Author: Kim du Toit

Beta Royale

Men & Women

And so it begins… the pussification of Harry.

Prince Harry will not be taking part in the traditional royal Boxing Day shoot because he doesn’t want to upset his fiancee Meghan Markle. The 33-year-old was just 12 when he took part in his first festive shoot but has pulled out because Miss Markle is a keen animal rights campaigner. Miss Markle, 36, doesn’t like hunting and Prince Harry is said to have shocked gamekeepers at Sandringham after he informed them he won’t be there on December 26.

Couple of points need to be made, here.

I have it on good authority that Harry is an excellent shot, and as the article indicates, he’s been doing this for two decades — i.e. most of his life. Why should he care what this totty thinks about hunting? He’s a bloody royal, FFS, and she’s the one who gets the most out of their upcoming nuptials. Hell, he can get pretty much any woman he wants — and better-looking than her, for sure. (He certainly has in the past; here’s Cressida Bonas, for one.)

So why he has to accommodate this Markle woman’s silly nonsense is beyond me.

She’s a “part-time vegan” and an animal-rights activist, according to reports. Oh, isn’t that special. Well, he’s a member of a royal family, a decorated war veteran and a keen birdshooter, which I think is a lot more special than some two-a-penny divorced actress.

I never cared about this relationship one way or the other, because it’s none of my business and celebrity stuff bores me to tears. But I get truly irritated when a woman comes into a family with traditional values — and it’s hard to think of a family with more traditional values than Harry’s lot — and wants to make everyone change around her. Arrogant bint.

I always used to think that the penchant for royals to marry other royals (or at least nobility) was silly. But the more I see of it, the more I think it makes sense: the odds are always better if you marry into your own class. No good is going to come of this marriage; you heard it here first.

Christmas Dinner

Food & Drink

If you’re crippled with guilt over the upcoming feast known as Christmas dinner, fear not. Some doctor bloke has debunked most of the myths associated with “bad foods”:

If you’re to follow the clean-eating gurus of our time, your life – and waistline – depend on avoiding carbs and sugar and dairy. By that logic, the indulgent dinners over the Christmas period sound like a death wish.
In actual fact, there is not much evidence underpinning these fads, points out Dr Aaron Carroll, a nutritionist and physician at Indiana University.

The fact that Dr. Carroll thinks the World Health Organization (and by extension, Gwyneth Paltrow et al.) are full of shit makes me feel quite festive.

So go ahead: enjoy yourselves, as will I. I’m spending Christmas Day with a longtime friend and her adult kids. See y’all later.

 

Off The Beaten Track

Food & Drink, Travels

Unless I have actual business to take care of there, I avoid large main streets like the plague. Notorious among the avoidees is London’s Oxford Street, which is a shitty thoroughfare full of tourists and other scum, all taking selfies and being fleeced by the stores selling the most awful tat (British for tchotchkes) while they try to persuade themselves they’re having a great time in the world’s best city.

Fach.

My advice: turn off the rotten thing as soon as you can — as I did when I walked down Soho’s Wardour Street, which is a narrow lane full of interesting places…

…such as the Pickle & Toast, which specializes in cheese toasties (grilled cheese sandwiches, to my Murkin Readers):

Exhausted by having had to walk a block down Oxford Street, I badly needed a cup of tea so I went inside.

I ordered my cuppa, and then sat down to drink it and relax awhile — but the smell of sourdough toast was too wonderful, so I ordered a cheese toastie. This was also because the place does not use just any old cheese, no sirree. This is the stuff they use:

It’s Quicke’s Cheddar, from Devon; and the sandwich looks like this:

Good grief. I could have eaten three, and the rest of the menu looked just as tasty — and they serve breakfast too, but I got there just too late. To say that this beats a Big Mac on Oxford Street is to utter the understatement of the century.

And just so we’re all clear on the concept: I could have eaten at about a dozen different places along Wardour Street, and I probably would have had just as good a time and just as good a meal. Now you know.

Delenda est Via Oxonium.