Andrew Bolt: Harry and Meghan offer a shining example of self pity

By being paid millions to complain about their tough life, Meghan and Harry have offered up a glittering example of how to feel sorry for yourself.

When Harry and Meghan won a human rights award in New York last week for complaining about their tough life, I realised the rules had changed for good.

Stiff upper lip. Duty. Selflessness. Modesty. Loyalty. All yesterday’s trash.

So, inspired by their glittering example in their Netflix documentary, I, too, have found at last the courage to feel sorry for myself. To speak my truth.

You’ve probably been fooled by the fact I’m paid well just to say what I think in newspapers and on my television show. What a pampered life of privilege, you’d assume.

I did think the same until the Sussexes, infinitely richer and more admired, taught me how selfish I was to count my blessings.

Now I count my wounds instead, and realise what immense “trauma” I must feel, too.

For example, some people don’t agree with my truths, and cruelly say so.

It’s shattering. But I’ve concluded these attacks, like the criticisms of Meghan Markle, are all about race.

I can even cite examples of this racism – more even than Meghan – after looking just as diligently for insults.

For instance, an ABC host on Melbourne radio once said my bracing opinions were the sad consequences of having parents from, she assumed, South Africa.

Meghan Markle recreates how she curtsied for Queen Elizabeth II in their documentary. Picture: Netflix

The Guardian Australia accused me of lacking empathy because I am a “white male”.

The Monthly damned me for having a Dutch mother from a town which in had some Nazi sympathisers when she was a child.

Like Harry and Meghan, I also feel “unsafe”. Just last Thursday, a press pack stuck cameras in my face as I got out of a taxi to Lachlan Murdoch’s Christmas party at his Sydney home. Outrageous!

Someone must have planted that story. I suspect corruption.

In fact, like Meghan and Harry, I’m so “unsafe” that two Antifa activists attacked me in the street until I beat them off, and another man was jailed for ordering my murder. True, that’s not exactly like them, but I’m sure someone was once rude to the Sussexes.

There’s another coincidence that convinces me I’m as big a victim as them

Harry is not the only one who has had the wicked press trawl through their private life and taunt them over past girlfriends. The Age found one who complained for the best part of a page I’d almost been nice until we broke up.

Another coincidence confirms that I, like Harry and Meghan, am also the victim of an oppressively medieval monarchy.

In the Sussex’s Netflix documentary, Harry and Meghan spoke of their pain at Meghan’s first meeting with the Queen.

“How do you explain that you bow to your grandmother?” Harry protested. “And that you will need to curtsy. Especially to an American. That’s weird.”

Harry and Meghan Meghan in a scene from their Netflix documentary. Picture: Backgrid

Yes! My first meeting with the Queen at Buckingham Palace in 1994 was the same!

A footman instructed me to bow, but come the big moment I found it all so weird that I stood straight. Only unkind people say I got starstruck and froze.

But I cannot forget what she did next. Having shaken my hand the Queen firmly pulled me past her so she could greet the next person.

Appalling. You can imagine how traumatised I was by a Queen who wouldn’t acknowledge my primacy in that room. Poor Meghan, to have suffered that same existential shock in having to curtsy.

Oh, I can hear the haters, though.

That Bolt is just having a laugh, they scoff. Mr Privilege is taking us for fools by playing the victim.

Again, the parallels with Meghan and Harry are telling. You could say exactly the same of them. After all, Harry started filming his pain for the Netflix documentary while sitting in the luxury Windsor Lounge at Heathrow Airport, preparing to fly to his $20 million home in California.

But so what? I’m writing this in the swish Fullerton Hotel in Sydney, having just dined at the Aria overlooking Sydney Harbor.

To those who doubt my trauma I say people who haven’t walked like Meghan and I among the great and glittering can truly understand the pain of not being even greater and more glittery. You must be truly fabulous to suffer like us.

I know this now. How hard my life, I groaned, feeling my soul sync with Harry’s as a waiter at the Aria poured me another glass of excellent Shiraz.

The waiter sighed. I think that humble soul understood how deeply I’ve suffered from things of which he could only dream.