Prince Andrew, his absence of sweat and other things

Did you watch Prince Andrew being interviewed last week?  I’ve heard people mention all sorts of things about the interview: how handsome the prince is, how fat his neck is, how neatly dressed he is, how his military training is what made it possible for him to sit with his right leg crossed over his left leg for a full hour without feeling a need to switch legs.

Other people have focused on what he had to say. Some have unkindly pointed to the prince’s tendency to drag the interview round to a point where he can show himself in a good light. Like, as a dependable family man: ” Because the Duchess (of York) was away, we have a simple rule in the family that when one is away the other one is there. I was on leave at the time from the Navy so was at home.” Like ,  the impossibility of him being in a lather on the dance floor of Tramp’s: I didn’t sweat at the time because I had suffered what I would describe as an overdose of adrenalin in the Falkland’s War when I was shot at and I simply… it was almost impossible for me to sweat.” 

See? A brave and patriotic prince. Like, the reason he stayed at Jacob Eptstein, paedophile’s house: It was a bad thing to do: “”I admit fully my judgement was probably coloured by my tendency to be too honourable but that’s just the way it is.”

Self-serving – moi?

So here’s the thing. Has anyone thought of asking a doctor if  being shot at makes people stop sweating? And what do they have to do to make the sweat glands sit up and start oozing again?

And given that CCTV cameras were first employed in New York in 1968,  what are the odds that Pizza Express in Woking has a camera or two? Do they delete old images or keep them in the cloud somewhere?  Because that would show if the Prince was  chewing pizza rather than an under-age female’s ear on the day in question.

Then there’s bills. Presumably the prince pays for his pizza – or has an underling do it for him, just as his brother Charles has an underling squeeze his toothpaste for him. If Pizza Express (Woking branch) could dig up the receipts for that day, it’d go some way to showing the prince was speaking the truth or lying through his royal teeth.

Finally there’s the staff.  Who were they on the night in question?  Chances are there are some of them still around, so why not knock on their door and ask them “Did a man going by the name Prince Andrew visit that pizza joint on the night in question?” Just as Andrew found, despite his amnesia in other areas, that he had a crystal-clear recollection of his Pizza Express visit,  it’d be reasonable to assume that the PE staff would also remember his visit. Or non-visit.

We could go over the fact that he felt compelled to take a transatlantic flight and stay in Jacob Epstein’s home for three days in order to tell him they weren’t going to be good mates any more. Or  how the prince stayed in various Epstein houses but never even noticed if there were young females being brought in and out.  Or that  he always wears a suit and tie when partying. Or whether he would have been less guilty if the young female had been nineteen rather than seventeen.

Suffice to say that what I saw, along with millions of others, was a man clumsily trying to present himself as a non-sweating, stiff-upper-lip family man and a bit of a war-hero too, as distinct from a man who liked to hang around with really rich convicted paedophiles, who also liked to buy pizzas and who never indulged in public displays of affection.

That’s the thing with royalty. Like Russian roulette, you never know when an uber-dim prince is going to emerge and put his expensive shoe up the family behind.

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