Harry Having Fun
Life is so unfair. Just when Cornet Harry Wales was having a whale of a time, his cover had to be blown. What's a fellow to do? Well, this particular fellow seemed, in fact, to be having the time of his life back in London, before he was dispatched to Afghanistan. It seems wherever he goes he enjoys the hell out of life.
In London, of course, he was Harry of the House of Windsor: Prince Harry. Much googled over and admired by the public who take their royalty seriously; the young ones, in any event. He's a rabble-rouser of the first water, a trendsetter, hard-drinking libertine. Oh yes, perhaps a bit of an embarrassment to his grandmother, Queen Elizabeth II, but no matter.
Wasn't it always thus? The young feeling their oats, the old groaning with displeasure at youthful excess? Really, youth does seem to us old groaners to be wasted on the young. In his youthful exuberance Harry obviously wanted to dip his royal heel into all manner of experiences, and nothing quite held him back.
And didn't the scandal sheets adore him for it. A chip off the younger old block; not his staid and thoughtful father, but his extraordinarily scandal-driven mother, besotted with herself as the golden princess. Might it seem a tad reasonable, come to think of it, that his irritated Royal family might have sought to level off his rough spots with a stint at boot camp?
In one fell swoop restore the image of princely status; from a spoiled little bad boy, suddenly a hero. Doing what all naughty little boys adore; playing soldier, hoisting arms, being buddies in a theatre promising the thrill of impending - albeit not too much so - danger. He's back in London now, scooped out of Afghanistan.
And ever so eager to return, like the little boys whose mothers have called them in from play after dark to go to bed because tomorrow is another day. Harry happily described his Afghanistan service as the "happiest time of my life. I would like to have stayed back with the guys". Ah, mom, do I have to come in?
Yes, Harry, it's time. Your revealed presence as a high-value target in that visitor-unfriendly country places those true-blue and very pedestrian soldiers at added risk, don't you know.
Tough, but that's life.
In London, of course, he was Harry of the House of Windsor: Prince Harry. Much googled over and admired by the public who take their royalty seriously; the young ones, in any event. He's a rabble-rouser of the first water, a trendsetter, hard-drinking libertine. Oh yes, perhaps a bit of an embarrassment to his grandmother, Queen Elizabeth II, but no matter.
Wasn't it always thus? The young feeling their oats, the old groaning with displeasure at youthful excess? Really, youth does seem to us old groaners to be wasted on the young. In his youthful exuberance Harry obviously wanted to dip his royal heel into all manner of experiences, and nothing quite held him back.
And didn't the scandal sheets adore him for it. A chip off the younger old block; not his staid and thoughtful father, but his extraordinarily scandal-driven mother, besotted with herself as the golden princess. Might it seem a tad reasonable, come to think of it, that his irritated Royal family might have sought to level off his rough spots with a stint at boot camp?
In one fell swoop restore the image of princely status; from a spoiled little bad boy, suddenly a hero. Doing what all naughty little boys adore; playing soldier, hoisting arms, being buddies in a theatre promising the thrill of impending - albeit not too much so - danger. He's back in London now, scooped out of Afghanistan.
And ever so eager to return, like the little boys whose mothers have called them in from play after dark to go to bed because tomorrow is another day. Harry happily described his Afghanistan service as the "happiest time of my life. I would like to have stayed back with the guys". Ah, mom, do I have to come in?
Yes, Harry, it's time. Your revealed presence as a high-value target in that visitor-unfriendly country places those true-blue and very pedestrian soldiers at added risk, don't you know.
Tough, but that's life.
Labels: Life's Like That, Realities
posted by Pieface | 6:30 PM
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