So, in case you had not heard, Prince Henry Charles Albert David of Wales (that’s Prince Hot Ginge to you and me) landed in hot water, yet again, after pictures snapped during his most recent Vegas jaunt hit the internets. What was the big deal? The Ginger One was caught with his pants down, literally, and an equally disrobed young lady at his side. The official explanation for the said pose was “strip billiards”, which actually sounds pretty brilliant. I mean, c’mon – who hasn’t occasionally passed the time by engaging in a game of strip billiards with complete strangers? A prudish, no-fun person, that’s who. Not our Prince Hot Ginge, who is nothing if not the complete opposite of a prudish, no-fun person.
But, really, what was the big deal? Princes have been cavorting with nubile young women since they invented monarchism and nubile young women. Of course, at that time, TMZ had not been invented yet, so it was less likely that Joe Peasant would get to hear about any of it, unless the young nubile woman in question happened to be his wife. But does it really matter? Does Harry’s game of strip billiards somehow demean the office of the Queen? I don’t think so. Everyone knows that Harry’s never going to be king. [Although that would be awesome. Think of the last King Henry that sat on the throne; people are still talking about him more than 500 years later. Harry could totally give him a run for this money in the matrimonial department, hopefully with fewer beheadings.] He’s the monarchy’s black (dark grey?) sheep; he’s the “spare” – if he can’t afford to have all the fun that William definitely can’t, what’s the point? This is not even his worst public debacle; that would be getting papped whilst wearing a Nazi uniform at a costume partya few years ago. Harry’s just having some unoffensive, legal fun. Do you hate fun?
And here’s the thing: the monarchy is no longer the earthly representative of the divinity. Hasn’t been for a long time. For all practical purposes, the monarch holds no sacred, special or otherwise sacrosanct powers, and fulfills an almost entirely ornamental role in the state machinery. Does it matter if one of her grand-kids likes to get his (naked) groove on with random girlies? It doesn’t besmirch the office of the Queen because the office of the Queen is no longer so elevated as to be above all human foibles. I understand that the Queen has to maintain a certain sense of decorum and propriety at all times – mostly because she is a 90 year-old woman, and no one likes to see Grandma hitting it hard in Vegas – but I fail to see why the same considerations would automatically apply to a single, rich, relatively attractive 27 year-old guy, who obviously enjoys doing … what every single, rich, relatively attractive 27 year-old guy generally enjoys doing. Girls. Alcohol. Strip Billiards.
And, yeah, I know that the monarchy is heavily subsidized by British taxpayers. Though I am not British, I too subsidize a lot of questionable things that my government, in its infinite wisdom, chooses to pursue – often to a much pricier tune. I would probably be happier if, instead of some of those things, my tax dollars were put towards enabling the swinging lifestyle of one jet-setting ginger playboy. If the government’s going to waste my money, at least let them waste it in a way that is bound to provide me with entertainment for years to come.
When it comes down to it, everyone loves a handsome rascal. Their naughtiness is too harmless, too endearing, and all too human, not to forgiven. Even by the Queen. Especially by the Queen. You know that Granny loves her ginger.
What say you? Is this a public relations disaster for the royals, or merely a delish spectacle for the peons?