Email
Like the five stages of grief, there is a protocol for receiving royal baby news (assuming you’re not a royalist, of course) that goes something like this:
- Anger: Why am I being made to think about this when there’s a whole list of more important things I haven’t got round to not-thinking about yet?
- Denial: I’m just not going to do it this time. I’m not! I’m not going to get sucked in and click on that headline that looks so inviting. Instead, I’m going to read this piece about the economic implications of Scottish independence. And then I’m going to go out for a run.
- Bargaining: OK if I do read it, I’ll do so in a desultory fashion that reflects my ambivalence about the monarchy generally and the fetishization of Prince George and his parents in particular.
- Depression: I read it. I enjoyed it. I rang someone up to talk about it.
- Acceptance: See, what the world needs right now is some good news. Why shouldn’t it come from the royal family? Isn’t that what British taxpayers pay them vast amounts of money each year to provide? A bit of harmless pageantry? Try to think of the royals at their most attractive – in the guise of Helena Bonham-Carter and Colin Firth in The King’s Speech – and join in, for once, rather than skulking hatefully on the sidelines muttering about the 1%.
Of course it’s good news, and of course one feels sorry for Kate, having to spill the beans within the first 12 weeks of her pregnancy. It’s also legitimately eye-rolling, the egg-timer precision of the second baby in relation to the first. Then again, if the royal family – whose only job is to be the royal family – can’t nail a perfect 10 on the space between siblings, they need to go back to finishing school.
All that snarking about Kate being a professional breeder overlooks the rather charming reality that, as far as any of us can tell, they really do seem to be a well-matched couple. And it was quite fun, all the hoopla around Prince George’s birth – especially the spectacle of the 24-hour news correspondents turning themselves inside-out to fill airtime while standing outside St Mary’s Hospital.
By the end of it the last time around, one poor Sky News correspondent had gone quite, quite mad. “The baby was born at 4:24 pm”, she said, barely suppressing a shell-shocked twitch, “which we found out via email and also by email.” How can you not look forward to watching more of that next year?!
Also, while we’re expanding our empathetic range, let’s spare a thought for Prince Harry. The new baby will bump him down another spot in the succession order, from fourth to fifth. He must have known this would happen, but I wonder if it comes as an extra level of relief, or merely adds to the oddness of his indeterminate status: all the downsides of being a royal – the intrusion, the curtailment – with none of the power or glory.
Harry is freer than ever to become the director of a cruise ship or whatever it is he really wants to do, and of course, the inheritance he will receive on his 30th birthday next week (a reported £10 million) will make everything that much easier. But he is also one step closer to becoming something one wouldn’t wish on one’s worst enemy: Prince Andrew.
But let us not cavil. Once you’ve worked those negative emotions out of your system, rejoice! I actually mean that. Why not? It doesn’t do any harm. At this point in world history, we should knuckle down, recall the lessons of the Blitz, and be grateful for small jollies wherever we can find them.
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Comment from the paper
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