Hi, George, welcome to Britain's most dysfunctional high-profile family. You couldn't have timed your arrival better -- right in the middle of the silly season when the media traditionally go overboard on non-stories in the absence of real ones.
Sycophants described as journalists at the Buckingham Palace House Journal, aka the Daily Telegraph, certainly went OTT over your birth, with some 20 pages on 'the boy born to be king', plus a grovelling pull-out souvenir section for the benefit of gullible London readers. Although widespread apathy gripped the rest of the nation, the paper's hysteria continued next day with 16 pages of fatuous royal trivia before the hacks finally got round to reporting the real news: the Spanish rail disaster with its horrendous death toll.
The magic went on and on. Two days later the monarch oneself, having recently received a £5 million pay rise, made it a double celebration by favouring you with a visit, followed by good old Uncle Harry, the playboy prince, with his infectious grin and a widely publicised promise of having fun together when you grow up. How everyone larfed!
And what a life of pampered privilege awaits you...elitist prep school...automatic entry to Eton (a college for boys not thought bright enough for Winchester)...then up at Oxford...membership of the Bullingdon Club...trashing proles' property with impunity...obligatory commission in the Guards -- culminating in your glorious destiny as His Majesty King George VII.
There's only one snag, dear boy, which your media cronies don't seem to have noticed. By the time you're old enough to be king, the monarchy will have been long abolished in favour of a more equitable society. The only throne you're likely to sit on will be the loo, albeit a posh one with an ermine-trimmed seat. Born to be king? In your dreams!
