Netflix’s Masterful Crown Jewel (Season 5)

Cast of season 5 of the Crown.

Knowing when to leave is key to perfect timing. Elizabeth was a mean, grasping, manipulative – it is the hallmark of slave souls – vindictive operator. It is good that she has finally taken leave. Elizabeth acted as though the crown was hers to wear for at least a millennium.

Just look at HRH Prince Richard, Duke of Gloucester incredulously peer across at HM King Charles III with his beefy equerry sat directly behind him in the royal box; of course, there was no room for the Earl and Countess of Wessex as a result. There was sat the Duke of Gloucester who with a look telegraphed, “Well, will you look at that! He’s got his lover right here in the royal box for the world to see. What must cousin Lilibet, looking down from above, be thinking? Major Jonathan Thompson is not even in uniform but crossdressing in civilian suit. Just look at him, a mere senior footman standing in the royal box and clapping away as though he were a royal spouse… Also, pay keen attention to the Duchess of Gloucester as she keenly eyes Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales. That look betrays the tectonic state of the Waleses’ marriage. One would think that the Duchess of Gloucester is eyeing up Catherine as she cannot believe the woman would have the nerve to sit there after openly flirting with Sir Ben Ainslie and telegraphing to all the world that they are fucking their brains out.

Indeed! Though the Fleet Street abattoirs are ill-inclined to betray the ugly truths of House of Windsor, rest assured that the American media, especially American tabloid media, could not care less. Of course, they have a vested interested in the Windsor dynasty as a second American woman has recently wedded and been met with undiluted hatred and rejection. Although, that rejection is decidedly racist, nonetheless, all Americans are Americans and will defend another over any foreigner, especially so when America fought and won a war to depose that very dynasty.

Darlings I’ve simply got to start ordering teas by the hamper… The Second Carolean era just keeps on giving…

Lesley Manville as Princess Margaret in tour de force confrontation with Imelda Staunton’s Queen Elizabeth

This actor did a phenomenal job of bringing forth the true fire that was HRH Princess Margaret, Countess Snowdon’s. God, it was delicious theatre, watching her rip into her mean-spirited sister and giving it to her good when she called her on the fact that Elizabeth deliberately interfered in her life and caused her pain and ruin whilst never having done any such thing to her slutty daughter, Anne. As the Crown depicted and passingly implied, Princess Anne could have fucked Tim Lawrence in the open on a farm and no one would have noticed or reported it in the media. Her performance brings to mind that every actor who ever portrays HRH Princess Margaret must study Elizabeth Taylor in the Mike Nichols classic, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” This is why in the earlier season of the Crown, the actor Helena Bonham Carter’s casting was wrong. She was stiff and hadn’t the passion or fire to convincingly project Margaret’s rage

The actor who played Queen Mary was perfectly placed. The scene was brief and a flashback that was of major import. Look at her, there she is dripping in pearls and finery as the Romanovs did. She gave the order for their murder and all because she waned the Romanov jewellery, coming to her. A truly vile character. Her inclusion beautifully sets up next season, which deals with Diana’s murder and this scene of Mary giving the order to have the Romanov’s murder, so she could get their jewels, establishes that no one should think otherwise when it comes to next season, Season 6, and Diana’s murder.

Romanovs Executed

The producers and creative geniuses of The Crown Season 5 did their homework and boy did they execute masterfully, beautifully. This entire episode sets up what’s to come in Season 6, Diana, Princess of Wales’s death. By laying the groundwork and showing that because HM Queen Mary’s callous avariciousness, the Romanovs would be slaughtered just so that Queen Mary, who considered the Tsarina a rival, could get her hands on the Russian royals’ jewels. Queen Mary was a vile, ruthless Victorian misogynist who, of course, was Queen Elizabeth’s chief mentor. There can be no doubt that the late Queen Elizabeth viewed Diana, Princess of Wales as much a rival as Queen Mary viewed the Tsarina. For that, like Alexandra, the Tsarina, Diana had to be murdered for proving herself a damn threat. She ruined the fairy story by not playing along; most of all, she threatened the institution by preparing to start a rival dynasty with Mohamed Al-Fayed’s son, Dodi, a non-White Muslim.

Tampax Moments Last Forever

Goodness me, whatever shall the little people think? Who damn well cares what they think? The royals do as they have always done!

Here, again, the casting of Netflix’s The Crown, season 5, is flawless. Nuanced and perfectly measured, both actors bring forth the appropriate amount of repugnant arrogance and conceited lack of awareness. Perfectly timed, as though murdered Diana’s revenge, Season 5 lays bare the adulterers’ vulgarity just as they accede the throne. King Charles III, the Tampax King with his two teddies – one inanimate from childhood, the other a virile, kilted, furry teddy that throbs and makes nights at Highgrove especially pleasurable whilst the failed future King Mother and Courtesan Queen languishes away at Ray Mill; one thing is plainly obvious, the Courtesan Queen does not crochet doilies at Ray Mill.

Having nicely set up the case for Diana, Princess of Wales having been murdered in the upcoming season 6 of the Crown, one other thing ought to be taken into account. In 1918, when Queen Elizabeth’s mentor, Queen Mary gave the order to have the Romanovs murdered, that would be signified by the planet Uranus – one dynasty overthrows or eliminates another. Uranus rules violent upheaval, revolutionary action and usually from one institution against another. As Diana, Princess of Wales was a most disruptive rebel, the only course of action left Queen Mary’s devout mentor, Queen Elizabeth II, was to eliminate the threat of Diana. Diana was about to marry a non-White Muslim and start a rival dynasty, which would have utterly eclipsed the Windsors not just at the Fleet Street abattoirs but world media.

Diana and Dodi died at Diana’s natal Pluto’s transit forming a square; that coupled with her fourth numerological signature of 7, meant very public and totally unexpected assassination. A Uranus return takes roughly 84 years, Queen Elizabeth reacted 79 years later as Queen Mary had to the threat of a rival dynasty, the Romanovs relocating to the United Kingdom – there is a five year window on either side for that Uranus return’s effect to be initialised. Closer to the exacting 84 years and Diana and Dodi would have had a wedding and begun a family that would simply have eclipsed Charles and Diana’s wedding as clearly Diana would finally have found true love. There is positively no way that the well-groomed Victorian misogynist, Queen Elizabeth II, would have tolerated any such affront to her dynasty, especially when Diana would have avenged herself by bearing step-siblings of the future supreme governor of the Church of England to a Muslim. The Windsor dynasty was violently preventing the eventualisation of a rival dynasty begun by Diana, Princess of Wales and one of an opposing faith.

Imelda Staunton as Queen Elizabeth II was sublime casting. She is pitch perfect and gets every nuanced idiosyncrasy right. As Elizabeth II is a mature slave soul, a sage soul in passion mode with emotional centring would be disastrous. Imelda may well be a slave soul herself.

Though a departure from season 5, I do feel that there needs be some commentary on the actors who played the major roles across the five seasons. Claire Foy was a major reason for the Crown’s initial success and gave The Crown the legs to become the seminal British royal family drama that it has become. She is diffident, economical and sublime. The complete opposite can be said for Olivia Colman, who is Olivia in every role she plays. She is crass, common and as conspicuously frightful and self-conscious as a damn ostrich.

As Princess Margaret’s casting is concerned, Vanessa Kirby was ravishing to look at; she had depth, emotional rawness when required and was utterly captivating to watch. Hers was a brilliant performance. Helena Bonham Carter was simply a toft playing a toft and Princess Margaret was never a toft; she was royal to the core. Clearly, Lesley Manville captures the essence of Margaret’s inner rage. Helena was supposed to have captured Margaret’s passion, debauchery and her creative brilliance and that never materialised.

As there is only one Diana, there is only one actor who has singularly, successfully captured the essence of Diana, Princess of Wales and not until Elizabeth Debicki in Season 5 of The Crown has this been achieved. Spot on, this actor’s portrayal is note perfect and as close to channelling Diana, as it were, as you can possibly hope for. Singularly focussed, she gives an award-worthy performance of rare brilliance.

Just look at this artist step aside and allow the very essence of discarnate Diana, Princess of Wales to move in and prosecute her case. This is a most brilliant performance, in a season teeming with stellar performances. There has never been a more successfully cast group of actors for any one season of this fantastic series.

I’ve a little Diana, Princess of Wales anecdote. The night of the preceding photograph in October, 1991, I was across King Street West at Simcoe Street at Roy Thomson Hall for an Emmanuel Ax recital. As I had seasons tickets to the Toronto Symphony Orchestra, I managed with plans for a hook up after the concert to attend. God only knows, I could never abide Emmanuel Ax’s too-short arms and legs as he bobs around the stool, trying to make keys and pedals. I have only ever had two favourite pianists whom I have seen live, Vladimir Horowitz and the scholarly high priest himself, Alfred Brendel (his Michael Overleaves will conclude this blog). Of course, for having met and loved Merlin, Glenn Gould has become a favourite, forming the perfect troika of inspiring classical pianists.

When the recital concluded, I made my way north along Simcoe Street to King Street West where I planned to go in search of some stimulating companionship. The placed was packed and I hadn’t a clue what was up. Finally, someone said that Princess Diana was at the Royal Alexandra Theatre, which was going to be letting out soon. Making my way west along the south side of King Street West, I stood opposite the theatre’s entrance and realised that it was no place to be. Gingerly, I made my way west along the street, made it across the intersection and began doubling back due east along the north side of King Street West. Charmingly, I bobbed and dodged my way until I was second row deep behind a diminutive Filipina, who stood behind he barricade in front of which was a conga line of persons in wheelchairs. Obviously, as this was the early 90s, cell phones were as yet ubiquitous and why I would have a camera for going to the symphony would be a gauche notion at the time. The sturdy-looking limousine pulled up and to my left, though I could not see, the doors to the theatre opened and impresario Ed Mirvish emerged with the world’s most photographed woman.

Never had I witnessed such a massive explosion of klieg fabulousness as that moment as Diana, Princess of Wales stepped away from her hosts and stepped into the marquee lights. She was tall, commanding and arrestingly beautiful. Eventually, when she made her way down the roster of wheelchair fans, she reached from time to time to the sheer pandemonium of squeals, cries, shrieks and outstretched trembling arms baring frantic trembling fingers. As nothing she said could be heard, I managed to clasp her hand, said “we love you more” as she worked the crowd like a pro. What struck me about her in that moment as the flashbulbs went off, like a million stars simultaneously going nova, was how steely, masculine, tall and warrior-like she was. In that moment, her striking blue eyes so focussed and direct, she with her statuesque singleness of devotion, was like a Maasai warrior aloft whilst dancing. Then my darlings, Diana, Princess of Wales, did the most phenomenal thing that left me teary eyed, she got to the limousine and as the passenger side rear door was opened, she got inside elongating her neck, whilst bracing her body on the car’s frame when swinging her knees together, feet together, pushing off from the metatarsals and swinging are rangy legs into the car in one of the most sublime port de bras witnessed. Well, you better believe that I was hooked to the core. Of course, to that point, she was merely the ultimate self-absorbed famous person whose motto seemed to be, “I’m a rich White girl, take my picture.”

Of course, four years later, Diana, Princess of Wales, now separated from the future, HM King Charles III, made it perfectly clear that she was in control and not the crazy wingnut that she and every artisan at some point or another will be dismissed as by the masses. Diana, Princess of Wales’s interview with Martin Bashir aired on the BBC on Guy Fawkes Night, November 5, 1995. That move will see her transcend history as someone who was infinitely more shrewd and astute than the mere mortals of her age were aware. Unlike Oliver Cromwell, Diana, Princess of Wales successfully prosecuted her case to the kingdom, the world and most importantly, history. Naturally, like Cromwell, her interview and the subsequent relationship with the Muslim Al-Fayed family would be deemed treasonous by the Victorian misogynist, Queen Elizabeth II, who just as ruthlessly and casually had her assassinated as her mentor Queen Mary had Tsarina Alexandra and her family a Uranus return earlier.

Mou Mou, the most gloriously well-written and acted episode of The Crown. At every turn, the actor who portrayed Mohamed Al-Fayed left me teary-eyed or smiling by his brilliant performance. He effortlessly captured every idiosyncrasy of the Mohamed we have come to know in the media. The actor deftly captured the essence of this endearing mensch with bravura and sublime impishness. It was the only episode that I immediately had to re-watch to both fall in love and get all the nuances that the teary fog of me had missed. Of course, there were many beautiful scenes but one which was rather telling is of The Queen sending her emissaries to have items of the Duke of Windsor’s removed from his French chateau. This shows the Victorian misogynist mentoring of Queen Elizabeth by Queen Mary – ever grasping and coveting all manner of material things. No care in the world for the Duke & Duchess of Windsor whilst he was living but the moment he passes, they are keen on the Duchess’s invitation to swoop in and claw at whatever they fancied… crass.

Indeed, in time, how could anyone possibly have expected HM The Queen, to have related to the Duke & Duchess of Sussex otherwise. She was groomed by the monstrous Victorian misogynist, HM Queen Mary to be shrewdly calculating, murderous if necessary, defender of the saturnal aspects of what being Sovereign entails. She and the rest of he senior royals could have behaved no differently to the Sussexes. Most of all, The Queen did not care to countenance any talk of racism being in any way associated with the House of Windsor. Just suck it up and get on with it, despite, the hideous open racial harassment from HRH Princess Michael of Kent, sporting the blackamoor brooch. Trust me, if she were to emboldened to go public with the racially predatory lynching of Meghan, you can bet that there was unrelenting, unfathomable racism within the royal family and the institution towards the Sussexes.

Could there have been a better cast member for this season, 5, of The Crown. This actor performed his role immaculately to the letter. The fluidity and communion of spirits between him and Mohamed Al-Fayed was successfully captured by both actors’ nuanced and elegant performances, even when Mohamed was being inelegant.

This actor, though similar in look, did not capture the essence of whom Penelope Knatchbull, Countess Mountbatten of Burma is. Above all else, with a energy body of 7, the late Prince Philip’s lover at her very core is a courtesan and would not only damn well do as she pleases but not give a damn who noticed. With a first number of 7, Penelope is almost mannish in her domineering energy body and would prove vastly intimidating for the late Queen Elizabeth II, who already had a secondary chief feature of self-deprecation which means that she would have serious self-esteem issues. Energy body of 7 and born in the year of the snake, the late Queen Elizabeth II was no match for this woman.

The role would have been better served if the actor, Gillian Anderson, who capably showed her mettle were to have been cast as Penelope. Ms. Anderson ensouled the very essence of the persona of Baroness Thatcher. A snake female, Penelope, with an energy body of 7, is the kind of customer who would take a riding crop and beat to death a mere mortal and get away with it; she would also not ever once think about the incident thereafter. All snake women possessed of an energy body of 7 are true courtesans; they are supremely amoral. Gillian would have the right steely comportment to deftly portrait the real Penelope, which may have positively nothing to do with the persona the public sees; and isn’t this almost always the case for famous persons?

Well, hold on tightly duckies, there is lots more to come. Season 6 of the Crown promises Diana’s murder. More than that, it should have flashbacks to the marriage of the Duke & Duchess of York as in penultimate seasons 7 & 8, the fallout of paedophilia allegations for associating with Jeffrey Epstein will see his cancer-stricken mother come undone. Of course, HM The Queen died aged 96; more importantly, she died 25 years after Diana, Princess of Wales’s murder. It takes 24 years for a grand Solar cycle to unfold and all self-karma, created when a karmic debt is initiated as in Diana’s murder, leads to the debtor’s self-immolation. Philip and Elizabeth slowly immolated as the avenging of Diana’s murder took its toll, Philip at exactly 24 years and Elizabeth II a year later. There are no coincidences and Time reveals all truth.

There can be no mistaking the fact that the structural racism, the case for which was made by HRH Princess Michael of Kent’s blackamoor brooch incident and Prince Harry’s memoir SPARE, nicely serve as ample source material for seasons 7 & 8. By then, all the tea with regards Catherine and Ben Ainslie, William’s Tampax moment, which has left him #PrinceofPegging to say nothing of Charles and his teddies one 70 plus years old and other other a virile furry equerry. Let’s also not forget Rose and her come-back pussy, which resulted in the then Cambridges being banished to Adelaide Cottage from Anmer Hall. Also, Camilla’s obvious racism should be highlighted by her need for a parapluie when touring the amongst the ‘darkies’ so that she doesn’t have to shake their hands, which explains why she did not go to the night time declaration of statehood in Barbados and her recent touching a Black girl’s sleeve rather than hold her hand. Then, too, there is the banishment and exodus of the Sussexes to America to successfully escape the hideous spitefulness of the next generation Waleses.

Brendel, Alfred 5/1/1931 Czech Republic

Michael: This fragment is a first level old scholar – second life thereat.  Alfred is in the perseverance mode with a goal of dominance.  A pragmatist, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

Body type is Lunar/Mars /Mercury. 

Alfred’s primary chief feature is self-deprecation and the secondary stubbornness. 

The fragment Alfred is fourth-cast in first cadence, he is a member of greater cadence two.  Alfred’s entity is two, cadre five, greater cadre 6, pod 208. 

Alfred’s essence twin is a scholar and his warrior task companion is known to him. 

Alfred’s three primary needs are: exchange, communion and security. 

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 4 with Merlin. 

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Haiti, Josephine Baker – Cécile McLorin Salvant & Wynton Marsalis and the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra

As ever, Life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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©2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Indeed, What of Edward & Sohpie?

Yes, indeed, as she is Sovereign and could not care less about optics, why did HM The Queen favour Edward & Sophie rather than the toxic twosome, TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge? Let’s compare their numerology to other royals.

HRH Prince Edward Earl of Wessex

10/3/1964 Dragon 1.4.6 = 11

Edward’s got master numbers. Like Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, Edward is possessed of master numbers 11. Such persons do not for a nanosecond tolerate anything that goes against their spirit. They simply walk. Meghan, collected Prince Harry and moved continents rather than be in line of fire of the very toxic (9) Cambridges and I might add, as it now appears, the future Queen Consort, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall. Edward, of course, did not complete his military trainer; he simply put his foot down and walked away – it was not for him and he was not doing it. That’s what master numbers of 11 persons do… as I am quite intimately aware, moi – 2.8.1960 Rat 2.1.8 = 11.

Sophie, HRH Countess of Wessex.

20.1.1965 Dragon 2.3.6 = 11

Well, will you look at that! If there is a couple who are coasting through royal life, unaffected by major stress, it would be this couple. Both Edward & Sophie have master numbers of 11. The rest of their numbers are also rather simpatico. She would have made a great actor or artist; they perfectly understand each other, get along quite harmoniously and have a really good laugh at everyone and everything without being malicious. Just look at the way the Wessexes laugh with HM The Queen as she has just rudely dismissed TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. I might also add that I do not know the Michael Overleaves for either the Earl or Countess of Wessex.

They know all the secrets but know to keep their damn mouths shut; this would be reason enough why HM The Queen favoured them in the preceding video clip whilst telling off and dismissing the Cambridges and their kiss-ass disingenuousness.

Lord Ivar Mountbatten

9.3.1963 Rabbit 9.3.4 = 7

This weekend I looked at all 3 episodes of “Keeping Up With The Aristocrats” and rightly called it – two persons definitely possessed of 9 in their numerology, Lord Ivar Mountbatten and Princess Olga Romanoff. Not surprising that Ivar would be close friends with Prince Edward and his wife. Both men for one are gap-toothed, which means that in their immediate past life would have been Black. For another, their numerology are rather simpatico and they share the same extended family. Clearly, in their immediate past life, both Edward and Ivar were great friends, comrades, family – you always seek out the ones with whom you enjoyed great relations.

Ivar and his dignified husband, James Coyle

So wonderful when any two souls find each other in this vast universe; and what a beautiful union theirs is. Keenly observant of their inter-dynamics, I remarked to my equally keen numerologist sister, Isha, that without doubt both Ivar and Princess Olga are possessed of 9 in their numerology. As with Princess Olga, though being socially aggressive, Ivar will do that high-brow laugh that is nine parts playful border collie, biting at the ears of other dogs simply because it can, simply because that is a distinction of aristocratic classism. With Olga, it is more bilious and, of course, she is friends with that vile, arriviste Colin Campbell themself.

Princess Olga Andreevna Romanoff

8.4.1950 Tiger 8.3.9 = 2

What I love about this photograph of Princess Olga, is how deftly it betrays her unenviable dilemma – quite simply, she is burdened by the baggage of her heritage. Hey, all is choice; she chose to be reborn into that milieu. True to her energy body of 8, she has swanned through life rather arrogantly, expecting to be spirited off by a wealthy, and possibly titled, suitor. Ha! I loved episode 3 of “Keeping Up With The Aristocrats” where Olga is set up with the Guggenheim, visiting from the Carolinas. Olga is guarded, aloof and engages that utterly disdainfully snobbish toff laughter. You just know that she doesn’t give a damn; he is not only not man enough but he is also Jewish, which you can bet does not tick off any box of hers – she does have a lifepath of 9. She would no more marry him than she would an eligible Black prince from Africa. That 9 means that from birth, Olga has been groomed or at least her lifelong been focussed on being a blasted snob – and just look where it has not gotten her. 9s are self-toxic and Olga is no exception. Hers is not an enviable hand, indeed. She also keeps company with that third-tier arriviste snob Colin Campbell.

Olga and Colin.

Colin Campbell

7.8.1949 Ox 8.7.3 = 9

Naturally Colin and Olga would find favour in each other, both are lugubriously hanging on to some semblance of royalty that is tenuous at best. Naturally, their 9 is what fuels this pitiable myopia; this, of course, would make them the most virulent snobs going. Certainly, to put it charitably, they are entertainment of a sort. Only persons possessed of 9 would pass a life, being so obsessed with time-wasting pursuits.

Alexandra Sitwell

24.3.1958 Dog 6.9.5 = 2

Yes, she has got a 9 but it is in the easily disguised second position – that of the mind. Alexandra’s 9 is mooted by an energy body of 6 – compassionate and loyal and 2 in the fourth position which leaves her remarkably creative and gracious. All about gracious living and no appetite for drama. She does not have to be a snobbish boor when she is possessed of inordinate charm and grace. I would really love to have included here the masterful portrait by Nicky Phillips of the Sitwell women: Alexandra, Penelope, her nonagenarian mum and daughter, Rosie.

Emma Thynn, Marchioness of Bath

26.3.1986 Tiger 8.2.8 = 9

Here is another masterful Nicky Phillips portrait this one of another English aristocrat. Emma, too, has a 9 in her numerological makeup; however, with two 8s, she would not be singing the blues, like Princess Olga and Lord & Lady Gerald Fitzalan-Howard of “Keeping Up With The Aristocrats,” when it comes to running a successful home. Emma is one very tough, enterprising capable customer; there is no way that she was not born to rule and Longleat House is not exactly a dump.

Lord & Lady Gerald (Emma) Fitzalan Howard

As neither’s birth stats are readily available on the Internet, I would rather not make assumptions. That aside, they are an endearing couple of humans and Emma’s Kim Kardashian remark is reason enough to favour her. With more than a passing resemblance to Merlin, I am willing to bet that Lord Gerald is a late-mature to possibly early old-souled scholar. Most definitely, he is your older soul scholar; vibrationally, the resemblance to Merlin is rather uncanny especially as he wore a Panama hat – it would be truly jarring for me if he wore a Panama hat and errantly dragged on a marijuana joint, the resemblance is that strong.

Just off the tail-end of Black History Month, most of which I spent listening to Jazz 24/7 at full blast whilst daily doing a BHM tribute on my Insta-thingy, I had intended to add some Jazz to this post and I do believe that going forward, I shall do same for all posts. Why? Because Jazz does not have its frigging roots in Klezmer! This some damn fool had the frig-all temerity to declare several years back on JazzFM and boy did I get fuck-all vituperative when calling the station and screaming how dare they insult Black culture… as well I would. For another, gosh but I love being Black and it is amazing to me that when Jazz is 24/7 being played in my home that some Jazz recording has never been featured in each blog. Of course, when this blog began, it was all about dreams and mostly dreams of Merlin after his passing, which will have been 33 years ago this November; the blog has evolved as it has but last January, I dreamt of Merlin so I shall explore that dream in coming blogs… Be well, be swell and I trust that these dreams of mine have immensely enriched your journey…

https://www.instagram.com/arvin_da_brgha/

As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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©2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

The Scarf… There’s the Culprit.

Scarf moment 2018

Without doubt, though the most reviled black woman on the planet, I knew that though cited as the instigator in the tabloid media, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex could not have been the cause of the obvious rift between Diana, Princess of Wales’ sons: HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge and HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex. When someone is guilty of having wronged, denigrated or slandered another, that guilty party is always acutely uncomfortable in the presence of the subject of their animus. This past Christmas church service at Sandringham, HRH Prince William unwittingly unmasked himself as the guilty party. I never for a moment believed that Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge was the instigator.

george-prince-william

In September 2017 when HRH Prince George of Cambridge was widely photographed attending his first day of school in Battersea, one thing stood out in the reporting at the time: his father’s very close friend and cousin, Lord Frederick Windsor’s daughter Maud by actor wife, Sophie Winkleman also attends the same school. This is the same cousin whose cocaine addiction had caused HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales to put an end to the close relations his sons enjoyed with their cousin; however, HRH Prince William remained close to this cousin.

Engagement photo

One of the things that struck me is the interviews given after their engagement was announced in late November 2017.

Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall was her usual adroit, eloquent self, and her husband,

HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales was the second most upbeat.

At the time, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge was less upbeat, did not mention Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex; rather, he essentially characterised his brother as a thief.

Similarly, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge spoke of their happiness but never mentioned Ms. Markle and this came a day later after her husband; indeed, it was as though, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge had been tasked with doing damage control after William’s snub of Meghan by nmentioning her name.

Princess Michael of Kent with the blackamoor brooch

A month after the engagement announcement, though not yet a royal bride, Meghan Markle was invited to attend HM The Queen’s traditional Christmas lunch with her especially enamoured fiancé, HRH Prince Henry of Wales. So as not to be mistaken, the continental put-on wore a starkly white coat such that her blackamoor brooch would not be properly photographed on a dark coat. At the time, there was justifiable furore in the press and the narcissistic twit was made to issue a rather disingenuous-sounding mea culpa. Clearly, she could never in a million years have acted on her own.

Xmas 2017

Later that month, Christmas Day, 2017, again Meghan not being from Britain was invited – though not yet a royal spouse – to HM The Queen’s Christmas Church Service at Sandringham. On looking at the video, it was clear that there was tensions between the two senior royal couples. By that point, there was widespread open animus towards Ms. Markle and though it was never directly addressed and always vehemently denied, her race was the source of the vitriol. Whilst entering the church, there was smugness from HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge towards Ms. Markle. As they left the church, there was no denying HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales’ open affection for Ms. Markle and in the above photograph, he is beaming directly at Ms. Markle, making her feel welcome whilst the keenly onlooking HRH Prince William in the rear was tense-looking.

William, Kate, Harry and Meghan at the Royal Foundation Forum

A couple of months later, when appearing as the ‘Fab Four’ charter members of the Royal Foundation, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge spent most of his time crouched forward; his posture was predatory and he was keenly eagle-eyed as he monitored Ms. Markle’s performance. As ever, HRH Prince Henry of Wales looked nervous, Ms. Markle was poised though her chief feature tended at times to get the better of her – more on that later. I shall do a thorough overview of these major royals’ Michael Overleaves, which were channelled by two authentic Michael channellers and by none of the ever burgeoning scores of two-bit charlatans.

William cruising Ben Mulroney

Finally, the big day arrived for Diana’s younger son; and what a wedding it would prove. There sat HRH Prince William displaying those urges for which a life at public school leaves one possessed of certain proclivities. In the above photograph, William is eyeing Ben Mulroney – well, because he can – at the time neither of his inner circle chums (Thomas & Charlie van Straubenzee) were present in the quire. At least on two other occasions, William openly coveted Mr. Mulroney during his brother’s nuptials.

the betrayer

On her arrival to the altar to join her husband, Meghan looking more confident and radiant than most brides was being suspiciously eyed by her brother-in-law in his role of disproving, to say nothing of delusional, final arbiter.

no wave william

As the newlywed TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex departed St. George’s Chapel in the Ascot Landau, all the members of the Cambridge family at the top of the west steps waved off the couple save, of course, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge. He kept holding George’s hand and the order of service in the other.

 Senior members of the Royal Family appeared impressed as the array of aircraft flew over Buckingham Palace

Windsor, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge 21/6/1982 London, England

Michael: This fragment is sixth-level mature scholar – third life thereat. William is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. A pragmatist, he is in the intellectual part of moving centre.

Body type is Lunar/Mars/Saturn.

William’s primary chief feature is stubbornness – death of his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales, was the triggering event and the secondary arrogance.

The fragment William is third-cast in sixth cadence; he is a member of greater cadence seven. William’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6, pod 208.

William’s essence twin is a scholar and he has a warrior task companion to whom he is married, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge.

William’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and security.

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 3 with Merlin.

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Windsor, Catherine HRH Duchess of Cambridge 9/1/1982

Michael: This fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior – third life thereat. Catherine is in the perseveration mode with a goal of growth. A pragmatist, Catherine is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Catherine’s body type is Saturn/Mercury/Venus.

Catherine’s primary chief feature is stubbornness and the secondary, arrogance.

The fragment Catherine is fourth-cast in the sixth cadence. Catherine is a member of greater cadence one. Catherine’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6 pod 208.

Catherine’s essence twin is a warrior and the task companion a scholar, her husband, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.

Catherine’s three primary needs are: expansion, power and expression.

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 8 with Merlin. ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

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Windsor, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex 15/9/1984 London, England

Michael: This feisty fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior -– fourth life thereat – to his sixth-level mature brother, William. Henry is in the power mode with a goal of growth. A sceptic, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type is Mars/Saturn.

Henry’s primary chief feature is arrogance and the secondary stubbornness.

The fragment Henry is first-cast in second cadence; he is a fragment of greater cadence three. Henry’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 – Henry is an entity mate of his paternal grandmother, HM Queen Elizabeth II.

Henry’s essence twin is a warrior and he has a scholar task companion.

Henry’s primary needs are: freedom, adventure and exchange.

There are 9 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin.

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Windsor, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex 4/8/1981

Michael: This fragment is a mid-cycle mature artisan in the tradition of the deceased mother fragment who was Diana, Princess of Wales — third life thereat. Meghan is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. An idealist, Meghan is in the moving part of emotional centre.

Meghan’s body type is Venus/Solar.

Meghan’s primary chief feature is self-deprecation and the secondary of mild impatience.

The fragment Meghan is fourth-cast in the fifth cadence. Meghan is a member of greater cadence four. Meghan is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 — she is an entity mate of both her spouse, HRH Prince Henry of Wales with whom she shares 20 past lives and also an obvious entity mate of Her Majesty, The Queen.

Meghan’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion a warrior.

Meghan’s three primary needs are: expression, acceptance and expansion.

There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.

Incidentally, this artisan has been a member of the British royal family twice before.

Firstly, as Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, she was the cousin of King Henry VI and mother of King Henry VII. As such she was the matriarch of the House of Tudor. Her grandson was Henry VIII and her great-granddaughter, Elizabeth I.

This artisan in that lifetime was involved in the sacraments of the church being included in the newly established college system. She founded Christ College, Cambridge and was instrumental with the founding of St. John’s College as well.

Secondly, she was HRH Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany and younger brother to George III, whose father the Prince of Wales, HRH Prince Frederick died before ascending the throne after George II. In that lifetime, the artisan (now Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex) was interested in military structure. He, of course, died young of a then unknown illness but which had to do with dysentery.

Incidentally, in the current incarnation, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has suffered from gastroenteritis, which is related to the last-life health issues – this is the immediate past life and not that in 18th century when the artisan died aged 28.

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Windsor, HM Queen Elizabeth II 21/4/1926 London, England

Michael: This fragment is third-level mature slave –- second life thereat. Elizabeth is in the perseveration mode with a goal of dominance. A realist, she is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type is Venus/Lunar.

Elizabeth’s primary chief feature is stubbornness and the secondary self-deprecation.

The fragment Elizabeth is fourth-cast in fifth cadence; she is a fragment of greater cadence six. Elizabeth’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418.

Elizabeth’s essence twin is a slave and the task companion is a priest.

Elizabeth’s three primary needs are: security, adventure and exchange.

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 4 with Merlin.

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Mountbatten, Prince Philip HRH Duke of Edinburgh 10/6/1921 Greece

Michael: This fragment is fourth-level mature warrior – second life thereat. Philip is in the observation mode with a goal of preferred dominance. A sceptic, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type is Saturn/Mars.

Philip’s primary chief feature is stubbornness – due to early death of a family member and the secondary subdued impatience.

The fragment Philip is seventh-cast in first cadence; he is a member of greater cadence six. Philip’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 408.

Philip’s essence twin is a warrior and he has a scholar task companion who is known to him.

Philip’s primary needs are: exchange, acceptance and power.

There are 14 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.

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Frances, Diana, Princess of Wales July 1/1961<O>August 31/1997.

Michael: The fragment who was Diana Frances is a second-level mature artisan and was in the passion mode with a goal of acceptance, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre.

She had a Lunar/Mercury body type.

Diana’s primary chief feature was stubbornness with a secondary, not of self-destruction but of self-deprecation.

Diana Frances was first-cast in her cadence and her cadence is fifth in the greater cadence. She is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 48, pod/node 380.

This fragment’s essence twin is a discarnate artisan and her task companion is a discarnate sage, both of whom are staying near her, waiting for her to become oriented to her situation.

Here, we had an artisan with drama in her casting but also with a very deep need to serve both the common and the higher good, which she did with grace, charm and a good deal of conviction.

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Windsor, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales 14/11/48 London

Charles Windsor is a seventh-level mature second-cast warrior. Charles Windsor is in observation mode, with a goal of acceptance, and attitude of pragmatist, moving part of intellectual centre.

Charles’s body type is Mercury-Saturn.

Charles’ primary chief feature is stubbornness, secondary is self-deprecation.

He has an incarnate warrior essence twin with no plans to meet and a discarnate priest task companion, who exerts considerable influence on him.

His casting is virtually the same as Robert Bateman’s: entity two, cadre four, greater cadre 16, pod/node 404 but he is a second-cast in a fourth cadence, entity four, cadre four, greater cadre 16, pod/node 404.

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Windsor, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall 17/7/1947 London, England

Michael: Yes, this scholar is at the mid-level of the mature soul cycle — third life thereat. Camilla is in caution mode with a goal of growth. A pragmatist, Camilla is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type is Lunar/Venus.

Camilla‘s primary chief feature is impatience and the secondary arrogance.

The fragment Camilla is third-cast in sixth cadence; Camilla is a fragment of greater cadence seven. Camilla‘s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 129.

Camilla’s essence twin is a scholar and the task companion is a warrior.

Camilla’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and power.

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.

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Now for the esoteric Michaelese breakdown of what all this means. All told, there are 9 major players chosen here; of them warrior souls predominate with four such persons: Catherine, Henry, Philip and Charles. Two scholars: William and Camilla. Similarly, there are two artisans, Diana and Meghan. Lastly, there is but one slave, HM The Queen, who happens to have the strongest overleaves of them all. As HRH Prince William is the subject of this blog, I shall explore his overleaves lastly.

First and foremost, there are only two ways to approach all of life, either from a place of fear or a place of love. That having been said, there are both positive and negative poles of all overleaves. Similarly, just because an individual is an older soul does not mean that they are a more evolved human being and is all good. Of all these 9 royals, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, is the oldest souled member with Diana, Princess of Wales having been the youngest soul among them. Bear in mind, too, that some of these persons are if not entity or cadre mates, at the very least are pod mates. I am going to go through these nine souls in order of soul age and though Charles is the oldest of the group, I will discuss William’s last even though he is the second oldest soul.

The Diana, Princess of Wales
Diana: Second-level mature artisan; she lived the charmed life, great overleaves. She had the great goal of acceptance, which incidentally so too do William, Charles and Meghan. There was considerable Maya involved and she created a ton of drama out of sheer boredom and also as a way of fighting back when realising that she was in a loveless marriage and nothing but a pawn. No idea, if she is yet reincarnated.

Queen Elizabeth II attends a service for the Order of the British Empire at St Paul's Cathedral on March 7, 2012 in London, England. (Photo by Geoff Pugh/Getty Images)
HM The Queen: A third-level mature slave soul, she is on her second life at that level and is in dominance. This is as close to perfect and positively manifested the overleaves of anyone within that family or elsewhere. These are great overleaves, which are positively manifested.


Camilla: She is a mid-cycle mature scholar soul and a pragmatist in growth. This woman is a solid and as gracious a scholar as you can find. No surprise that she focusses on literary charities and organisations and hosts the annual Man Booker Prize awards. She is a scholar’s scholar and does not do drama. Camilla is another BRF (British Royal Family) member who gets it right and is manifesting in the positive pole of her overleaves like HM The Queen.


Meghan: Like Camilla, the Duchess of Sussex is also mid-cycle mature; however, like Diana, Princess of Wales she is an artisan. As is obvious from her overleaves, she chose to reincarnate to do something. Where she is is precisely where she is supposed to be. One does not end up with body-type of Venus-Solar and do nothing and does not become a major player on the global stage. Incidentally, usually only one life is passed at mid-cycle mature; it is a bridge lifetime between third mature and fourth mature and it is the only soul age where this occurs – there are exceptions to everything as this is Meghan’s soul’s third life as mid-cycle mature. At the end of fourth mature, more of the brain is used going forward and there is greater complexity to the persona. Meghan, having been Margaret Beaufort in a past life when she was the most pivotal Lancastrian woman during the War of the Roses, matriarch of the Tudor Dynasty, cousin of King Henry VI, mother of King Henry VII, beloved grandmother and mentor of King Henry VIII and great-grandmother to HM Queen Elizabeth I. Furthermore, Meghan is an entity mate of both HM The Queen and her husband HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex. They form a troika that is unshakeable. She is an idealist in acceptance; she will always be emotionally and empathetically open and mature. Sadly, though, the fact that this soul chose to be black in this lifetime has meant that she has become the most reviled black woman on the planet for having married into the BRF and its most loved prince. Incidentally, her husband, HRH Prince Henry was black in his immediate past life. Meghan’s primary chief feature is that of self-deprecation which is never attractive and this leaves her copping the shy smile routine and in particular placing her hand over her mouth. Your chief feature is a cactus never to be cradled… that said, this soul who as Margaret was first wedded before the age of two and had four husbands will be striking it out of the park in this lifetime again.

The Duke of Edinburgh has undergone a successful hip replacement
Philip: Fourth mature warrior in dominance, this is an equally solid soul as is his wife, HM The Queen. A warrior’s warrior to the core.

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Henry: A fifth-level mature warrior; this man is the most interesting and underrated royal. First of all, at fifth-level mature, he is more complex than any of the other royals thus far; he is also a sceptic and the only other of the nine being the rather shrewd Prince Philip. This means that he is all 9 parts intellect, sees straight through everything and is able to think outside the box. Fifth-level is also synonymous with the goal of acceptance; therefore, this man will always have great appeal within a group dynamic. He is also thoroughly unpretentious and in growth. As a warrior, he inputs on one channel as do scholars and kings. Similarly, as a warrior, Henry will never forgive disloyalty of any kind; a betrayal of any kind is unforgivable.

Catherine Duchess of Cambridge
Catherine: Like Henry, Catherine is not only also a warrior but she is also fifth-level mature. These two are rather simpatico and there is no way that they would never get along; there would be nothing but mutual respect and understanding. Fifth-level mature is also a time of incredible creativity, especially among warrior souls. Catherine also happens to be not just an entity mate of her husband’s but they are also task companions, which is as close a relationship at the level of soul that you can have as is possible. Task companions are like oxen sharing the same yoke; they get things done and Catherine also has a goal of growth like her brother-in-law, Henry but she is in perseveration mode. Catherine is all steel and will endure much and scale any mountain to get the job done. Admirable lady.

Prince Charles
Charles: the fourth of the warriors, he is also the oldest soul of the senior royals. Dream encounters with this man are truly evolved. Naturally, as a seventh-level mature warrior issues of stewardship of the planet would be paramount among his concerns. He is also a warrior in acceptance and lives a life that is truly a positive expression of his overleaves. Kind and inclusive, he is understanding and truly accepting. Like every warrior there ever was, he does not forget or forgive disloyalty.

Prince William
William: He is the second scholar soul and also the second oldest soul of the group. Sixth-level mature, William is at that all unforgiving sixth-level where those lives are all about paying back karma and having to work in the larger arenas of life and providing stewardship. William, born on the summer solstice, was also born with a stellium in his astrological chart which among other things means that he is prone to being very narrow in his focus; more importantly, it indicates someone who cannot see the forest for the trees when expressed negatively.

Though William has a goal of acceptance, he also has a chief feature – no chief feature is ever positive – of stubbornness, which means that he is rarely regardless of his perfected persona ever either at ease or accepting of anyone. Moreover, when a scholar is not in the positive pole of its role – as Camilla is – then that scholar will be an obstinate (stubbornness) negative and prejudicial (acceptance’s polar opposite rejection goal).

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This is why it is almost 100% likely that William not only knew of HRH Princess Michael of Kent’s intention of wearing the blackamoor brooch to the 2017 Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace but he likely was the one to have sanctioned it. William is very close with Frederick who with his Jewish actor wife spend lots of time in Los Angeles where there is inordinate racial animus towards blacks.

Wearing the blackamoor brooch to HM The Queen’s Christmas Lunch was tantamount to wearing a swastika to said lunch the first year that Sophie Winkleman attended, knowing fully well that Lord Frederick Windsor’s wife is Jewish. The idea that somehow Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex is behind a rift between both princely brothers or is contentious with Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge – who as a warrior is more likely to be openly hostile towards Meghan than the other way around – couldn’t be further from the truth.

James Middleton roasts Tom Bradby

I think that it is safe to say that the Middletons have become rather high and mighty with themselves as evidenced when James Middleton was seen being socially hostile towards ITV’s royal correspondent, Tom Bradby outside St. George’s Chapel at the royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex.

Here are further examples of HRH Prince William being rejecting, obstinate and plain rude. William and not Meghan refused to have Sarah, Duchess of York attend his wedding. William and not Meghan sat in the Chapel at St. George’s Chapel and openly ridiculed Reverend Curry to his father, HRH Prince Charles. It was William and not Meghan who decided after the birth of HRH Prince George of Cambridge that the infant’s paternal grandparent would not be afforded access to his first grandchild. William rather than Meghan told Dave Clark that he was not desirable as a husband for his cousin, HRH Princess Beatrice, thereby putting an end to a relationship that was no business of his.

One of the most disarming things to know about HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is that he is basically stupid and lacks awareness. This is how he always comes off in very lucid dream encounters. Furthermore, like all scholars in the negative pole of their soul/role, he is given to being discriminatory and readily judgmental. As a scholar with a chief feature of stubbornness, William is not given to being open to change and has an inordinately corrupted, almost delusional, sense of self. There is high conceit when dealing with this man. Indeed, he has taken his brother Henry, with an attitude of sceptic, none too seriously and definitely not as an equal; however, HRH Prince Henry does not – for being a sceptic – take this man too seriously nor does he take personally his hyper-inflated sense of self.

engagement interview 2010

During their engagement interview, Catherine sat on the edge of the sofa; only once did they touch and it was her initiating. William during the interview self-congratulatorily referred to his great sense of humour – blind conceit. Catherine’s hair almost covers her eyes so that she can remain tunnelled in focus and not become overwhelm by William’s intimidating nature. Catherine’s mouth is pursed and turned down at the corners, betraying her discomfiture for being in William’s presence; this suggests an unpredictable nature and a violent temper. Frankly, Catherine looks as though she fully expects to be slapped at any moment and with some regularity.

Catherine enters Abbey

Catherine as she appeared on entering Westminster Abbey and being greeted by the Dean of Westminster. Her smile is warm, relaxed and she radiates her inner beauty; indeed, it is uneclipsed.

Vows2

Catherine, now in the presence of William becomes clenched, clipped and her radiance lacks its lustre. All this because of the unpredictable nature of the man she is about to marry. This very man is also her task companion; however, his perfectly good overleaves have become corrupted and are not positively expressed in the least.

gloves

William the none-too-bright finally figures out how to properly fasten his gloves.

carriage entry

William enters the carriage and sits with his back to the horses drawing the carriage; he had even looked back over his shoulder to the horses, yet still sat down in the improper position in the carriage.

readjusted

William in this photograph has now changed seats after having been instructed to do so by the footman, wearing the white-plumed hat; the footman did so under his breath.

footman & pipa

In this shot, after having told William to properly sit, facing the front and not the back of the carriage, the footman could be seen looking at Pippa Middleton and she looks at him with a knowing and dismissive look and smile. This interchange between both the footman and Pippa indicates that it is common knowledge by those in the know that William basically is stupid.

Observant Henry

A keenly observant HRH Prince Henry on entering Westminster Abbey with his older brother on the day of William’s wedding. This is the look of someone with an attitude of sceptic. He knows that he has to hang back and take everything with a grain of salt as basically, his brother William is dense and unaware.

Dismissing Henry

While being hosted by the dean of Westminster, Henry ventures a comment and like a scholar in stubbornness and who has been groomed to always be deferred to, William in essence tells his brother to shut up with a dismissive remark. At all times, like a person in stubbornness, William’s body language is rigid and controlling with his hands ever clasped, the same few remarks and the same loud vacuous laughter and of course that ever present smile that is evocative of his mother Diana, Princess of Wales.

fighting

Scholars in the negative pole of their role/soul can be the biggest bores; ever, they are a font of useless information and often unsolicited. Here the newlyweds ride up the Mall to Buckingham Place; at least three times on the ride from Westminster Abbey William became impatient with Catherine and they rowed. Here, he is shouting at her and telling her to be observant; she like the warrior she is, anywhere and anytime, she will sound off and protest without so much as thinking twice. Love her!

rowing on the mall

Do not be fooled by Catherine’s smile; he is grilling her and she is fighting back. This, of course, is a healthy part of their relationship as long-term lovers and also for that matter for being task companions.

Catherine truce

After the harsh words, naturally, William was a sulky petulant bore. Warrior to the core, Catherine leans in and nudges him with her left shoulder and gets him to get out of his funk. Catherine is one of the strongest royal women going.

balcony deflection

Once on the balcony, William becomes a right bore with the endless drivelfest of observations. On more than one occasion, one captured above, Catherine simply dismisses the ennui that is William by pointing instead towards the Canada Gates whilst he was directing her to look down the mall towards the approaching planes taking part in the flypast. And at all times, Catherine maintains equilibrium with that Cheshire cat grin.

William simply assumes because he is destined to be king and is never challenged, he could do as he pleases and attack his brother’s lover without there being the slightest repercussions.

engagement interview 2017

Newly engaged, Henry and Meghan openly displaying their love for each other and both possessed of emotional intelligence that speaks to their reincarnational history, their being entity mates and the fact that as a yogi who has mastered the kamsutra, Henry is a happy camper. Xerxes, a seventh-level mature warrior friend sums up the warrior’s motto thusly: feed me, fuck me but do not annoy me.

Henry winks

Here, Henry on taking his vows and slipping the ring on Meghan’s finger with the most sexually suggestive intimacy, then winks at her. This is a couple completely and thoroughly besotted, in love and passionately consumed with each other.

Now there is a happy warrior; Henry deplanes when on first tour of the Commonwealth with his serenely pregnant wife, whilst sporting a chubby.

the kiss

William, who is inordinately so a control freak, is threatened by his brother’s wife who is not a controlled, plus one and subservient wife. Meghan has style and is not a blank foil to allow the blood royal spouse and only the blood royal spouse to shine at all times. I don’t, though, agree with Meghan’s inability to strictly follow royal protocol and walk behind her blood royal spouse.

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Sussexes

Henry made sure to have a wife who would be for him what his father never was for his mother; a lover, companion and equal team member. Meghan is forthright, articulate. Like every artisan soul, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex inputs on five channels (the most of all the seven soul types) which means she can evoke mood and inject that certain “je ne sais quoi” into what she wears. Artisans are said to be atmospheric; just slipping into an item of clothing and it is as though we shift personae and become as well as project the right mood into the environment. Artisans are atmospheric; we set the mood by just being.

Most of all, this appearance by Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex at the 2018 British Fashion Awards is why William fears her. Hatred is nothing but fear and to be obstinate and conspire with the Kents for Frederick Windsor’s mother to wear the blackamoor brooch only points to how much William fears his brother’s wife; to fear someone is to readily reveal how miserably you have no power over that someone. Onto that stage, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex walked and had the room in the palm of her hand. William knows that Catherine his wife could never have that command of an audience; what’s more, Catherine is a whimpering mousy little thing as compared to eloquent, confident trained thespian, Meghan.

In the 21st century, Brand Windsor needs an ambassador who is media savvy and can walk out onto a stage and deliver like only Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex does. That awards ceremony at Royal Albert Hall would have been a room with more than 60 per cent artisan souls whereas artisans make up 22 percent of the population of souls cosmically. In Meghan, the fashion worlds of couture, design and jewellery have one of their own – she is akin to a patron saint. This was the same effect that Diana, Princess of Wales also had for being an artisan soul.

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In Meghan, William is having to endure some self-karmic issues; you own no one and cannot push around anyone as you please. Thus far, he has irreparably damaged his relations with two strong warriors – his father and brother. Long before Meghan arrived he had sabotaged his relationship with Charles for not approving of Camilla, blaming his father for his mother’s death and denying his father access to his first grandchild. With regards Henry, he has done Meghan a big favour for with his open animus and hideous bigotry vis-à-vis the blackamoor incident, William has lost Henry’s trust and it will only forge the love and loyalty between him and Meghan.

Duchess Kate and Prince William's togetherness was discreetly on show as she placed her hand on her husband's leg at an official welcoming ceremony on day one of their 2016 royal tour of Canada. Photo: Karwai Tang/WireImage

Thus far, William and his family have twice been to Canada on royal tours; they have also been to the U.S., Singapore, Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific Commonwealth nations and India; however, William and his family have yet to set foot in a predominantly black Commonwealth nation. There are no coincidences. Persons in stubbornness are the most difficult people to deal with as they are pigheaded in the extreme and relish being difficult. As he clearly has no interest in being on tour in a predominantly black Commonwealth nation, this is why TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex were appointed as Commonwealth Youth Ambassadors. Far be it for William to become Sovereign where more than half the countries in the Commonwealth are peopled by blacks. As ever, tabloid media will blame Meghan the unsuitable black woman for the rift; truly, one need look no further than William, who is not in the positive pole of acceptance; rather he is in the negative pole of its opposite, rejection, which makes for the scarf incident, the blackamoor incident and all the other deplorable things he’s gotten up to: Sarah not at his wedding, Charles having little to no access to newborn George, froideur towards Camilla and now Meghan. Too bad for his scheming, though, because within a year of marriage, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex will be mother to a royal child which further solidifies her staying power.

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As ever, don’t let fear and chief feature get the better of you as so clearly it has HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge. Just straighten up and fly right… especially when lucidly awakened in the dreamtime. For your ongoing support, I am inordinately grateful. Happy New Year and here’s to the very best in 2019.

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©2013-2023. Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.  

Pink Chair I & II

Within days of George’s 44th birthday on February 9th, 1990, I had been to his McCaul Street loft, which looked east to the buildings lining University Avenue. There, on the top floor’s tiny balcony, we would retreat for some privacy, late at night and suck each other off with his son spying on us… ever he spied on us and it became a definite source of one of our many volatile breakups that George wanted to watch whilst his son and I fucked. I am not about doing anything that I find repugnant. George’s son’s legs are ridiculously bizarre; the space between the knees and ankles inordinately short – he also has too much gum for my liking. Did not matter to me that he was very thick and big; I was not playing. End of discussion. In any event, that winter, after George and I had riotously fucked with his son’s conspicuous silence in the open loft definitely indicating that we were being spied on, I fell asleep whilst George, thoroughly, noisily ploughed right, went to shit and shower, which was always alone and a very lengthy affair. On exiting the bath, as I soundly slept, awaiting my turn to shower, George grabbed his polaroid and took several snaps of me in his sole pink armchair as I remained sheathed in a used full and droopy condom.

By the time that George would present me with the iconic, masterful serigraph, he and I were not then on speaking terms on conclusion of the work. Months earlier, in November 1989, Merlin had passed and as George made it perfectly clear that he did not want to be in a committed relationship, I walked away. He was, of course, pissed but I was not getting the support I felt that I then needed. Truth be told, the relationship with George was ideal, I could no more have given two fucks about his friends anymore than they did me. George was totally controlling – energy body of 9 – and in that way, I was his muse and a great fuck; this left both his family and friends off limit – of course, there was obsession with his son, which meant me fulfilling his fantasy. Not happening. So as I did not play along and began taking lovers of my own, as George wanted to celebrate my life in the event that I, soon after Merlin, perished of AIDS – at that point, I still had not gone out and taken an HIV test; I was simply then too solipsistic to have been any support to Merlin who was then slowly dying of AIDS. So not able to bring himself to name the serigraph after me, it became Pink Chair; of course, for his friends, it was a great dig at me whom they thought of dismissible and an utter non-entity. Of course, I never said more than two words to anyone at that point in my life – that is, if I did not think you worth my time why bother saying fuck all?

For the next three years, George and I saw each other on and off. During that time, I was rapidly self-exploring. Of course, at the core of it all, there was the one ritual that grounded me, each day as I went to bed, I closed my eyes and smiled, knowing that on awaking, I would recall a plethora of dream experiences which before sleep, I could not readily have fathomed. Each morning I woke up, grabbed the tape recorder and began audiocassette recording my dreams. For this reason, as it had been a promise made to Merlin, I had no desire to be in a living relationship. No, I do not want to meet your fucking family, most definitely do not want to be caught dead, wasting a nanosecond of my time, listening to your loser friends and their redundantly specious regurgitated anecdotes – been there… fuck that. With Merlin’s passing, I had found a new groove: go to a few bathhouses, fuck a couple or a couple dozen hungry bottoms, head home by bike and listen to either classical or Jazz and get on with reading, writing and looking forward to travelling to the next art exhibition or Jazz concert and, of course, collecting art.

At one point, George moved out of his McCaul Street loft and with his possessive son remaining at the loft, this opened the way for us to get back together. This, of course, was not without its angst. One evening, I was hellbent on ploughing George to the hounds but he kept on begging off and finally blew up at me and told me to fuck off and, perhaps, he wanted to fuck his brains out with someone else. Are you fucking kidding me? No need to sit about when possessed of that irrational cocktail of obsession, passion, lust and mistrust. With regards his sexual activity, George always lied… I knew this. The first time that he had lied, I noticed the tell-tale sign – his right index finger and middle finger would involuntarily quiver and he would always try to cover it by rubbing his right index against his right nostril. Whenever this occurred, he would always get up and walk away to try and better cover up the physiological quirk. As ever, nothing escaped my eagle-eyed perception.

That night, unable to sleep and more importantly being robbed of valuable dreamtime, I got up and hopped on my bike in the middle of a bitching winter’s dead of night. George, who then lived at 62 Austin Terrace, had me pedal like mad in the biting cold and after locking my bike down the hill, made it up to 62 Austin Terrace, which stood right at the northeast corner of Bathurst Street and Austin Terrace. Truly possessed, I hopped onto the mountain ash tree and began scaling the damn tree as though at 0300 on a cold winter’s night with a street lamp nicely illuminating things, my being a black male, climbing a leaf-bare tree in the Annex, was a perfectly natural thing to be doing, among other illogical considerations. The lights were on in the bedroom; alas, he was not being ploughed by someone who was not me. Of course, George always spoke in his sleep and in one of his little pernicious moves, days earlier as I ploughed him good, he let out someone else’s name whilst pretending to be more asleep and or drunk than he was. Of course, seven years of being the lover of an award-winning director, Merlin, I knew fucking bad acting toute de suite.

There were clothes on the bed that were not George’s but he could not be seen. Undaunted, I scaled and scraped my way down the tree with simian ease, passion-possessed and made it up Bathurst to the rear of the property where I scaled the slippery stone side of the hill and made it atop the garage where for walking across packed, crunching inches of snow, found George being plough on the large draught table in his study. I was beyond livid but wanted and gotten definite proof to slap down his lying when confronted. His response was, of course, feigned indignation at my having had the temerity to spy on him. As with all passionate lovers, that entangled, drama-rife bit of Sargasso was soon traversed to calmer seas. Months later, we got in from dinner, sat down for a drink at his Austin Terrace apartment and laughed and savoured our cognac, after having been out shopping in the early afternoon to choose a new frame for Pink Chair. As ever, George wanting to be plough long and hard, listened to Haydn’s Paris Symphonies – ever, I favoured the London Symphonies. I had just returned to Toronto after amour fou absolu had attempted to steal a dozen pieces from my art collection, among which was Pink Chair.

By March, 1993, I was hanging out in Washington D.C. with Bahamian relations when for walking out on my host, would meet Yuri, the most thoroughly consuming S&M bottom. This, of course, was at a time where all I did was crawl bathhouses partout, ever on the prowl, as finally I had discovered my metier with Merlin’s passing. S&M was the right groove at the right time in my life. So as I crawled predatorily the halls of yet another bathhouse, this one on the edge of a military base in the U. S. capital, I was hotly pursued by Yuri as my swagger and riding boots were just what and more his wildest dreams were in search of. We fucked for several hours, he professed his love and we returned to his place just southwest of Dupont Circle in Foggy Bottom that was the epitome of house proud faggot and way too minimalist for my liking. Alas, we went to his bedroom, which had a bed that was custom-built and made to service his every S&M whim. We were insatiable and it was just right. I looked past his drinking and excessive use of poppers, which second hand ever left me with a splitting headache, he had an actual freezer in which he kept handled bottles of vodka and the salacious bottom with the thick Russian accent was all mine.

Soon he took me to dinner, presented me a ring and demanded that I move to America and his position as lawyer in a queer law firm would allow me to live without the worry of working and the ideal Daddy to come home to. A city full of museums, he had season tickets to Kennedy Center and just a short flight to New York City for more culture and art, it was not very hard to say yes. Soon we went looking at places as I came down every other weekend from Toronto; we dined out and did all the things he had not before. On the off weekend, he had to himself with friends and family, which I made it perfectly clear were a non-negotiable in our relationship.

No sooner than having brought down choice pieces of art and much of my wardrobe as we chatted daily three to five times, I was returned that Sunday evening to no calls or calls going unanswered. Finally, that Thursday evening, he coolly answered the phone and wanted to know what I was bothering him for as, said he, he thought that he had made it clear that it was over between us. Perhaps, I was in denial but now he was with Tyrone who had a big 11.5 inch cock that he just couldn’t get enough of. Putting my master numbers to good use, I morphed and pulled out personalities 33, 47 and 56, all the while not so much as appearing remotely upset. Soon, he was answering the phone whilst being ploughed by Tyrone. Alas, my diamond cutter charm wore him down; we did after all have concerts to attend at Kennedy Center. So fool him, he accepted as Tyrone was going home to Philly for his mama’s 50th birthday – as if I could give two point five fucks.

Returned to Washington, I charmed him though he was wary and mistrustful – his guilt not mine. Finally, he gave in and we had one last S&M session. Tied up, he stood upright in the leather bedding with black bath sheets everywhere to catch his piss as I ploughed his arse, exposed by the thick leather chaps, rough, long and hard. I then slipped beneath the bed and got out the duct tape purchased earlier at Heckenger’s across town – everyone in the neighbourhood knew him and I had no intentions of anyone tipping him off. The hood zipped tight, revealing only his eyes and mouth, I smeared half a dozen strips of the black tape across his lizard-lipped cocksucker mouth and left just enough room for him to comfortably breathe.

As the opera fag neighbours below were in that evening, I turned up the music – Maria Callas CDs on the Denon stereo system – really loudly and pulled his big-boned body from the black leather sheets and hauled him by the harness through the 2100 square foot duplex apartment to the living room, took the strap to him as well he loved it; however, this was not about him, left him slumped and seated on the floor and quietly and meticulously cut my fucking art from the god fugly gaudy gold frames, into which the fucking racist moron had placed my stolen art, 12 pieces in all, including Pink Chair. Having returned my art into the tubes, in which they had months earlier been brought down from Toronto, I called my ride and with lots of time to spare its arrival, I hauled the blasted fool – who to that point had royally pissed off at least half my known 72 personalities, to his large bathroom, where clad in leather from head to toe, I heaved his bulky body – his legs and hands bound as he loved it during play, over the side of the tub, ripped out his butt plug, squatted down, violently ripped off the duct tape, replaced it with my gauntlet sheathed left hand whilst riotously fucking him hard. Hissing into his right ear, still hammering away at his ravaged mangina, ‘you fucking thief… what does that make you. That’s right, you’re a fucking nigger and don’t you ever forget it.’ Slamming the bathroom door shut behind me, my head ached from all the poppers he did. Coolly, I went to the freezer and got the handled bottles of vodka there, where else but America, and slowly undid his suit so that his welted body beneath could really sting from the vodka’s cold, unforgiving bite, after shoving his whimpering body into the tub. When I was done emptying all his vodka on his shivering, enraged body, I straddled his wet body below in the tub and whilst standing on the edge pissed and relieved my bladder which since removing my stolen art from his walls had been straining for release.

From there, I hightailed it to New York City and stayed a few days at Valerie Pringle’s only brother’s West 16th Street walk-up where I grounded anew by going to all my favourite museums by day and crawling the village in riding boots, making further conquests, which usually began whilst gyrating and face-fucking on the tiny dance floor down the mirrored winding stairs at the historic Stonewall Inn. Returned to Toronto with my art, over dinner at a tiny Spanish restaurant off Yonge Street, after we had taken Pink Chair to be framed, raising a glass of red, I winked at George and said of the vanquished amour fou, the best way to piss on a fool’s grave, is to do so before they actually are dead and buried. Dinner was beautiful and with that, we returned to his apartment at 62 Austin Terrace and George was no end of happy, reaching back and holding on to my riding boots, his arse high in the air, as I ploughed and staked my claim to his heart centre as never before.

‘What the fuck are you calling me for?’ On my return to Toronto, I lethally hissed down the phone at the racist boor in Washington D. C.. ‘We have no business together. Obviously, all you can handle, is nothing more than 11 IQ points. Let’s make this perfectly fucking goddamn clear, since your HIV status – that’s right, I have known all along, precludes you making it across the border, you will stay the fuck where you are and get over it. You’re a fucking thief.’ He then violently demanded that I return ‘his’ art and be man enough to bring it back. ‘What the fuck has AIDS and poppers done to your fucking pea brain? Bitch are you fucking nuts? You are dead to me. Shit, I already pissed on you… you are as good as fucking dead! Cutting him off as he launched into his foul, drunken nigger this, nigger that, I boomed down the phone into his gutted soul, ‘Hang it up! Hang it the blasted motherfuck up! Now! Go on, hang up your fucking phone now. You fucking drunken diseased rat. Now! Hang it the blasted motherfuck up now! Hang it up! Finally, the line dropped, collapsing his weak sobbing. A bottom to the core, he never dare dialled my number again.

Also, at 62 Austin Terrace, I announced to George that I had accepted a job offer in Vancouver and would be leaving in mere days. George was devastated as he felt that he was being abandoned for not having been fully engaged in a committed relationship. In the end, not long after I was happily ensconced in Vancouver’s West End, that George visited. We had some of our best sex deep into the musky wholesomeness within the woods of Stanley Park, lorded over by centuries old Sitkas. There in the dead of night, George buried his left cheek in the mud, held on to my riding boots as ever he loved to as I ploughed and took us both to beyond the edge of ecstasy. George’s first visit to Vancouver – there was a second, was passed going to galleries, having an early dinner, likely on Davie Street, going home for a nap before getting up late at night to go do that most primal of deeds, fucking surrounded by the sublime beauty of nature.

On the eve of Bob Marley’s birthday – a very brightly, crisply cold Friday in 1999, my wife and I emerged in full African garb onto Saint Laurent from Montréal’s palais de justice accompanied by George and my sister, Pandora, both serving as witnesses. That evening at our lovely Cote des Neiges home, the four of us were joined by a lovely Jewish boy from Hampstead. George and I were reunited after too long on the cusp of his 53rd birthday and among other things, we warmly celebrated his upcoming birthday. The evening was beautiful. Five years later, my wife and I relocated back to Toronto as both our fathers experienced health crises. My first visit to George’s Borden Street penthouse was beautiful, the view looked north to one of my favourite high-rises in the city; it is a deco affair at the northwest corner of Spadina & Richmond Street West. I am always reminded of Merlin and New York City where we met and how much he loved the architecture of 1930s New York City. Paris, my wife, and Pandora were invited to dinner in the late afternoon.

George seldom hung art about his homes, and rarely any of his; there was one however which moved me the moment I walked into the room. Who is it, I asked, to which George laughed and said, ‘it’s you, of course. It’s the companion to Pink Chair… it is Pink Chair. Back in 1987 when we first met, George had asked me to sit at his loft on Brock Avenue in the Queen West Queen neighbourhood. As a result of our carnal passion, George experienced a new creative drive; he became more creatively focussed and produced more. George’s attack was dazzling and he created with feverish speed. He was always grateful for that time, he was not yet 41 when we met and for him, it proved the mid-life crisis he needed. It was great, too, because Russell, a lover of his, had slowly been dying of AIDS and I became the anchor that kept him focussed here and now.

I was invigorated by this second Pink Chair, which had been completed in 1992 but which he had never shown me. Finally, George and I met separate of my wife, Paris, who has since transitioned and become Denver, for dinner at his Borden Street penthouse condo. Even though I had become a portly little cock-bottomed, short-breathed eccentric with age, I still wanted to return to being George’s muse and, of course, lover. As ever, we dined on another exquisitely prepared meal, which featured a George staple – asparagus and another sublime sauce with the right accompanying wine. At this dinner, however, George began opening up and told me of a murder at University of Toronto where he taught printmaking; it was a murder, George shared, for which he was a major suspect. For the next couple of hours, I watched George come undone as he talked of how unrelenting the authorities were in surveilling him. At one point, as he slumped in the chair across the table from me, George sprang back to life and said that he wanted to apologise; said George, all the years of hearing me speak of the insidiousness of racism and the effects it had on one’s wellbeing, he had dismissed and for that he wanted to apologise.

George trembled at times and he seemed to age before my eyes. Keenly, I kept a raptor’s gaze fixed on his every move. Never once throughout that dinner did I fail to look out for George’s right index and middle fingers’ movements; they never once quivered. George shared that he was terrified of sleeping because he constantly suffered nightmares of losing everything with his being pinned with the murder, going to and dying in jail. George said that he constantly felt as though his every action was being monitored, analysed to discern whether he was the murderer or not. Getting up, I went and knelt at his side at the dining room table and held him, hugged him. I let him know that I was there for him. Slumping forward, George hugged me and dissolved in tears, we both cried. I cried because I realised that there was no way that George could ever be passionate again; there could be no sleepovers – he talked constantly during sleep.

George and I never met at his condo again. Walking away that evening, I was struck by how neutered and consumed with fear George had become. At one point during dinner, with his back turned whilst cooking dinner, one of my notoriously loud sneezes exploded. Though George had heard that loud explosion countless times before, he responded as though a high speed train had unexpectedly zoomed past. George and I seldom spoke by phone and rarely emailed after that dinner. As a matter of fact, apart from meeting twice to catch a movie, we only saw each other whenever I turned up at Dr. Tsang’s. It was one of these visits – whenever I went to the doctor’s, George happened to have been there, George shared that he had cancer. I was stunned. Over time, George’s stomach became more distended, his look more wounded and what pained me most, was how much he remained as if possessed, thanks to having been a major suspect in the murder of a colleague.

After dinner, as I made to leave and we hugged long and hard, we then looked at Pink Chair, another of his masterpieces, George kissed me and said that whatever happened, it was mine; George wanted the piece to eventually become mine but for now, he was holding on to it because it reminded him of the passion we shared and how intensely I had inspired him to create and drove him, drove each other mad with the passion we shared. Getting down to Borden, I was so immensely drained at George’s despair that I walked with bike a block south to Adelaide, hailed a cab, securely tucked the bike in the trunk and silently wept on the ride home. I got in, lit beeswax candles everywhere, listened to Haydn’s Paris Symphonies, then had an extra hot soak in the tub with rose petals and Epsom salt, smudged my home afterwards with sagebrush, crawled into the pyramid, gathered crystals and upped my frequency whilst collapsing through the labiate folds of sleep’s sweet, welcome embrace. George died a dozen years after my return to living in Toronto from Montréal, and all attempts to acquire Pink Chair have proven unsuccessful. A lover scorned… indeed.

As ever, Life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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©2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Tis The Season… Cicadas Abound!

Let’s show those crass, Yanks some class! Who does she think she is, parading about New York City… as if? World premier, it is. We’ll pull out all the stops and banish their coverage. Alas, always missing the mark, these island dwellers. Then again, it is the year of the cicada, replete with dragging wings… ha! Coming thru y’all… Princess Gurn and Squeak de Bourbon y Bucklebury, looking so on point – her outfit like yet another discarded cicada shell this summer. Though, truth be told, it does bring back memories of that god awful shower curtain at my Côte-des-Neiges apartment.

Suddenly, I feel some Johnny Cash coming on…. gurn gurn gurn gurn… poom pee doom doom dooo… yee-haw! The dead eye, the mouldy sillage of sodden cardboard weighs down the air… Soon, another face-hurting outing completed, she can lamentably go home with the bald, simpleton Bourbon bastard, argue, bitch some more, have a drink, eat a lima bean or two then control that figure by chain smoking well into the night… charmant. How appropriate the choice of gown that deftly mirrors the shell of a life of ennui and playing dress up.

As for this absurd reinvention of the listless, mousy, Edward Gorey, gurning ghoul, by Britons one and all, Catherine has, truth be told, evolved into every bull dyke’s wet dream.

All she said was, ‘Hi everybody’ and all New York, alas, all America was besotted. Though the British media have all but burnt the negro at the stake, there she was in Central Park and more radiant than Jeanne d’Arc, after having survived the isle of racist boors by whom she was no doubt spiritually crushed.

My silver crown can be seen directly to the right and ahead of the male whose face is covered by :16 from the time with the red line just below my right ear in capture of the YouTube video of Channel 4 coverage with royal commentator, Alastair Bruce on Remembrance Sunday, 2018 at Whitehall.

I will never forget standing in Whitehall on Remembrance Sunday 2018 and being exhausted from the hatefulness being directed towards the Duchess of Sussex from positively everyone around me.

A Berry Royal Christmas, 2019

Sorry Yank haters, the camera does not lie… stop pretending you did not notice that snippet into their true relations… Like Andrew’s seedy proclivities, you cannot indefinitely explain the truth away.

As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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©2013-2023 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

House of Bourbon-Bucklebury…

As there are no fugitives from gossip, what better way to hide a secret than in plain sight. So as the Duchess of Sussex is again with child, you have to wonder why they were sequestered to a far-off land… among other things, so that the famille Sussex could no longer fall prey to the petty, vindictive Bourbon imposter and his maudlin commoner with Bucklebury muggles in tow all defended by a racially predatory gutter press.

So as the Bourbon imposter grew and the genetics manifested, Diana was made to play the loose woman, who would have an affair – the date of which was questionable – with a redheaded stud, never mind that Harry looks exactly like his redheaded maternal cousin.

Of course, people never see the forest for the trees. When the little Bucklebury muggle made his inaugural trip to Western Canada, those knock-kneed, flat-footed images not only harked back to his large-headed, bald father but one spent long moments trying to place where previously one had seen this smattering of genetics. As the snobbish little flat-footed imposter heir gave Fidelina de Castro the cold shoulder as the silly Mr. Selfie made more of an ass of himself, trying to shake a toddler’s hand, one was reminded of that hot gossip of Fidelina, roughing it hand-in-hand, naked with Rambutt O’Toole whilst kayaking in the Yukon. But enough about closeted fare in the colonies.