Wednesday night brought an absolute cloudburst of psychic rain for our parched land, as it emerged that Prince Harry and Meghan were reversing their self-styled “freedom flight” to California and returning to live in the UK. Nature is healing! Is that … is that how the expression goes? Either way, all humans in Britain have taken the announcement brilliantly, while fatted calf prices climbed steeply at the news that the reverse Megxit is imminent, with only an adequate headline soubriquet yet to be found. Megain? Megraine?
Inevitably, thoughts turned swiftly to what it all meant. One of the funniest aspects of Meghan and Harry coverage is how their decisions are always analysed as though we were parsing the 4D chess moves of 19th-century master strategists. We are forever imagining we are dealing with a couple of Bismarcks or Clausewitzes, as opposed to a resting actor and the “chief impact officer” of a firm designed to offer tech-based solutions to men crying in their cars or something.
And so it is that motive is being obsessively pored over. There’s definitely some eye-catching speculation out there. Some feel that Meghan being willing to step so much as a toe on to our toxic shores can only be a way of telegraphing the unfortunate suggestion that the king’s days are numbered. Or maybe Harry just wants to spend more time with his legal bills. Others have spicier takes. I saw a few horrified Sussex Squad Americans on social media suggesting that the only conceivable explanation is that Prince Harry is simply a world-beating god of sex. Allow me to expand. I’m sure the squad diehards won’t mind me projecting their own psychological projections on to Meghan, but the logic seemed comparable to someone saying: “Sorry, so the suggestion is that I move back to live on top of a live volcano, in a plague-ridden failed state, run by psychopathically violent warlords. Who’s asking?” 1990s-era Keanu Reeves. “BRB just calling the removal firm.”
Multiple other takes are of course available. In the 1990s in Hong Kong, they used to have an acronym for bankers who were too stupid to get the good jobs in London but were able to move out there and do very nicely: Filth (Failed in London, try Hong Kong). It’s not as good, acronym-wise, but I guess we could be looking at a Fimuk situation – Failed in Montecito, try UK. No doubt we’ve all forgotten the full ins and outs, but I believe Ellen DeGeneres has been on a similar journey. It’s possible that the Sussexes have just failed to keep pace with the elite fruit-spread makers of California, and that Meghan believes the waters of home counties jam-making will be much less competitive. I look forward to her conveying this judgment to the local Women’s Institute at her earliest convenience.
Or, look, possibly the real reason for this move is something in between all these things – but which of us wants to be wasting time on nuance right now?
What we do know is that it’s definitely on, and the couple’s children are enrolled in a school for September. Early thoughts? Mainly that someone’s class WhatsApp group just got an incredible new member. Speaking as a veteran of these digital abysses of passive aggression, may I state that the absolute last thing you need on one is someone whose stated life philosophy is to “create wonder in every moment”.
Seriously. You simply cannot run the risk of the following message materialising at Christmas/in high summer when you are limping towards the holidays. “Thinking about end-of-term presents, I thought it would be really magical to create a mirror where the frame is our children’s handprints. I can organise?” Really? Because I’ve been hurt before. But go on. “Literally all I would need from you ladies is a clay cast of your daughter’s hand with a pressed daisy picked by moonlight embedded in it. If anyone hasn’t pressed flowers before I would be very happy to offer a (fun!) tutorial at my place on Tuesday after drop-off.” Aaaaaaaaaaaagh. Please, I HAVE A JOB. I CAN’T DO ANY OF THIS. You know what everyone loves? John Lewis vouchers. Please. PLEASE. As for other events during the school year, might as well call the Vatican right now because I can assure you we have a nailed-on bake sale martyr on our hands right here.
Still, this is all very sad news for the country of the United States of America, and its now decimated entertainment industry, as Harry and Meghan leave behind them failed deals with Spotify and Netflix, among others. Then again, have they? Recent years have seen the Sussexes hamstrung by having exhaustively told the only story of theirs that anyone is remotely interested in. I can hardly believe I’m typing this, but it turned out no one wants to watch documentaries about global justice activism or polo. But this week’s news could easily reignite the only kind of content Netflix’s degraded first-look deal with Meghan would be extremely interested in having a first look at: the one where their life is made miserable by a toxic family in a toxic country with a toxic press. And then you make TV all about it.
It’s a bit like when there’s been a hugely successful movie with a crazy, high-concept situation, and the producers of the sequel just have to work out a way to get the characters back into the same crazy, high-concept situation, or at least a similar one, so they can go back to the money well for a second time. Having been on board a bus that can’t slow down, Speed 2 finds Sandra Bullock on a runaway cruise ship. Home Alone 2 sees Kevin once again left behind, this time in New York as opposed to Chicago, where the same burglars have somehow rematerialised. In Finding Freedom 2, it’ll probably work best for the Sussexes to embrace the absurdity with a cheeky one-liner. When Harry and Meghan are battling remorseless tabloid attention, poisonous family dynamics, and deranged public antipathy, let’s hope he turns to the Netflix cameras and quotes Bruce Willis in Die Hard 2: “How can the same shit happen to the same guy twice?” I don’t know, mate – but I assume you’re getting first-dollar gross on the box office.
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In the meantime, the shock news continues to spark an hourly carousel of #onlyinBritain questions. What’s going to happen on Remembrance Sunday? Will this mean “rival courts”? Hand on heart, it’s hard to escape the conclusion that there are, amazingly, a whole lot of people who are even more ridiculous and even more emotional than Harry and Meghan. And – also amazingly – they are not the population of the state of California.
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Marina Hyde is a Guardian columnist
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What a Time to be Alive! by Marina Hyde (Guardian Faber Publishing, £20) is released in September. To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
