In a development that has sent tremors through the salons of St James’s, the son of Norway’s crown princess has been remanded into custody pending a rape verdict, prompting British royal officials to issue a statement expressing ‘deep concern’. One can only imagine the frantic Googling that preceded this pronouncement: ‘Norway? Isn’t that where the pickled herring lives? Anyway, concern: activate.’
The young royal, whose name I shall not utter lest I be accused of giving him the publicity he so richly deserves, now sits in a cell contemplating the consequences of his actions. Meanwhile, the Norwegian justice system, a quaint contraption that still believes in due process, is grinding towards a verdict. Our own royals, ever sensitive to the plight of fellow blue-bloods, have apparently been ‘monitoring the situation closely’ – a task generally reserved for watching the racing at Ascot or checking the consistency of the hollandaise.
One can only presume the concern is genuine: after all, nothing says ‘we care’ like a hastily drafted press release from an underling who had to look up Oslo on a map. The subtext, of course, is that this could happen here. To our princes. Our precious, precious princes who have never done anything untoward, apart from that business with the Nazi uniform and the underage girl and the... well, let’s not split hairs.
The Norwegian lad’s alleged crime is, of course, abhorrent. But the real scandal is the pantomime of solidarity from our own establishment, who would sell their grandmothers for a photo op with a real, working monarchy (preferably one with a decent crown and a lower carbon footprint). The British royal family have form when it comes to ‘concern’: they were deeply concerned about the plight of the miners, the homeless, and anyone else who didn’t have a hereditary title. It’s a wonder they have any energy left for polo.
Let us not forget that our own royal family has had its share of brushes with the law, albeit usually involving traffic offences or trespassing pheasants. The difference is that in Norway, they take this sort of thing seriously. Here, we prefer to sweep it under a very expensive rug, imported from Persia, naturally.
So as the Norwegian justice system does its job, and our own officials practice their concerned faces in the mirror, one thing is clear: the only thing more absurd than a royal sex scandal is the idea that our royals are in any position to tut-tut from their gilded thrones. Pass the gin, and let us toast to the end of the divine right of kings. Or at least to a decent punchline.
