Oh, the Windsors. A family renowned for their stiff upper lips, their corgis, and their uncanny ability to turn every public appearance into a lukewarm photo op. But lately, a new wrinkle has emerged in the royal tapestry: the curious case of the missing Mountbatten-Windsors, Archie and Lilibet. It seems the little tykes, nestled far away in their Montecito mansion, haven’t graced the hallowed halls of Buckingham Palace in quite some time.
Now, the usual suspects are already lining up for the blame game. Some point the finger at the Sussexes, painting them as villainous parents, keeping their precious offspring under lock and key, like some Dickensian orphans guarded by a dragon of woke ideology. “They’ve moved to California, don’t you know?” they whisper, clutching their pearls with the fervor of a Downton Abbey dowager. “How can Charles be expected to visit when they’re practically in another galaxy?”
But hold your fainting couches, dear reader, for there’s another side to this royal rumpus. Could it be, just maybe, that the King himself isn’t exactly scaling the Montecito walls to see his grandkids? Could his royal calendar, overflowing with engagements to unveil new commemorative teacups and pat corgi rumps, be just a tad too busy for a quick transatlantic jaunt?
The whispers are growing louder, you see. “Charles has all the time in the world for Camilla’s grandchildren,” they murmur, “but for Harry and Meghan’s? Not a chance. Those kids are practically invisible ink in the royal ledger.”
And perhaps there’s some truth to it. After all, Charles has a history of prioritizing his own pursuits over family ties. Remember Diana? The woman he reportedly cried for on their wedding day, but couldn’t be bothered to give the time of day when she needed him most?
So, before we rush to judgement and brand the Sussexes as hostage-taking villains, let’s consider an alternative narrative. Maybe, just maybe, the real culprit in this grandkid gap is not the couple who chose a different path, but the one clinging to the gilded cage. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for Grandpa Dearest to dust off his private jet and make a little effort. After all, family is family, even if they prefer avocado toast to cucumber sandwiches.
But hey, who am I to judge? I’m just a commoner, blissfully free from the drama of royal squabbles and the burden of hereditary crowns. I can only sit back, sip my tea (Earl Grey, of course, none of that California nonsense), and watch the latest episode of this grand soap opera unfold. And who knows, maybe one day Archie and Lilibet will grace the palace steps, not as hostages but as happy, carefree children, ready to melt even the frostiest of royal hearts. But until then, the whispers will continue, and the question will linger: is it the parents keeping the kids away, or the King who’s not making the effort to reach out?