As Meghan Markle entered the chapel, there should have been one guest, mad late, finishing a fag

IT is said they are the most down-to-earth royals, the most accessible, the least stiff-upper-lippy. That’s Harry and Meghan, the Duke and Duchess of Wherever the Second Grandson inherits, writes Colm O’Regan.

I don’t know if they’re that down-to-earth. For example, at this year’s Royal Wedding, as Meghan Markle entered the chapel, there should have been one guest, mad late, a pure character, finishing a fag and heading in after her, inadvertently scenting the dress with the last digested lungful of a Rothmans. The priest should have been an oul’ lad they didn’t know, who went off on one, during his sermon, about “liberal attitudes”. The wedding should have had an afters with rasher sandwiches, a request for ‘Rock the Boat’ made to the DJ Idris Elba and, finally, a group of up to 40 parched guests, all trying to get into the residents’ bar on one room key.

But now they have another opportunity, with that most human and relatable of adventures: having a baby.