'Just reach out and touch me.' Prince Harry, Her Majesty, and the undeniable urge to flaunt it if you've got it. Some thoughts.

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. For thousands of years, since our ancestors in caves learned how to do what comes naturally, men have been ogling women. It was their God- given right and no one but a few do-gooders thought anything about it. It was the way the world was, and we males liked it that way.

Then the sexual revolution of the 1960s took a remarkable twist. Women started, tentatively at first, to ogle men... and all of a sudden sexual equality meant exactly that. The fig leaf, so firmly in place for millennia, was now dropped forever and ou la la meant Billie and Bobbie, not just Heather and Marie. Thus the world jumped at the chance to see His Royal Highness Prince Harry of Wales in the altogether, up close and very personal.

The facts.

HRH's office reported this week that 27 year old Harry was bushed from his unrelenting labors at the London Olympics. We empathize. It is, after all, strenuous work handing out gold medals and saying just the perfect word of victory or consolation. He surely needed the holiday he took and all its perquisites. But where to go? For the funnest prince on Earth it had to be the funnest place on Earth, somewhere outside the empire where the sun still never sets and where grandmama was sovereign, somewhere where he could kiss and no one would tell.

And so it came to him, "Viva Las Vegas", the magic place where whatever happens stays. The perfect place to parteeeeeeeeeeeee!

Now, let's be clear about what goes on in the town universally called "Vegas". Gambling. Sex. Celine Dion. Sex. Over abundant dinner. Sex. Capische?

Let's be clear about something else. Harry is a bona fide prince of the bluest blood but the likelihood of his ever reigning is miniscule. His father Prince Charles would have to be out of the picture and his brother Prince William, the new Duke of Cambridge. Moreover, the minute Prince William and his alluring wife Kate have a kid, Harry goes down another notch, oblivion his destiny. What's a boy to do in such circumstances? Rod Stewart, loyal subject of the dynasty, has the answer, and he delivered it in his 1978 pop smash "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?". He made the necessary moves as clear as a how-to book, listen, learn, do.

"If you want my body and you think I'm sexy/Come on, sugar, let me know."

And women did, slowly perhaps but undeniably, and a whole new genre of males was born. We called them boy toys. I was chagrined that I was old, far too old, to try on that persona and flaunt the little that was left. Call it caution. Call it common sense. Call it apprehension and fear. I demurred. But Prince Harry most assuredly did not.

Thus, this junior prince of Wales started off with the obligatory game of strip pool, so popular, so prone to reckless betting of vestments. But then, who needs clothes, in Vegas of all places?

Where was his security?

Here is where every single alarm bell in the kingdom should have gone off and where Harry's security detail should have been johnny on the spot reminding him that stripping and flinging his glad rags on the floor was not, ahem, the best of all courses, sir. Such a warning may well have caused HRH to pause and come to his senses, keeping his clothes on his body. Had he heeded the warning, the world would have had to somehow get through the day adrift, without Harry's buff body to titillate and amuse us. But those bells did not go off... and this is a matter not for mirth but for concern. Where were those agents when he needed them? This calls for investigation, explanation and disciplinary action.

Another matter for concern: the totally revealing photos which are now so easily accessible online are grainy, unprofessional, unclear; they resemble photos taken secretly from a closet or undisclosed location. In other words, our feckless prince, all uncomprehending, went into a room of strangers, lost his clothes and thereby became a golden meal ticket to a shutterbug who saw his chance in the naked body of this scion of Windsor to garner a king's ransom fast. It was ignoble, deplorable, but do-able the way our clueless prince so carelessly operates.

Second royal child syndrome.

Harry's singular problems began with his birth. In the old saying, "the heir and the spare," he was "the spare". In this situation, well known to every royal family, the heir gets the good stuff, all the good stuff; crown, kingdom, the respect of a great nation and its empire, and the best seat in the house for every royal pageant. Against this mountain of goodies, what "the spare" gets looks petty, derisory, even unfair. Yet it is the royal way.

As a result, second children, princes like Harry's uncle Andrew, Duke of York, Prince Charles' younger brother, and princesses like Margaret Rose, the Queen's late younger sister, get indulged to a degree... perhaps because their reigning parents feel sorry for them. In short, there is guilt and lots of it, for all that this is the royal way. And so these indulged younger children run rampant in a way no heir to the throne would ever be allowed to do.

Even more guilt in Harry's case.

Harry was just 12 when his adored mother Diana Princess of Wales died. A great nation wanted to reach out and give him comfort. This, in time, turned into near carte blanche, as if he were entitled to do whatever he liked because of the great tragedy that was his burden for life and haunting reality. And so the "indiscretions" piled up:

How Harry was famously photographed wearing a Nazi uniform for a costume party. How he was photographed cupping the breast of a female TV presenter. How he uttered a racial slur while teasing a fellow army cadet from Pakistan.

This prince more than most needed extra attention and as the events in Las Vegas show though he needed it, he didn't get it. Will what ensued hurt the dynasty? No way. For Harry was indulging himself in ways every English mate would understand, do whenever he could, and envy. It was a case of "that lucky dog" and a lascivious wink. 

But what of Her Majesty the Queen? Surely she had something to say on the matter? Not necessarily, for I suspect she realizes her own responsibility in the matter of her handsome, dashing, most humorous grandson, and likes him just the way he is. Any such call she might have made would have contained only the most mild slap on the wrist, thus: "Harry, really...." "Yes, Grandmama." "Try not to be so trusting." "Of course, Grandmama." "And assume there are always cameras present." "You're right, Grandmama". "And do keep your clothes on, dear Harry." "You have my word, Grandmama." And that, this time, was that. But of course both knew he couldn't keep it.

Wanted: a good woman.

The solution? A good woman, of course, pretty in the English rose way, and above all someone who would understand and love him for himself. His elder brother, someday to be king, found such a beloved. With luck, and fewer trips to Las Vegas, Harry will find his, too. Until then, we must anticipate and expect more such indiscretions and misadventures splashed on the world's tabloids, giving us the opportunity to tsk tsk, disapprove, and, above all else, enjoy the discomfiture and witlessness of a prince of the blood royal whose ancestor was once our puissant lord and king. It pleases us to see how far the mighty have fallen and hope to see how further still they may yet fall.  

 About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com

'We ARE most amused.' 43,000 pages of Queen Victoria's journals posted online... as we dig into royal reality.

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author's program note. In 1979 my first book "Insubstantial Pageant: Ceremony & Confusion at Queen Victoria's Court" was published by Hamish Hamilton in London and Taplinger in New York. It was treated as front page news in England, because it was based on hitherto unknown and unreported papers, including unpublished documents made available to me by Her Gracious Majesty The Queen.

Aside from their undeniably important content, something else was significant about this matter; the fact that it was the research of an American, indeed the very first Yank ever admitted to the treasure trove that resides in the Royal Archives at Windsor Castle. In fact, so far as I know, I remain all these many years later the only American still.  And so I am uniquely qualified to write this story.

"Soldiers of the Queen".

As every monarch has known, a royal story goes better with a strong, rousing tune, and this one is no exception. Thus I have selected one of the best marches of the Empire on which the sun never set, "Soldiers of the Queen." It was written and composed by Leslie Stuart in the1890s for the opening of the Manchester Ship Canal. Its lyrics were not merely catchy, they were very gospel to the people who thrilled to their imperial achievement.

"It's the soldiers of the Queen, my lads Who've been, my lads, who've seen, my lads In the fight for England's glory lads When we've had to show them what we mean."

Go now to any search engine and find this pip of a tune which you'll probably recall from Shirley Temple's 1939 film "The Little Princess." It is sure to get your blood stirring if you've got even a drop of the old English about you.

Enter by the tradesmen's door.

To gain access to the sovereign's private papers, you must apply to the Royal Librarian, in my day Sir Robin Mackworth-Young. The key to entry was being a "recognized scholar." This meant being a known author or having secured the Ph.D. from a known university. In my case it necessitated being patient until I took my Ph.D. from Harvard University in 1975. As soon as I had it in hand, I left for England, for Windsor, for the papers I needed to complete my book.

Perhaps only a scholar given such access can know and understand the thrill, the giddy excitement as you travel to such riches. But reality entered the picture at once. I was told to go to the tradesmen's entry where a footman in powdered hair handed me a quill pen and told me to sign in. Me? Tradesmen's entry? The sage of Cambridge?

More sobering reality.

The footman then picked up a candelabrum and a giant key.  "This way," he said ("doctor" and "sir" omitted), as if I were the butcher's boy; leading me the few steps to the door at the base of the Round Tower. He unlocked the massive door and told me to ascend the stairs to the top where another heavy door would be unlocked.The concrete stairs were steep; it was cold. There was no light. I was a prisoner in the Tower, locked in at their pleasure, wondering how to get out. Now I was thrilled no longer; I was in a story that could easily be written by Edgar Allan Poe or M.R. James, both masters of the macabre.

"We've been expecting you."

Then as I reached the top, the door swung open, there was light, warmth and a greeting from Miss Jane Langton. She showed me my room, told me which papers they had laid out and explained the rules, viz that I must take tea with the staff daily and leave for luncheon. I resented both rules; I had come a long way to gather what I needed... and luncheon was immaterial. Still I was logged out then, too, to log in again in 60 minutes sharp.

Her Majesty The Scribbler.

Victoria became sovereign by birth, merit being no part of the matter. But she became a writer by hard work, assiduous effort, and the constant perfecting of her craft. I liked that about her from the start, for she knew the burden of the blank page... and she knew the necessity to write regularly, frequently, and follow the writer's first rule: to write about what she knew. She did, publishing two best-selling books, writing thousands of letters (only a fraction in print) and creating the most important royal journal ever written.

Thus each day I was allowed in the Round Tower, I was in direct, personal converse with the majesty that reigned over a preponderance of the known world. At first, of course, there were her quirks and abysmal handwriting to learn. This wasn't easy for Queen Victoria was famous for her illegible hand and abbreviations... the text messaging of her day. However, in due course I mastered both to the extent that the staff would bring me papers they were working on and asked for my opinion. Thus, I built bridges with people not keen on my American heritage and became a known master of royal cryptograms, to the extent the staff would often compliment my proven skills... and in truth I earned their regard, though there were frustrating times when the Queen's execrable handwriting defeated us all.

Now available to the world at queenvictoriasjournals.org.

Now thanks to the generosity of Queen Elizabeth II you need not demonstrate that you are a "recognized scholar" to gain access. No interview required with a pompous minor member of the royal staff; no forced tea or luncheon... just you and the great Queen, from the comfort of your home. All this deserves the highest praise and gratitude and as the complete collection is indexed (a gigantic task indeed), your praise should swell, too.

But now it is time to dip into Her Majesty's actual words, where you find from the very first a woman of honesty, directness, of strong sentiments, but no pretence at all. See for yourself...

On her birthday, May 24, 1837. "Today is my eighteenth birthday! How old! and yet how far I am from being what I should be. I shall from this day take the firm resolution to study with renewed assiduity, to keep my attention always well fixed on whatever I am about, and to strive to become every day less trifling and more fit for what, if Heaven wills it, I'm some day to be."

On proposing to her adored Prince Albert, (October 15, 1839). "My mind is quite made up, and I told Albert this morning of it. The warm affection he showed me on learning this gave me great pleasure. He seems perfection, and I think that I have the prospect of very great happiness before me. I love him more than I can say..."

And this effusion: "I really cannot say how proud I feel to be the Queen of such a nation." She entered it into her journal the evening of her coronation, June 28, 1838... but she felt this way every day of her life. I felt this commitment strongly as I worked busily in the Round Tower so many years ago! Now this feeling can be yours wherever you are as you dig in to her most private thoughts. God save the Queen... and every word she ever wrote.    

 About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today.

 Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol  http://WorkingAtHome101.com