My problem is with authority. As a writer, I get to cover it up with a lot of messiness about culture wars and economic disparity and Karl Marx and royalty. I do not care about royalty or tourism or how many tower of London paper weights are on your desk. It’s still a desk. The Grey Old Men can dress them up and trot them out and it usually works. Everyone loved them because how can you not love them. It’s a dog and pony show. We represent the best of you but maybe kinda not. How do you love royalty. Ever notice the wave has changed. The old wave was the back of the hand to the public side and twist it. Today, it’s more straightforward. It’s a little white glove wave that says Hi Be Nice To Me. They don’t even understand how to wave. How many homeless people can we stuff into all those palaces. It’s like watching old black and white televisions and sipping Bombay martinis with anyone in the room who is thirsty. I’m thirsty. It’s all about the free booze. Calm down and have a cocktail. There’s no getting around it. The Harry thing is sad. Now, we know what a tortured, broken child he was. It was not his fault. My problem is with authority. The British royals are rich. That is their authority. They have all the money. Why. Because it was there. They had slaves and they still have slaves and America had slaves and still has slaves but how can America have slaves because America gets whatever it wants. We are nice to everyone. But everyone was nice to them. Can you possibly imagine discussing the weather 4,862,663,922, 107 times a day. I am having lunch with Camilla and Marie of Romania this very afternoon.