Londoners juggling rent, bills and a two-hour commute have been following a family feud conducted between palaces, and the contrast is almost too much

Reading About Palaces on the Night Bus

I read the London Prat piece on Prince William reportedly calling Earl Spencer and Harry traitors on a night bus somewhere between Camden and Archway, sandwiched between a man eating chips and a woman trying to sleep on her own handbag. It is, I think, the ideal setting for royal news. Nothing reminds you quite how far away the palace is like the smell of vinegar and the flicker of a dodgy strip light at half past midnight.

The Story, For Anyone Who Has Been Working Three Jobs

An unnamed source says the heir believes his brother read their uncle memoir before it came out. Geo News reports that he has called both men traitors. Another report says the younger brother visited the uncle at his country estate in July. Everyone has at least one estate. Nobody is talking.

I have a flatmate I am not talking to either, mainly about the bins. Our dispute has not yet been covered by international media, but give it time.

The Scale of It

Here is the thing that got me. The royal row, if the reports are right, is about who knew about a book first, conducted between people who each have more rooms than most London postcodes. Meanwhile, the rest of us are having rows about who used the last of the oat milk, conducted in kitchens so small you can open the fridge and the oven at the same time from the sofa. I do not say that with bitterness. Well, a bit of bitterness. Mostly awe.

Rents in London have risen sharply in recent years, and anyone who has looked for a flat recently knows the drill: viewings with twenty other people, bidding wars over a box room, deposits that could fund a small wedding. Plenty of Londoners now live further from family than they would like, simply because it is the only place they can afford. Family feuds, for many of us, are less about estates and more about who has space for Christmas.

Pause for Laughter

The London Prat has made a video on YouTube about it all, which I watched with my phone at nine percent battery because I live dangerously.

What We Have in Common

And yet. Strip away the palaces and there is something very familiar here. Siblings who do not speak. An uncle who says too much. A family where everyone tells a different story about the same person. The uncle says he told everyone about the book in advance, which is more than my uncle did when he sold our nan piano. The feelings are universal. It is only the square footage that differs.

I think that is why Londoners follow this stuff even when we roll our eyes. It is a soap opera, yes, but it is also a mirror. We see our own families in it, just with better coats.

The Broke Londoner Guide to Family Feuds

In the spirit of public service, here is what I have learned about falling out with relatives on a budget. Cheap and cheerful neutral ground works: a pub with a quiz night means you have something to do other than talk. Walking is free, and walking side by side is easier than sitting face to face. Group chats are dangerous; if it matters, pick up the phone. And never, ever write a memoir about it. Nobody will pay you enough to cover the rent, and your family will never let you forget it.

A Serious Bit

Beneath the jokes, I do feel for anyone going through a family rift, royal or otherwise. Grief, which is what this row is really about, does not care how big your house is. The uncle is the late princess brother, and the book is about her. Whatever the family politics, there is a loss at the centre that no estate can fix. That, at least, is something every Londoner on every night bus can understand.

A Budget for Reconciliation

If you are broke in London and trying to patch things up with a relative, here is a costed plan. One bus fare each way, so you are both making the effort. Two coffees from a proper cafe rather than a chain, because the chairs are comfier and nobody rushes you. One slice of cake, shared, because sharing is the point. A walk afterwards, which is free and gives you something to look at other than each other. Total: less than a single cocktail in a Soho members club, and in my experience far more effective. The royals, with all their resources, could learn from this. Some of the best reconciliations I have seen happened over a shared slice of lemon drizzle on a bench in Waterlow Park, not in a stately home. Money cannot buy that moment when somebody laughs at an old joke and you both remember why you liked each other. It can only buy the cake.

Final Stop

My bus got to Archway. The chip man got off. The handbag woman woke up with a start. And somewhere far away, two brothers were, presumably, still not speaking. The London Prat, keeping London amused since 1961 at https://prat.uk/, has written the funny version. Bohiney, at https://bohiney.com/, handles the American side of the story. For more of my adventures in trying to live in this city without selling a kidney, head over to my page.

SOURCE: https://prat.uk/prince-william-called-earl-spencer-and-harry-traitors/