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During a less-publicized aspect of their recent visit to Jordan, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex encountered a surprising figure on their journey towards Amman. The incident unfolded over their two-day trip, which blended royal charm with a more casual, unofficial undertone.
As they traveled on a dusty road, a beggar woman unexpectedly emerged from beneath a rock. Her appearance was startling: her clothing was a tattered remnant of what used to be a Catherine Walker polka dot dress, her hair disheveled and resembling a decaying orange. In her hands, she clutched an old Ascot hat, using it to plead for alms.
“Feed the old bird, tuppence a bag,” she cried, suddenly stepping in front of the royal couple. Her wild, red-rimmed eyes locked onto Meghan, who maintained an air of grace and relatability, dressed in a coat from Zara.
The woman, with a voice roughened by time and hardship, implored them, “Can you spare a few mill for a poor old duchess down on her luck? I was once the fresh face of the monarchy, much like you. Look at me now.”
This peculiar event underscores the strange realities of our times. It’s remarkable to consider that the Sussexes might have been in the Middle East concurrently with the former Duchess of York. She is rumored to be in the Emirates, possibly seeking refuge and financial support, with some speculating on her methods of persuasion.
Is that harsh? Stop it. I have no sympathy for Sarah Ferguson, who knowingly and willingly lived off the Epstein paedo pound for years. She and her former husband are a disgrace to themselves, to the monarchy, to all of us.
But regrettably, part of this greasy Yorkian legacy is that in the immediate aftermath of their exposure, everything and everyone looks different.
In this harsh light, even the bad guys look good. And don’t Harry and Meghan know it. The couple made an 8,000-mile trip from Montecito to the Middle East, pantingly keen to show that despite royal scandal, there is no end to their kindness and compassion, their sense of global duty, their humanitarianism.
The Sussexes made an 8,000-mile trip from Montecito to the Middle East for their trip
In Jordan, Meghan and Harry kicked footballs around and visited refugee camps
They were invited there by the World Health Organisation (WHO), to which they have a charitable connection. Six months ago their charity, Archewell Philanthropies, gave £370,000 to projects – including those operated by the WHO – to help develop prosthetic limbs and provide other support for child war victims from Gaza and Ukraine.
It is an incredibly worthy cause, but is it so terribly wrong to point out that this donation is hardly a fortune in terms of global benevolence or indeed the size of their own personal fortune?
Meghan’s television wardrobe for her doomed Netflix series cost almost as much; all those Cartier diamonds among the flour dust as she baked treats for her imaginary friends and padded around her fake kitchen in £700 leather sandals.
Every little helps of course, let’s not be mean. Yet to put it in context, the British Government – funded by me and you and our taxes – pledged £310 million to the WHO for the 2024–2028 period. Just saying.
However, optics are everything. In Jordan, Meghan and Harry kicked footballs around, visited refugee camps, preached to anyone suffering from anything that, ‘It’s okay not to be okay’ and wrote glib messages to recovering addicts on Post-it notes because there were no fresh bananas available.
Apart from the occasional wild-eyed glance from Harry, the pair looked more like royalty than royalty; glowing, confident, even smug. It is amazing how one turn of the royal kaleidoscope can change everything. Five minutes ago the champagne-soaked Sussexes were trying to pretend they were not really at a grotesque Kardashian party in Jeff Bezos’s Hollywood mansion, sucking up to the suppurating excrescences of Tinsel Town in a ballroom with blood red walls.
Now they look like Windsor saints, perhaps even the only ones likely to escape the York taint intact. But is that fair?
The other week I criticised Prince William for tramping around Saudi Arabia looking miserable and even scruffy; his lemon-faced presence giving legitimacy to one of the most repressive regimes on the planet.
I also pointed out that he was there at the request of the British government, acting as a soft power ambassador to strengthen British ties with one of our key allies in the Middle East.
Harry and Meghan visit the World Central Kitchen Food at the Jordan Country Office in Amman
That is the key factor – his presence mattered, diplomatically and strategically.
William might be a bit of a bore, moaning on about his mental health, often unappealing and never knowingly overselling himself, but he does not have his worries to seek.
His wife and his father have both battled cancer, the future of the monarchy rests on his weary shoulders and, in addition, he must prepare his eldest son for the rigours of royal life.
The Prince of Wales has the huge responsibilities of a future and a destiny he never wanted for himself, and he clearly does not take them lightly. In comparison, his younger brother is the royal rebel who wants all the cream and none of the stale cake.
Prince Harry and his wife ran away from protocol, from sufferance and fuddy dud royal obligations in 2020, yet still cling on to their titles bequeathed by an institution they purport to hate. And still take every opportunity to act like royals on the world stage.
Meghan and Harry might gloat at the travails of the House of Windsor – certainly, there have been no public messages of support – but they do so at their own peril.
For their present is rooted in the past; their standing is based on heritage not achievement, and they are only being treated like royalty in Jordan because of Prince Harry’s ancestors. The joy of their position is that they have all the royal benefits but none of the responsibility and nothing to lose because they represent only themselves and their own brand.
Prince William represents a country, an embattled monarchy, a son who will be a future king, a troubled future, an uncertain road ahead.
No wonder he wanders around looking like a pained thumb or the grim reaper on a day off.
Still, I would rather have his miserable face under a crown than the showbiz Sussexes with their oh-so concerned looks, their faux passion and their constant cuddling of each other.
For it’s okay not to be okay, as they keep reminding everyone.
Second-hand moral maze
Anya Taylor Joy walking in Soho wearing Alexander McQueen faux fur
Chic girls about town have started wearing fur again.
Once utterly verboten, fur coats are now a common sight on London streets, and there is a roaring trade in the once moribund second-hand market. Why?
Apparently it is part of the younger generation’s upcycling, recycling, caring, sharing culture. New fur clothes are still frowned upon, but your granny’s old chinchilla stole is fine. If someone else bought it, you’re in the clear – just like militant vegan Stella McCartney, who somehow permits herself to wear vintage leather boots, but boasts a cruelty-free fashion brand.
I don’t understand. If it has always been morally wrong to wear leather or fur, how come second-hand finds suddenly make it morally right?
Time for Bake Off’s Nadiya to leave the TV kitchen
Nadiya Hussain won the sixth series of The Great British Bake Off in 2015
TV cook Nadiya Hussain complains that she got paid less than ‘the white version of me’ and seems to be suggesting that being dropped by the BBC after ten years is some form of racism.
But is it not more likely that her heritage would have been a positive advantage in a BBC obsessed with diversity?
No doubt she was certainly a worthy winner of The Great British Bake Off. Despite failing many of the technical challenges in the 2015 series, Nadiya was a deft and neat baker, organised and practical.
In the final she piped her iced buns with perfect jam tramlines, won the technical challenge and produced a showstopper that she called My Big Fat British Wedding Cake: a giant lemon drizzle decorated with jewels from her wedding day and a red, white and blue sari. Beat that!
It celebrated the fact she was born in Luton to a Bangladeshi family and was a testament to the success (ahem) of multi-culturalism. How could she not win?
Mary Berry cried when she handed over the Bake Off trophy to this tiny, funny, charming woman.
It was what came afterwards that became problematic. Everyone fell over themselves to make Nadiya a star – but in essence she was a young housewife who had led a sheltered life and who had polished but limited culinary skills. How far could she go before the bottom of her cooking vessel of choice was scraped clean?
Nadiya claims it was when she published Rooza, a Ramadan cookbook, last year that the BBC declined to turn into a television series.
She was quick to accuse the corporation of underhand motives – adamant that her Muslim heritage was to blame and claiming to be a victim of racism in the ‘broken’ TV industry.
However, the BBC also said a polite no to her most recent book Quick Comforts, ambitiously priced at £29. Frankly I am not surprised.
Her terrible recipes include cabbage pancakes topped with tinned tuna, fried cheese slices wrapped around a pickle, crab stick fried rice, deep fried cheese balls, a heavy reliance on garlic and onion granules along with spice pastes and a recipe on page 10 for . . . wait for it . . . chips. I am ‘simply deep-frying chipped potatoes’ she writes. Well, quite.
Nadiya had a good run as the star of a reality television show. She did well, really well. Perhaps her demise has less to do with incipient racism and more about the fact that her gas is at a peep and her 15 minutes of fame are up. Time to slip onto the back burner with grace, dear.
Alysa’s a cool champ
Olympic gold medalist Alysa Liu of Team USA poses at the Milano Ice Skating Arena
Hats off to inspirational Alysa Liu, the American skating champion who won two golds at the Winter Olympics.
I don’t know my triple axel toe loop from my lutz triple flip, but I know greatness when I see it. Watching Alysa skate with such joy brought me to tears – and all to the music of Jimmy Webb’s classic song, MacArthur Park, sung here by Donna Summer. The American songwriter, 79, was also moved. ‘I enjoyed it more than anyone – her energy her youth, her optimism breathed a new life into MacArthur Park,’ he said.
Alysa’s skate to the top has not been without its challenges. ‘I love struggling, actually. It makes me feel alive,’ she said. There speaks a true champ. Young people of the world, take note.
 I believe in power of Pilates
Maya Meron, 45, was badly injured at a pilates class and now uses a wheelchair
My sympathies to Maya Meron, a violinist, left disabled and in need of a wheelchair after using a faulty Pilates machine. She went undercover, collecting evidence to support her case against Heartcore Pilates studios, who denied their machine was faulty.
Ms Meron won her case for compensation this week after a seven-year dispute.
However, tragic as her case undoubtedly was, I do wonder what her evidence against the company could have been. For I’ve been going to Heartcore in London for almost a year, taken multiple reformer classes, used dozens of their Coreformer machines and they have all been A1 fine.
The studios and instructors are lovely, while their fitness system and tuition are life changing. I pay attention to their directions and lock the footbar in place before using it – the crucial element in Miss Meron’s case. There’s risk in everything – especially a complicated exercise system such as reformer Pilates. However I believe an hour on a Coreformer is better than three hours of any other exercise. So if you are thinking about trying Pilates, don’t let this unfortunate incident put you off. Go for it!