If Harry etc. are so unhappy why don't they do the obvious - Harry could renounce all claim to the throne (unlikely anyway) and live as private citizens. It was awful what happened to those boys (especialky how the Royals treated them at the time of the disaster) but lots of families have terrible disasters to deal with and they have to get on with it without the cushion of money.
They're brothers! Why should they like each other?
Very true ( ? Or half-brothers.?) Some are close, some not.
In 2004, male-born athletes were first allowed to compete as women in the Olympics if they had had their original male "bits" removed.
However, in 2015 the rules changed to allow fully-intact male-born athletes to compete as women if they had had their testosterone levels reduced to 10 nanomoles per litre for at least 12 months prior to their first competition.
Since then, a 6-foot-tall, 14-stone, muscular Canadian cyclist who was born a man but who now identifies as a woman has begun winning women's world titles and smashing women's world records.
Martina Navratilova, who is also a keen cyclist, says that allowing male-born athletes to compete in women's events is "insane".
Martina's fear, apparently, is that there will soon be no female-born sporting champions.
I think also she's probably imagining the faces of millions of young female-born girls with sporting ambitions being told at an early age that, no matter how hard they try, they can never be the best at any women's event.
The cyclist says Martina's remarks are transphobic.
You seem very interested in all things trans, Rood Eye. Don't be ashamed if you want to transition. We won't judge you.
Quote: chipolata @ 22nd October 2019, 2:36 PMWe won't judge you.
Well, that'll make a change! 
Scarlett Moffat, who used to be on Gogglebox, left Gogglebox some time ago and subsequently carved out quite a successful career for herself appearing on various TV programmes as somebody who used to be on Gogglebox.
Tonight, she appears in what is by any standards a truly remarkable TV programme.
Her house in County Durham has been lovingly recreated in a Namibian village in remote and arid West Africa.
Scarlett will live there for a while and the programme will document her relationships with her Namibian neighbours.
Scarlett's home in England is of relatively modest size by British standards and is furnished nicely but by no means lavishly. Nevertheless, it must look like a palace to a tribesperson from a Namibian village.
Surely, there's something questionable about flaunting one's wealth in front of African villagers who dress in next to nothing, own next to nothing (apart from some cattle and a few goats) and live in rudimentary huts?
What next? A TV show in which a well-known celebrity swaggers around a major British city burning £50 notes in front of the homeless?
In any event, when first I heard about the programme, I was sure the villagers would be goggle-eyed (see what I did there?) at the relative luxury of Scarlett's home and furnishings and I wasn't wrong.
However, it seems the thing they envy most about Scarlett is her Reubenesque physique.
Apparently, a great many of her village neighbours have told her "I wish I had your rolls of fat."
I bet she's really glad she went.
The British Tribe Next Door is on C4 tonight at 9.15pm.
Fat used to be good in the old days in the UK,didn't it?It mean you were rich enough to eat.
What point is this program trying to make,anyway?
I think it's sexist anyway to separate male and females in sporting competitions. Just let them all compete together if they want equality.
Quote: Chappers @ 22nd October 2019, 9:39 PMI think it's sexist anyway to separate male and females in sporting competitions. Just let them all compete together if they want equality.
Interestingly, the current women's world record time for the 100 metres sprint has been beaten by at least 50 men.
Florence Griffith-Joyner?
You're nothing, love!
Nothing!
PS. Sorry, Flo - I'm just painting a picture of a dystopian future. 
Still with the difference in sporting prowess between men and women, I think most people would agree that the Williams sisters are significantly bigger, stronger and more powerful than the average woman tennis player.
Be that as it may, however, they are both well aware of the difference in ability between male and female players.
In 1998, they boasted that either of them could beat any man outside the top 200 male tennis players in the world.
Their challenge was taken up by Karsten Braasch, a German bloke ranked 203rd in the world of male tennis and who was known to be more than usually fond of smoking and drinking.
During the 1998 Australian Open, he played one set against each sister, beating Serena 6 - 2 and Venus 6 - 1.
The Williams sisters promptly adjusted their claim, saying they could beat any male player outside the top 350.
During their careers, the Williams sisters have between them won around 130 women's singles titles and around $125 million in prize money.
One cannot therefore help but have sympathy for Martina Navratilova's fears that, if male tennis players are allowed to play as women after having their testosterone levels lowered, girls like the Williams sisters will in future probably spend their lives flipping burgers at McDonald's instead of becoming rich and famous while delighting millions of tennis fans all over the world with their amazing skills.
You're at it again with your trans obsession!
Terrible news about the 39 dead Bulgarians in a lorry which entered Britain from "the island of Ireland" via Holyhead.
A hard border down the Irish Sea with adequate checks could have prevented it.
My own experience of that crossing was hardly any better. The National Express coach which turned up in Dublin to take us to the port filled the interior with exhaust because of a, quote, technical fault and the engine was roaring and racing throughout as if it had a mind of its own. Once by the boat, the driver wasn't able to switch it off so we had to walk on to the boat coughing and spluttering minus coach. It was for the best, he told us, as there was the possibility it could quickly explode. On the delightful sea crossing, there were not enough seats and it was so choppy I was the only person who managed not to puke up. Throughout I was on the floor in a pool of others'' vomit which grew bigger with every knot.
When we finally got out at Holyhead at 1am in the morning, tens of coaches flew into the car park over a period of half an hour to collect passengers until it was just my group of six people and one couple left standing there, ie the people who had been on the original coach. No one had thought to send a new coach for us. It was January, freezing cold and there was no sign of a B and B that was open or indeed any building that might have implied we were anywhere close to civilisation. Then out of the blue a National Express coach came in. We assumed it was for us and just late. The relief!
But oh no. It was a driver teaching another person how to drive a National Express coach at night. They said to us that they would take us to London if we paid them a bit of money and were prepared to be driven by a learner driver. We accepted the offer as we didn't have any choice in the matter. The only other option was freezing to death. We then proceeded at a steady speed of 25mph in their vehicle which had a heater on at the temperature of the equator without any stops and were dumped at Russell Square which was no good for any of us. The underground had started up but no trains were running, On balance, it would have been easier being a multi millionaire sportsperson experiencing terrible racism in Sofia. At least we would have had the ability to walk off before investigating the scope for High Court action.
FOOTNOTE
As a footnote, I wouldn't have minded if the trip itself had been a big success. But we had gone for New Year's Eve celebrations in Dublin, not that we knew where they were. Being on a tight budget, the so-called hotel was actually a dormitory built in the 1800s and of itself it smelt of sick and Dettol. Half the people there were officially homeless. It was the kind of place which had almost certainly in earlier decades been a children's home run by sadistic nuns. It had that vibe about it and to the extent that there was any sign of anyone running it, it was a couple of women who were about 80 and while in plain clothes they probably had been those very people before they had been unceremoniously defrocked.
We began asking where all the action would be taking place at midnight some six hours before the clock chimed twelve but absolutely everyone in Eire's capital city was already as pissed as a parrot. Some were falling into the River Liffey. The others couldn't string enough words together to make a sentence. So by 10pm we were desperate. We spent a fortune on tickets for a night club from touts who assured us that it was the only place that wasn't sold out. On arriving there, it was a half empty Darby and Joan club playing records by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. We were about 27. Most people there were at least three times our ages. We consoled ourselves that at least on the next day we were due to do the tour of the Guinness brewery. But that was totally ruined by the fact that everyone there was ironically sober and full of Irish literary eloquence on how wonderful the fireworks had been just around the corner. Great music and food apparently and it had all been free too. Frankly, if that was Southern Ireland even before Leo Varadker, Christ knows what the North of it is like .
Apparently it was nowhere near Ireland. Came into the Thames from Belgium.
Quote: Briosaid @ 23rd October 2019, 5:51 PMApparently it was nowhere near Ireland. Came into the Thames from Belgium.
It amounts to the same thing.
Why is that in 2019 people quibble over every minor detail?
It never used to be like this in the good old days.