“It is interesting the way a group of young women have gradually demolished the whole silly aristocratic façade of inherited distinction brick by grubby brick,” writes “The Gadfly” columnist ROBERT MACKLIN.

THERE’S nothing left to say about Scotty the Motormouth from Marketing, so let’s get into the really important stuff. I speak, of course, of Prince Harry and his lovely consort, the lubricious Meghan Markle.

And little Archie, of course.

Oh sure, the country has been on fire for the last month, the leader of the free world has flipped his lid and real climate change is descending on the planet. 

But the Harry and Meghan story will not be denied. 

The women’s magazines are hysterical, the Pommy tabloids have gone manic and even dear old Aunty ABC is giving us blow-by-blow news and views from Buck House. So it really must be important. And not just for the refreshing laughs we’re having at the photoshopped pix of Harry as a McDonald’s trainee or the reporter asking if he feels dominated by his wife and Meghan answering: “No he doesn’t”. 

It is interesting the way a group of young women have gradually demolished the whole silly aristocratic façade of inherited distinction brick by grubby brick. It began with Harry’s mother, the sweet, ex-kindy teacher’s helper suddenly confronted by the reality that her Prince Charming was actually an unabashed weasel, flagrantly bedding the equine Camilla and expecting her to take it on her deliciously moulded chin. 

“No sir,” cried Diana and told the world what a fraud he was.

The Queen’s response was what you might expect from someone who had endured her own husband’s libidinous horseplay for decades – the baleful stare from the throne and the sniggering backgrounders to the tabloids from her chinless courtiers. 

And who can forget the days of sniffy silence that followed Diana’s death in that Parisian tunnel until Tony Blair finally squeezed a response from Windsor Castle.

Then came Fergie and the toe-sucking photos from the Med. At the time, it seemed, she was the wanton one. Only later did the whole awful truth dawn that she, like Lady Di, was reacting to the dirty deeds of Charlie’s brother Andy; his dear friend Jeffie Epstein would end his days in a prison cell choking himself with his bedsheet.

And so to Ms Markle. Almost from the moment they became a couple, the Buck House claws were out for the former wife of fellow actor Trevor Engelson whom she divorced in 2013. 

“I’m half black and half white,” she cried. “I have come to embrace that; to say who I am, to share where I’m from, to voice my pride in being a strong, confident mixed-race woman.”

Oh goodness, they gulped.

Undeterred, she and Harry married in 2018 in Windsor Castle; Ms Markle became the Duchess of Sussex and gave birth the next year to young Archie Mountbatten-Windsor who became seventh in line to the throne. 

Until, that is, the young couple pulled the plug on the Windsors earlier this month, announcing they would “step back” and become “financially independent”. The Queen insisted on a quick meeting to sort things out, but the die was cast, the break confirmed. 

So there you have it. All that’s left is the book, the film, the book of the film, the documentary of the making of the film, and the book of the documentary. Oh, and the TV series “The Making of a Princess”; and some time in the future, “My Mom the Duchess – the Archie Mountbatten-Windsor story” (book and film).

Wow, how important can you get?!

robert@robertmacklin.com