Meet the New Boss

Mr Charles Windsor - the man we are now expected to call King, following the death of his mother, Elizabeth - was mentored by a Royal paedophile, Louis Mountbatten, and called Jimmy Savile, Britain's most prolific sex offender, whose advice he sought repeatedly throughout his life, his 'best friend'. Indeed, so chummy was the quondam Prince with 'that nice Mr Savile' (in the words of the busybody Mary Whitehouse) that he allowed this bizarre little man to lick the arms of female staff in St James' Palace, including on one occasion Windsor's then wife, Diana, and even considered naming him as godfather to his son, Harry. 

Still, perhaps we shouldn't blame the man too much for the company he kept. He did, after all, endure an abusive upbringing, at the hands of his bullying father, Philip, who decided to toughen up his effete and sensitive young son by sending him to Gordonstoun School in Scotland, described by one of Charles' classmates as an environment in which 'bullying was virtually institutionalized and very rough', including from the housemaster of Charles' own dorm, Robert Whitby, a man described as 'a truly nasty piece of work' who 'imposed a form of martial law, with ritualized psychological and physical abuse'. 

Gordonstoun, to use a fantastic phrase from Andy Sharp's Phantoms of Liberty (collected in The English Heretic Collection, which we discussed yesterday) 'occupies the same cold parade ground' as the abusive naval training college HMS Ganges, and the Evangelical 'Bash Camps' operated by many British public schools, but infamous for the actions of the camp at Winchester, operated by another paedophile Mary Whitehouse chum, Sir John Smyth QC, who would later decamp to Zimbabwe to share his Christian love with the local children, living there until he died of a heart attack in 2017 after being asked to return to the UK for questioning about accusations of historical abuse which had emerged as part of the rash of enquiries in the wake of Charles and Mary's pal Jimmy's death. 

If Charles and Mary were united in their love for that nice Mr S, they also shared the epistolary habits of the busybody. Like Whitehouse, Charles is an inveterate writer of letters, a habit supposedly picked up during his days at Gordonstoun enduring the sort of abuse Mrs W's barrister liked to dish out. The infamous Black Spider Memos, the contents of which were made public in 2015, paint a portrait of Charles Windsor as a typical boorish media illiterate too given to believing what he reads in the paper, which is somewhat surprising for a man who has been getting monstered by the tabloids since the time he ordered cherry brandy in a pub on the Isle of Lewis when he was fourteen years old, and who sought the assistance of mediamancer Savile to try and overcome his unpopularity with the British public. Perhaps all the beatings he took on the rugger field actually did kick the empathy out of the sensitive boy? Well, not quite: he certainly displayed a great deal of empathy for pro-foxhunting weirdos the Countryside Alliance when he wrote to the Blair government in 2002 that if they were 'any other minority' they would get more protection. Lest Blair be in any doubt as to what the nonced-up heir was getting at, he spelled it out, saying that if farmers 'were black or gay [they] would not be being victimised or picked on' - this less than three years after the Admiral Duncan bombing. Elsewhere, Charles wrote to the then Lord Chancellor that 'our lives are becoming ruled by a truly absurd degree of politically correct interference' - that 'our' sounding particularly (indeed, truly) absurd from a man whose mum had her own personal opt-out from equality legislation so she didn't have to see any blacks in the Palace. 

Most famously, of course, Mr Windsor Has Opinions About Architecture. Jonathan Meades, this country's best writer on the built environment who isn't called Owen Hatherley, described Charles as 'the most ploddingly dogged pupil' of the 'retrophiliac scholarship' of Country Life magazine's architectural criticism. He described the Tricorn Centre, one of the great Brutalist masterpieces of this philistine country's history (now, of course, demolished) as ' a mildewed lump of elephant droppings', a simile Meades rightly decries as 'as vulgar as it is visually inept'. 

A mildewed lump of elephant droppings, apparently

 But Chaz isn't just out to carp, oh no. Unlike the naysayers and nattering nabobs of negativism who, no doubt, are the very people hemming us in with 'politically correct interference', Windsor doesn't just criticise from the sidelines. He has championed, and supported financially, the extension of Dorchester known (perhaps after Mr Savile's two favourite activities?) as Poundbury. This scheme was begun by Chuck's chum and favourite architect Leon Krier, who the Telegraph describe as 'the feted traditional architect', which is certainly one way to describe a disciple of Albert Speer. 

So, then, ecce homo: a moralising friend of paedophiles, a philistine bore who nevertheless possesses the nearest thing his wretched family has to an 'artistic temperament', a victim of physical abuse who describes himself chillingly as 'one of the people on whom corporal punishment worked'. In the spirit of the toast to his late mother included in Secrecy's Jurisdiction then, ladies, gentlemen, people of all genders and none...I give you His Majesty.