this squooshing around, Meghan and Harry are going to suddenly pop up in London, squoosh into some theatre seats and take in the “Hamilton” London song-and-dance stage show as a fundraiser for Sentebale, a charity based in…Botswana!
It’s a lot of running around.
It’s like Scottish Outland time travel, only more complicated.
It doesn’t really sound like very much fun—all that squooshing into this and that!
Is it all fake news? Or is there really trouble in paradise?
Only the squooshing will tell.