Dear Ted,
Sorry things didn’t work out in London last week. I tried to get the Netflix crew into every situation, but the damned Palace kept brushing them aside. I did manage to smuggle a GoPro into the meeting with my grandmother, but wouldn’t you know, just as I got there, I realized I didn’t know how to turn it on! My bad.
I know you must be frustrated with the cost of the Global Express there and back, and the S.U.V.’s with all of our stuff—including one just for the Meg’s clothes. LOL. We kept waiting by the phone for invitations to special events surrounding the Jubilee, but crickets.
I tried to get the Queen’s private secretary on the phone, but he must have changed his number, because nobody picked up. Is it possible people are starting to freeze us out a bit? Could be something there for the series.
One last thing. I was coming across the room to give Gran a kiss on the forehead when my flip-flop caught on the rug and I went head over arse onto the floor. I’m about to pick myself up when I look under the sofa—and there in the flesh is Piers Morgan, red-faced as all get out! Hilarious but not on film.
Also, I just realized that you and I have the same last initial! Digital high five!
Namaste, Harry
*As retrieved by Godfrey Daniel, author of the self-published Mount-a-Pedo: The Dark Underbelly of Santa Barbara, America’s Wealthiest Retirement Community
