COMMENT:
I know, I know, I know . . . There are so many other things to be focusing on at this time of Unprecedented Crisis than the details of the £14.5m ($29.5m) mansion in which the Duke and Duchess of Sussex now dwell. Who cares that the Beverly Hills home, owned by the producer and actor Tyler Perry, sits in the 90210 zipcode, has eight bedrooms, a fountain and a pool around the back? Or that it costs around £200k ($407,000) to rent a month?
Is it really in my interests to know who is paying for the accommodation: if the lodgings are being paid for by the host, or if it has fallen to Prince Charles — who is underwriting the Sussex lifestyle for the first year of their transition into "normal" civilian life — to pay the cheques?
Who cares that Meghan and Harry have employed the services of the 70-year-old Rebecca Mostow, the Beckhams' former aide, to help them "run their lives"? Or that Meghan has lost on some issues in the first stage in her battle against Associated Newspapers, which she is suing for misuse of private information, breach of data protection and copyright infringement, as Justice Mark Warby has ruled to strike out part of her case. It's hard to join the dots when the couple's claims about infringement have coincided with news of a biography, Finding Freedom, for which the pair have collaborated with reporters to tell the "definitive version" of their lives.
Who cares? I do, as it happens. So much, in fact, that if left unattended I scrape for any crumb of Sussex information and follow any cruddy source. But why do I find myself caring quite so deeply? Because each new story is just one blow after the next. A long litany of disappointments in which each new revelation finds my former affection for Harry further sour.