I WAS AN UNCLE. Willy and Kate had welcomed their first child, George, and he was beautiful. I couldn’t wait to teach him about rugby and
Rorke’s Drift, flying and corridor cricket—and maybe give him a few pointers about how to survive life in the fishbowl.
Reporters, however, used this joyous occasion as an opportunity to ask me…if I was miserable.
What?
The baby had moved me one link down the chain of succession, making me fourth from the throne instead of third. So reporters said, Bad luck, eh?
You must be joking.
There must be some misgivings. Couldn’t be happier.
A half-truth.
I was delighted for Willy and Kate, and I was indifferent to my place in the order of succession.
But nothing to do with either thing, I wasn’t anywhere close to happy.
