LET’S cast our minds back to the funeral of Princess Diana.
We’d never seen anything so enormous or so unexpected or so moving.
There were so many crushingly sad moments that I sat there for hours, crying my eyes out.
The hearse driving through a blizzard of flowers as it headed up the M1 to Althorp.
The princes Harry and William following the coffin, which was adorned with a floral display and a card that said, simply, “Mummy”.
And, of course, Elton John singing “Goodbye England’s Rose”.
I was in bits.
But I was also a little nervous because I kept thinking, how can a funeral ever be more gut-wrenchingly magnificent than this?
And if it can’t, what will happen when the Queen dies?
Will we all just think that an old lady has passed away and not pay much attention?
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And if we did, would her send-off be smaller than Diana’s as a result?
Well, we all know the answer to that now.
The Queen’s funeral dwarfed everything anyone, anywhere in the world, had ever seen. It dwarfed our wildest expectations.
This was a primary-coloured, five-mile-long disturbance in the force.
That scene when her coffin came down The Mall, with all those people watching and all those flags and all that soldiery in their Sunday best, was more exciting and more emotional than anything I could have even imagined.
I was gasted with flabber.
I wasn’t sobbing though, because I was too busy reeling with joy and gratefulness at the sheer size of it all and the majesty and the brilliance of absolutely everyone involved.
I was also breathing a massive sigh of relief because if the crowds had been patchy, that would have sent out a worrying signal — that us lot, the nation’s ordinary people wanted a Diana style of royalty more than we wanted the version built over 70 years by the Queen.
Those two are unhinged
That we wanted pretty girls and low-cut frocks more than we wanted hard work and sensible shoes.
I don’t want to sound like Piers Morgan, who’s obsessed with the Markles, because I never want to sound like Piers Morgan.
But I’m afraid there’s no way round it. He’s right. And I am going to sound like him when I say, “Those two are unhinged”.
Here are some questions Meghan might like to answer.
On the day the Queen died, why did William and his party wait in London for such a long time that they arrived in Scotland — we are told — after the Queen had died?
And why did Harry then arrive on his own? And then leave on his own early the next day?
Were you being a nuisance somehow?
Or were you too upset to go?
Sure, we were shown pictures of you crying at the funeral but you’re an actor, for crying out loud. Not a very good one, I admit, but an actor nevertheless.
And actors can cry on demand. Even I can. And, on a number of occasions, have.
I very much doubt those tears were real. Because why would you cry at the funeral of someone who fronted an organisation that you very obviously despise.
It’d be like me crying when Piers is taken to that great larder in the sky.
And Harry? Well, when it came to a choice between singing God Save The King, which would have pleased his family and about four billion people around the world, and NOT singing, which would please no one but his wife, he chose not to sing.
That could be because he has giant balls.
But it’s more likely that Meghan’s got them attached to a bomb in a chest of drawers in their hideous house in California.
Maybe that’s what all those suspicious bulges were under her tight-fitting dress. The detonator.
For the past few months, the Markles have felt like their drive to become The New Royal Family was going pretty well.
He was clowning around on a bus with that halfwit, James Corden, and she was getting quite a bit of traction among a small gang of teenage feminists who think that The Old Royal Family may be racist meat-eaters.
This is what’s been spurring her on. A sense that because the Queen “never complained and never explained”, Meghan could rampage around the place, spewing poison, telling “her truths” and, in so doing, winning the hearts and minds of the stupid and the socially disabled.
But then she got to the Queen’s funeral and in her scheming head, she must have thought, “Oh s**t”, this royalty business is bigger than I thought.
You’re damn right it is, love.
The Royal Family in this country has lasted for more than a thousand years and is massively respected, as you’ve seen, by billions of people across the globe.
Whereas you are a divorced and mostly friendless two-bit actress who’s thrown away your own family, and asked your husband to do the same thing.
And for what? A bit of money?
I used to know Harry a bit. We played tennis together (I won) and he once came and drove as The Stig on Top Gear. He was a good lad. But you, Meghan, have filled his head with woke American nonsense and ruined him.
God knows what he gets in return. Actually, scrub that — because of course God does know.
What we know, down here on Earth, is that he wanted to wear a uniform at the funeral.
He wanted to salute at The Cenotaph. He wanted to be there for his family at his grandmother’s funeral and because of you, Meghan, he couldn’t.
As a result, we are not interested in you or your podcasts, or your “foundations”, and we are certainly not interested in your husband’s forthcoming tell-all book.
If you can call something written in crayon “a book”.
I am longing with all my heart to not read it.
I do not wish Meghan any harm. I hope that after she has been photographed sitting by herself on the back of a playboy’s superyacht and outside the Taj Mahal, she goes on to lead a long and happy life.
But she should know this.
When she dies, hopefully many years from now, she will not be carried in front of millions by stoic men with good hearts and strong arms.
If it’s a slow news day, the best she’ll get is a small obituary in The Times on Page 27.
Because her whole being is based on nothing at all, and we prefer people with a bit more stuff going on.
That’s why we liked the Queen and it’s why we like Charles and it’s why, many years from now, after he’s been through a blizzard of roses, we will like William too and then, way on down the road, George.
So, Meghan, my dear, to use the sort of language you Americans understand: “You’re gonna lose this war with our Royal Family. And you’re gonna lose it big”.