Okay. Let me run this one by you. This whole Royal Wedding nonsense that’s going on. I’ve been looking into it and I reckon it’s not what it seems. I reckon it’s a stunt. A cleverly arranged PR job to launch a surprise new Harry Potter book.
No, no, no wait, hear me out.
PROOF NO. 1 – A TALE OF TWO HARRYS
PROOF NO. 2 – WHAT’S IN A NAME?
If somebody asked you to invent a name for a character in a modern-day fairy story. Say, a beautiful young woman with the allure to steal the heart of a prince. I reckon Meghan Markle is exactly the sort of thing you’d come up with. Especially if you were a scribbler with a penchant for alliteration. Someone who has already conjured up the likes of Moaning Myrtle, Minerva McGonagall, Mad-Eye Moody, Madam Malkin… Look at it that way and Meghan Markle isn’t much of a stretch.
And there’s more… Meghan Markle sounds like MEGA MIRACLE (if you say it in a funny voice). It’s nearly an anagram of MAGICAL. And MARKLE rhymes with SPARKLE. Come on, it’s as plain as a wart on an old witch’s face.
PROOF NO. 3 – “INITIAL INTEREST”
Now we look at Miss Markle’s initials. (Hang on! Miss Markle/Miss Marple, that’s interesting too). Meghan Markle’s initials are only one ‘m’ away from being “mmm”, the word that everyone uses to express scrumminess…
“Mmm, this juicy burger is the business”
“Mmm, that’s a nice smell”
“Mmm, that Meghan Markle is lovely”
SO, HOW’S IT GOING TO PLAY OUT?
Here’s how… Saturday 19th May 2018. St George’s Chapel, Windsor. The world’s media scrums down. Cameras pan the crowds. Rita Skeeter holds court as the BBC’s guest presenter?
To a tsunami of camera clicks a posse of wedding guests swoop in. Don’t panic, those aren’t Dementors. It’s just a few low-ranking Royals.
Next, here come Wills and Kate, the most unlikely couple since Ron managed to ‘love potion’ himself into poor old Hermione’s affections. Little Prince Georgie follows them into the chapel, carrying himself like a mini-Malfoy – a typical ‘half-pint prince’.
Reigning Death-eaters, Lizzie and Phil are too doddery to make it up the steps of the chapel. They sit, slightly sedated, in Windsor Castle’s high security infirmary, eating broken Bath Oliver biscuits and drinking Gin Fizz. Their duties today will be taken by Charles & Camila (aka Crabbe & Goyle). Here they come now, their motorcycle and sidecar rolling in from the West Country in a flash of sparks and a fluster of fumes. They leap off (leaving it to roll into a pile of sorry looking sleeping bags, confiscated from Windsor’s recently relocated homeless) and strut towards the chapel. Barbour jackets swelling out behind them in the light breeze, mud on their wellies and a thousand years of privilege in their stride.
Finally, the glittering golden carriage appears over the crest of the hill. We glimpse movement through the tinted bullet-proof windows. The carriage comes to a halt. One of the horses drops a good luck omen on the red carpet. Trumpets blast and the carriage door opens. There’s a brief pause and then, out she steps. “Wait a minute, that’s not our sweet little Meggie, it’s that JK Rowling woman!”
She raises her right hand and the sunlight dances across the cover. Harry Potter & the Prisoners of Austerity (hardback £12.99) the final chapter in this sceptred isle’s story of myopia, distraction and decline.
“Pass me that floo powder. I’m outta here!”