IT’S busy, busy, busy for Meghan and Harry.
Freshly returned to their Montecito mansion from the Colombian leg of their Worldwide Privacy Tour (© South Park) the hunt for new staff begins in earnest.
Somehow Bogota’s favourite lowercase royals managed to carry off this South American sojourn without some chiselled Yank acting as their Chief of Staff.
But they simply had to make do after Josh Kettler mysteriously jumped ship after only three months just as the pair were due to climb aboard the presumably carbon-neutral organic tofu-fuelled aircraft that shuttled them to the home of Harry’s once recreational drug of choice.
But never again!
It’s time to syphon off some cash from those Suits DVD royalties and invest in a handful of new underlings to hire and then fire within a few months.
You will have at least three years’ experience of misinterpreting throwaway remarks as racism or xenophobia, and must demonstrate a poor grip on reality, extreme gullibility and hold a degree level qualification in victimhood.
In keeping with all pseudo-royal vacancies, a list of available jobs is first printed in His Majesty’s Press, so only the highest quality candidates are enticed.
So it gives me great pleasure to print the inevitably highly sought-after 24/7 roles in full today.
Fear not dear duke and duchess, The Sun will ensure that what Meghan wants, Meghan gets . . .
MINISTER OF MY TRUTH: Are you an exceptional storyteller who can conjure up anecdotes of utter invention that can then be successfully passed off as the truth?
In this important role you will be required to not know the difference between fact and fantasy and support the duke and duchess’s prolific work of reporting falsified feelings as actual events. You will have at least four years’ experience of fabrication, embellishment, hyperbole and bulls**t.
HEAD OF DE-SILENCING: Working with the Minister of My Truth, you will be tasked with ensuring that the duke and duchess’s endless gripes relating to microaggressions only they can feel are not silenced by vexatious counter-arguments involving facts.
You will have at least three years’ experience of misinterpreting throwaway remarks as racism or xenophobia, and must demonstrate a poor grip on reality, extreme gullibility and hold a degree level qualification in victimhood.
FRIENDSHIP EDITOR: Reporting directly to the duchess, we are looking for a talented socialite to help form an inner circle of associates that the duke and duchess can refer to as “friends”. You will have an exhaustive contacts book of rich and famous people who you will convince to appear with the couple at times of their choosing in order to give them a veneer of relevance.
You will be proficient in celebrity excommunication for the inevitable time these “friends” become surplus to requirements.
CHIEF WOKE ARCHITECT: Staying on top of current politically correct trends is one of the most important roles on the duke and duchess’s staff.
It is vital that the Sussex household’s patented Cultural Offence Indicators are regularly updated to ensure the couple are never knowingly under-offended.
You will be an astute and cynical operator who can conjure up the next example of inappropriate behaviour or language before anyone has worked out that it probably isn’t that much of a big deal at all.
You will have a degree — or similar level qualification — in pronoun studies.
PRIVACY COMMUNICATOR: Working with a clandestine team of proven privacy professionals including Omid Scobie, Oprah Winfrey and various editors of People magazine, you will be charged with maximising the duke and duchess’s privacy at all times.
You will ensure that every awards show, Californian restaurant, global talkshow host, celebrity magazine, TV and music streaming service, mainstream news channel and lickspittle craven journalist is given as much access as possible to the couple in order maintain their complete invisibility.
MORE woke lunacy, this time from Newcastle University, which has urged researchers not to use the traditional Geordie greeting “pet”.
This affectionate remark is deemed sexist according to the college’s “equality and inclusion toolkit”, which sounds like something invented by a bunch of spanners. “Man-up” and “bossy” are also considered patronising by the 13 bed-wetters who devised this guidance.
Of course not all words linked to gender are off the menu. The uni has helpfully supplied a list of 44 terms for “genders and orientations”.
Most of these are, of course, just nonsense — “neutrois” anyone? — serving only to pander to narcissistic wokies desperate to appear different.
How long before there are enough daft gender terms to fill an entire dictionary?
Or should that be a thesaurus?
AS the official judge, jury and executioner of sinful celebrities, I declare Blake Lively not guilty.
Ryan Reynolds’ delectable wife is having an August horriblis trying to promote her new film, It Ends With Us, while everyone else slags her off.
Apparently she deserves every bad thing she’s ever done being dragged up again for the crime of being a bit too Hollywood on the promotional circuit for a flick that’s about domestic violence.
OK, some of her interviews plugging the adaption of Colleen Hoover’s best-selling book have been a little lightweight and, yes, a touch tone-deaf, but that’s showbiz.
Sell the sizzle, not the sausage!
I’m sure she regrets some of her antics but I can’t help but feel that dishing out this level of abuse to a woman for not talking about abused women enough is perhaps not as helpful to their cause as her critics think.
WHEN I was an under-age drinker back in Derbyshire in the Eighties, we wouldn’t be seen dead with a pint of lager.
Necking ale for us deluded delinquents was about being a proper bloke, not some southern ponce with a fizzy pop.
Now lagers are all the rage and, as we learnt this week, it’s the fancy “foreign” ones we like the most, such as Moretti and Madri.
But as we also learnt, most of our preferred sherberts are made right here in Blighty.
All this got me thirsty for a pint of my old local pub favourite, Stones Bitter, which I was delighted to see is now back being brewed in Sheffield.
Ah, a proper northern pint, owned and brewed in England by Englishmen.
Then I read the small print: “Brewed by Molson Coors” . . . headquarters: Chicago.
TALKING of Americans barging into our culture, I was surprised to see that McDonald’s is celebrating FIFTY years in Britain.
Half a century flogging us Big Macs is a hell of a success story and mercifully they haven’t, like many chains, tampered with the recipes for their greatest hits too much.
When I scoffed a Quarter Pounder with Cheese at a service station last week, it had the exact same taste as my first from the Chesterfield town centre franchise when it opened in July 1984.
New products have come and gone over the years but if any Maccies bosses are reading this, please bring back the McDonald’s Pizza that had an all-too-brief stint in the early Nineties.
No fast food joint – and I include Pizza Hut and Domino’s in that – has bettered that circular sensation.
ON Monday night I was lucky enough to attend the glitzy London premiere of Blink Twice, the stylish directorial debut of Zoe Kravitz.
It stars the brilliant Brit actress Naomi Ackie and Channing Tatum, who goes from magic Mike to magic mushrooms in this drug-fuelled thriller that reminded me of both Get Out and Knives Out (all the Outs!)
I wouldn’t want to touch any of the mind-bending substances coursing through the film’s 100 minutes of hectic action but I’d take a full vial of whatever Zoe’s old man is on.
Rocker Lenny turned 60 this year but strutted down the red carpet with his daughter on his arm, looking as fit and fresh as he did when he rocked on to the scene in 1991.
Whatever you’re taking Len, I wanna go your way.
WOW, Madonna has some cheek (and not just because of all the fillers).
The one-time Queen of Pop, who now earns a living grinding out her greatest hits on stage like a drag act version of herself, blasted her fans as fat, spotty and ugly this week.
She can’t stand them coming up to her “because not only are they bothering me but they’re horrible to look at too”.
Ouch!
Well, people in glass houses, Madge.
I loved Madonna back when her hits were strong and she was all scary/sexy.
Now she looks just scary, with a death mask face that has seen more surgery than Katie Price’s norks.
If she came up to me on a dark night I’d run for the hills
