A Tale of Two Andrews

I very much hope that Prince Andrew will write a memoir. He should also sue everyone who had called him a paedophile, a paedo, a nonce, or anything in that vein, and who should demand the late Queen’s money back with interest, costs and a penalty. So far as I am aware, I have been uniquely consistent in his defence, in keeping with my record of rat-smelling in defence of Cardinal Pell, of Julian Assange, of Alex Salmond, of Ched Evans, and of the victims of Freya Heath, whose conviction was merely set aside on a procedural technicality.

That has nothing to do with liking anyone. The beatification will presumably be the occasion of a Papal Visit to Australia, but if possible I shall be in Rome for the canonisation of Cardinal Pell. To keep Assange’s work going, then I would die in his stead. While I am opposed to the marrow of my bones to the political cause to which Salmond has devoted his life, I expect that he and I would get on. But I doubt that Evans and I would find much to talk about. I know that Heath’s victims and I would have more than enough for a very heated discussion indeed.

And while I am sure that I could stand no more than a few seconds in his company, I cannot imagine that the United States would allow a white liberal American citizen to be treated as Andrew Tate is being. I would not be at all surprised if little or nothing ended up coming of that furore. Meanwhile, it is increasingly obvious that I have been right all along about Prince Andrew.