Well. We all knew the Yorkies were a pair of flakes – but who could have guessed how deep the rot went?
Historian Andrew Lownie’s new biography of Prince Andrew is withering in its depiction of the Duke and Duchess of York as a pair of money-grabbing, rude, sex-obsessed, royal thickos.
For years they capered around the globe living it up in embassies or five-star hotels while affecting to be doing good works – but the charitable causes they were most interested in were themselves and their personal enrichment.
The hedonistic Yorks never picked up a bill or put down a free drink, a golf club or a hot date if they could get away with it.
In Entitled: The Rise and Fall of the House of York, Lownie claims Prince Andrew slept with more than a thousand women and kept packs of tights and ladies’ sandals in his wardrobe at Jeffrey Epstein’s Palm Beach estate – presumably to wear himself?
I think that is what we are supposed to infer, yet few would blink an eye should Andrew like to dress up in stockings or tutus or size 10 peep-toe mules in the privacy of his own sex orgies.
It was his choice of friends and business confidants that was – and is – so concerning; your Epsteins, your Gaddafis, your Turkish millionaires, your Libyan gun smugglers, your Kazakhstan presidents, your Ecclestones, your Weinsteins, your Maxwells.
Oblivious to reputation and blind to the bleedin’ obvious, Andrew would attach himself to the super-rich like a gurgling tick on a nice fat sheep.
Andrew Lownie’s biography of Prince Andrew is withering in its depiction of the Duke and Duchess of York as a pair of money-grabbing, rude, sex-obsessed, royal thickos
The hedonistic Yorks never picked up a bill or put down a free drink, a golf club or a hot date if they could get away with it
Meanwhile, Sarah took lovers and had a shopping list of hunks she hankered after and actively pursued, including John F Kennedy Jnr, George Clooney and Tiger Woods. Good grief.
Listen, doll. The fact a bald accountant once sucked your toes doesn’t turn you into a Rita Hayworth overnight – but Fergie’s happy delusion about the extent of her allure is excruciating.
Elsewhere, she was a wild spender, knee deep in debt, and both she and her husband took money from people they barely knew. Indeed, Prince Andrew would cosy up to any old crook, spymaster or despot who was willing to subsidise his lavish lifestyle. Not only did he have no shame, but he also had no concept of shame. And even now he still feels he has done nothing wrong.
Venal, weak and quite extraordinarily stupid, the damage Prince Andrew has done to the Royal Family has yet to be fully realised. One must wonder why no one stopped him from being a useful idiot to some of the worst men on the planet, or why no one, oh-so-gently, discouraged the Duchess of York from her endless extravagance in the heyday of her profligacy.
Perhaps explaining to her that excess baggage costs could be avoided and no, you don’t need an extra suitcase for your coat hangers when travelling? That would have been a good start.
Of course, Andrew is appalling and utterly irredeemable – but at least he never pretended to be anything other than what he is; an entitled oik in ancestral ermine.
In many ways, Fergie is so much worse. Always so pious! Always banging on about her charitable deeds, the privations of being a single mother and how hard she has worked to settle her debts – except we now learn it was the late Queen Elizabeth who quietly paid off much of them.
And the D of Y was always praising her dull, princessy daughters to the skies, as if they were a combination of Cinderella and Little Orphan Annie; a dynamic pair of go-getters who had risen above the ashes and adversity of their circumstances to triumph on their own merits in an uncaring world.
Whereas the reality is that Beatrice and Eugenie were raised on a buffering cushion of shady money and dodgy diamonds, and remain a pair of toothy poshos who have achieved absolutely nothing in life, except an ability to keep out of trouble – a trait their parents must now envy.
Is it wrong to suggest that now the fig leaf of her lady bountiful act has been blown away in this torrent of revelations, Fergie is finally and unflinchingly exposed as a raging, entitled madam with a taste for fine wines, ski chalets, designer clothes and with a retinue of obliging staff she could never afford? And all this while encouraging the public to donate to the charities and good causes she propounds?
And she is still at it.
The Duchess of York at the Knights of Charity Gala in Cannes last month, wearing a striking green and pink Safiyaa gown
Last month, the Duchess of York was in a Safiyaa gown at the Knights of Charity Gala in Cannes. Earlier this year she was at an event in London to discuss ‘the power of innovation to drive meaningful change’, whatever that means. In May, she was at the Foreign Sisters Lunch in support of Cancer Research. There was also a recent visit to Peru to praise the work of a remote mission that looks after children.
How much diligent do-gooding can one woman do? Yet every time Andew and Fergie believe themselves to be free from the shame of their past, something happens to drag them back into the mire once more. And rightly so.
When extracts of Lownie’s explosive book first appeared in this newspaper, Sarah took to Instagram to post a photograph of herself wearing an amusing pair of velvet slippers, embroidered with the words Never Complain, Never Explain.
Her wry tone seemed to suggest she was a duchess of hard-won wisdom, a victim of florid tittle-tattle who keeps her own counsel, rising above the media fray to her rightful place in the moral uplands.
Well, excuse my hollow laugh. Fergie is anything but.
Over the years I have, yes, occasionally been critical of the monstrous Duchess of York – and she would sometimes get in touch after these articles were printed.
There would be a late-night email, perhaps sent after a few glasses of her favourite Batard-Montrachet. Or a summons from a lady-in-waiting, inviting me to tea because Sarah ‘wants to have a chat’ – which I interpreted to be ‘wants to lecture you about your utter impudence’.
I said I’d go, but that I would write about the meeting afterwards – and the invitations were always withdrawn.
I doubt I’ll get another one now and that’s a big shame. For the fall of the House of York continues to fascinate and the mad, reckless couple of grotesques at its heart remain a grisly enthrallment.
Sometimes I wonder if Andrew and Sarah are even real, because who behaves like them in the real world? Absolutely nobody.
No wonder they are still close nearly three decades after their divorce – and the suspicion persists that it is not really love nor mutual respect nor deep need that keeps these unknowing fools together.
Who else would have them?
Starmer: the original chatbot
Labour’s Mark Sewards has created an AI virtual representation of himself, using his voice and a caricature of his image.
The chatbot will be available to his lucky constituents seeking help with local issues and queries.
At a time when the public don’t feel they are being listened to – at local and national level – and when trust in politicians is at an all-time low, you have to (I’m searching for a polite phrase here) question the logic of this development.
Yet perhaps the MP for Leeds South West and Morley is just copying the prime minister?
Many have long suspected that Keir Starmer is not actually human, but a wickedly clever enemy chatbot. It’s the only thing that explains his constipated, emotionless persona, his stilted attempts at talking, and his wilful determination to embark on policies and courses of action that are going to bring this country to its knees.
In the meantime, can’t Mark Sewards just get off his bottom and do his job?
Former sub-postmaster Lee Castleton is suing the Post Office and Fujitsu for more than £4 million in damages over the Horizon IT scandal.
He was one of the most high-profile of hundreds of sub-postmasters wrongly convicted after faulty software said money was missing from their branch accounts, and who have been treated so terribly ever since. I wish Mr Castleton every success in his case – and hope it opens the floodgates for others to follow.
Like many in his position, his life was ruined, his peace of mind
stolen and his reputation trashed through no fault of his own.
No amount of money could ever compensate for what has happened to these innocent people. But it might go a long way to ameliorating their suffering.
Forget the Edinburgh Festival – all the Scottish art you need is right here in London, right now
Forget the Edinburgh Festival – all the Scottish art you need is right here in London, right now.
For a revamp of Brigadoon by Scottish playwright Rona Munro, has opened at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre, featuring skirling bagpipes, pastel tartans, sword dancing and plenty of kilts.
There’s lots of misty magic in a Scottish village that appears once every 100 years, hopefully just like the independence referendum.
Oh, stop it, Jan. Focus on the Celtic culture and not the politics, if you can find it.
There’s even a Brigadoon-themed dinner served before the show, featuring scotch eggs (nothing to do with Scotland), haggis garnished with cabbage leaves (culinary sacrilege – no green is ever be seen on the mighty beast) and the dreaded cranachan (a ‘traditional’ Scottish dessert of cream and oats that we Scots never eat except when forced to at weddings and Brigadoon revivals).
Despite all this, I loved this show!
Is it a dessert or a flytrap? No, it’s Rihanna looking fab
Let’s be reasonable. She’s Rihanna. She’s in California. And a maternity smock from M&S is not going to cut her mustard
Pregnant pop star Rihanna was seen in Los Angeles in a vintage Issey Miyake dress, a fabulous confection that made her look like a cross between a walking blancmange and a Venus flytrap with mumps.
Don’t laugh, I loved it.
Vogue magazine described the puff-necked dress as ‘made from semi-sheer pleats in a gradient of sorbet tones with a shoulder-engulfing neckline’ and praised the neon green trainers and silver floral earrings that completed the look.
Some fashion opinions may differ but let’s be reasonable. She’s Rihanna. She’s in California. And a maternity smock from M&S is not going to cut her mustard.
‘It’s a cultural reset,’ said one fashionista. Well, that’s one way of describing it.
