Things are heating up in London and southern England.
On the political stage anyway, where the Tories spit poison and bile in the battle for the place in the sun. The covers fall. Bodies are roasting on the beaches of Brighton, in the stadiums the footballers are fighting in the sweat of their brow – and against Corona.
Only the little prince sat buttoned up like a banker in a suit, white shirt and tie at the men’s Wimbledon final. Eight-year-old George, number three in the Windsors’ rankings, watched the match from the at least shady Royal Box – behind him were tennis legends Chris Evert and Stan Smith. For three hours poor George suffered from the heat. “It’s too hot,” he moaned. He was also briefly allowed to hold the winner’s trophy that Mama Kate – the Duchess of Cambridge – had previously presented. And who gets tips and a tennis lesson from Roger Federer?
It’s early practice who wants to be king. The mother, a Mrs. Perfect, sticks to etiquette. As it says in The Little Prince: “All great people were once children (but few remember it).” And so, practically squeezed into a corset, Prince George waved like a king-to-be from the balcony at the Queen Jubilee. On Sunday the next anniversary – step-grandma Camilla’s 75th. If the neat Georgie boy doesn’t even turn into the opposite.
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