HOW’S your coat of arms looking?
I bet it’s not as exciting as the one Harry and Meghan now have on their shiny new website.
The Office of Harry & Meghan (for it is they!) at sussex.com have tacked on a heraldic design featuring two confident creatures wearing what look very much like crowns.
What could it all mean?
Well now we know — it’s not a brand new motif denoting their arrival on the world stage, a graphical summing up of their emancipation from the Royal Family.
Oh no, that would be frightfully nouveau.
It is in fact Meghan’s ACTUAL royal crest, the one created for her when she married the now fifth in line to the throne.
But how did that get there?
Never mind that The Firm have banned this sort of thing now they’re no longer working royals, surely Meghan has not agreed to its use?
I mean, you’d think she would want nothing more to do with this logo, seeing as it was bestowed by those nasty racists in the Royal Family.
Of course she would want shot of it, given all the horrible trauma it must surely bring up every time she claps eyes on it.
And you would think it unlikely that Harry would countenance its use, given he wants nothing to do with his damn family any more.
That’s right isn’t it? Or am I missing something?
Because the only other reason I can think of for them using it — and the Sussex title, which has also raised eyebrows — would paint them as a pair of greedy grifters using a royal coat of arms to give the impression they are still 100 per cent royal, not from concentrate.
A cynical tactic that appears to go against the whole reason they flounced out of the Royal Family in the first place.
But then that kind of behaviour would be pretty much on brand for this conceited couple, who are fast being found out as having very little to offer the world in which they seek to inhabit.
The credibility they covet so much has, like Harry’s bonce, been thin on the ground since their epic Megxit tantrum in January 2020.
Since then they have eked out a few TV shows and podcasts that have been greeted by the kind of reception usually reserved for a two-star movie: A collective “meh!”.
Their mission — told through their now defunct archewell.com website, which sussex.com replaces — was one of “Global Action” through “the power of compassion”.
Alas, their powers have proven weak. Their compassion found wanting.
Neither has achieved the kudos they have sought.
So a focus back on their royal connections is the order of the day.
Those Yanks are simply MAD about the royals, aren’t they?
Gold-plated suckers for our unique brand of pageantry and pomposity.
The credibility they covet so much has, like Harry’s bonce, been thin on the ground since their epic Megxit tantrum in January 2020
If Harry and Meghan remind these gullible Americans — and those on the global stage where they love to dance — that they are The Duke and Duchess of Sussex dontchaknow! (as emblazoned on their highfalutin’ homepage) then the doors will just fly open, won’t they?
What a devilishly cunning plan . . . MWAHAHAHA!
But there is a problem.
In Harry and Meghan’s backyard of Hollywood you don’t need a coat of arms but you do need something: Talent. And talent is what this pair lacks.
By setting their sights so high — and let’s not forget they promised to change the world — they have oversold themselves on an epic scale.
There is nothing particularly special about these people.
Not since the Sinclair C5 promised to revolutionise transport has a product been such a damp squib.
Hardly anyone is buying what they are selling.
Harry and Meghan can rebrand themselves all they like, and use whatever regalia they feel is theirs.
But until they work out what their actual purpose is and set aim for a more realistic target (Suits: The Movie?) they will be trapped like two vacant wooden horses on a constant carousel of disappointment.
Maybe they should put that on their coat of arms.
FAIR play to Taylor Swift, publicity magnet and all-round game girl.
Her appearance at the Super Bowl has wound up American football fans, who reckon the presence of Kansas City Chiefs player Travis Kelce’s girlfriend detracts from the game. Boo-hoo.
From what I can see, that “distraction” appears to be her enthusiastically clapping and celebrating touchdowns.
So if that kind of thing annoys the fans I can’t wait until the day the Chiefs aren’t doing quite so well and a tanked-up Taylor does a Delia Smith and charges down to the touchline to scream at them: “Let’s be avin’ you!”
SAD to see the Monty Python boys turning against each other – but not surprising, really.
All comedians have a dark and miserable side and a gaggle of them chasing the same diminishing dime just exacerbates the rancour.
Worst of the lot has to be John Cleese, once Britain’s best belly-laugh machine and now the most miserable man on the planet.
He is in full Basil Fawlty mode, blasting our politicians on X, formerly Twitter, from homes in whichever foreign country he chooses over Blighty.
His comedic talent is, to borrow a phrase, no more, it has ceased to be, bereft of life, it rests in peace, he is an ex-comedian.
PASS me a bucket, it’s the annual vomit fest that is Valentine’s Day today.
A day when people who already claim to love each other hand over ever-increasing sums to a card company to confirm their emotional position is correct.
That is, of course, if you can find one that isn’t either A) offensive and/or obscene, B) simply unfunny and C) contains more cringe crap than Richard Curtis’s entire oeuvre.
Love actually . . . is a celebration of bar-room banter, according to Britain’s card shops.
My highlight has to be one that said: “You’ll do.”
Which certainly sums up the attitude of the buyer when faced with other such charming messages as “Happy Valentine’s day c***”.
Of course, it’s not just about cards and other schlock aimed at the lovesick and financially incontinent.
Restaurant bosses rub their hands, knowing they will be able to fill their tables with gullible couples paying over the odds to dip bread into a heart-shaped baked Camembert (when they’re not staring at their phones).
And when you find the usual menu replaced with a crimson and pink placard offering a Valentine’s Deal for 87 per cent more than usual.
Yes, I’m a cynic with a heart of coal but with new figures showing Valentine’s Day now costs £100 more than it did ten years ago, you can hardly blame me.
This cost of loving crisis is the last thing we need.
It also seems unnecessary when the best thing about romance is, well, free.
And if you still need an incentive to get it over the line, there’s always that last Rolo.
REST in peace The Body Shop.
I used to buy its seaweed and birch shampoo as it suggested it could encourage hair growth.
If it actually worked I don’t think the firm would be in trouble.
Jeff “Baldy” Bezos would have bought it and it would now be the biggest corporation on the planet.
I NEARLY spat out my false teeth this week after learning the NHS has treated people in their 80s and 90s for SEX addiction.
Quite literally a “f*** me, Doris!” revelation.
We should, of course, have sympathy for these frisky old fogeys.
Those who believe in sex addiction (and no, it’s not everyone) paint it as a crippling affliction in which sufferers are utterly consumed with thoughts about how to get laid.
But I can’t help feeling impressed by their sexual sturdiness.
If I’m lucky enough to be physically capable of creating the beast with two (bad) backs in my dotage, I probably wouldn’t mind if it all got a bit addictive.
Because if it comes to a toss-up between sitting in an easy chair at the care home struggling to hear some old coot tell me the same tedious story I’ve heard for the past three years or putting another notch in the orthopaedic bed post, I know which one I’d choose.
JAMES CORDEN may not be everyone’s cup of tea but one thing is certain, his and Ruth Jones’s Gavin & Stacey sitcom is pretty much perfect.
So thank God another special is occurrin’, the first one in five years.
We miss shows like this not just because they are brilliant but also because there is precious little comedy like it left.
So props to whoever takes it, be it Netflix or the BBC, which will need to take a wee breather from its crushing woke agenda to allow something as blunt as Gavin & Stacey to reappear.
I hope – and expect – the viewing figures to be through the roof.
Let’s pray the BBC pays attention to that and realise licence fee payers want this stuff, not the box-ticking bilge that gets five stars in The Guardian.
