Basingstoke’s would-be leader of the patriotic right reads about the Sussexes’ return and drafts a campaign so fierce that the printer at Rymans asks if he is feeling all right
Monday, 12 October 2026. Rymans on London Street, Basingstoke, waiting for my print job, a meal deal from Boots, the Command Centre laptop under my arm, 12.40pm.
The Prodigal Prince
I am a monarchist. I want to be very clear about this before anyone at the London Prat or the BBC accuses me of disloyalty. I love the King. I love the flag. I have a commemorative mug from three separate royal weddings and a tea towel from the Jubilee that Mum is not allowed to use for drying. But when I read the London Prat’s report on Harry and Meghan returning to Britain, I put down my meal deal and said, out loud, in Boots, absolutely not. A lady with a pushchair moved away from me, which I took as a sign of agreement.
The Sussexes left. They went to California. They did an interview with Oprah, a documentary, a book and a podcast deal, and they said things about this country that I will not repeat because Mum reads this diary at Oliver Granthe’s dispatches from Proud Boys UK at the London Prat. And now they want to come back? This is exactly the kind of moment the movement was formed for.
The Leaflet
I immediately convened an emergency meeting of the vanguard via WhatsApp. Dean replied with a thumbs up. Keith replied twenty minutes later asking what a vanguard was. Winston, being a Labrador, did not reply, but Dean says he barked, which I counted as a vote in favour. The motion carried. We would produce a leaflet.
I spent three hours on the wording. The final draft is the most strongly worded document ever produced in Hampshire. It opens with the line: Britain Is Not A Revolving Door. It continues with a list of grievances, numbered one to fourteen, each in capital letters. It ends with a call to action: Write To Your MP. I considered something more revolutionary, but Mum said writing to your MP was the proper way to do things, and she has been right about most things since 1992.
The Printer
I took the leaflet to Rymans to have two hundred copies printed. The young man behind the counter read it, looked up at me and asked if I was feeling all right. I said I had never been more all right in my life. He asked if I wanted the leaflets on standard paper or the recycled option. I said standard, because recycling is a Green conspiracy. He said the recycled one was cheaper. I chose the recycled one. Even revolutionaries have a budget, and mine is set by my mother.
The print job came to eighteen pounds forty, which was eighteen pounds forty more than Dean and Keith had promised to contribute. Dean says he will pay me back after the tyre centre pays him on Friday. Keith says he never agreed to a leaflet. Winston, as usual, contributed only moral support, but it is the highest-quality moral support in the movement.
Distribution
Distribution proved more difficult than expected. I stood outside Festival Place for an hour and a half handing leaflets to passers-by. I distributed eleven. Three were returned to me immediately. One was folded into a paper aeroplane by a teenager and thrown at a pigeon. One lady took it, read it carefully and said, well, I think they seem like a nice couple, and asked if I had any leaflets about the bins. I did not have any leaflets about the bins. I now realise this was a missed opportunity. The bins are the real issue in Basingstoke.
A Note On Royal Strategy
Some in the movement, by which I mean Dean, have argued that we should welcome Harry back, on the grounds that he served in the Army, flew helicopters and once wore a costume that I will not describe. Dean says the real enemy is Labour, not a prince who likes California. I told Dean he was going soft. Dean said I was going hard on a man who had done two tours of Afghanistan while I had done two tours of the Basingstoke ring road. That stung, because it was true. We have agreed to disagree, which in the movement means Dean is right but I am in charge.
Mum, consulted over dinner, took a third position. She said Harry was a lovely boy who had lost his mother very young and that families fall out and families make up. Then she asked whether I had remembered to put the bins out. I had not. The movement has many enemies, but none so persistent as the Tuesday collection.
Closing Notes
I have one hundred and eighty-nine leaflets left. Mum has suggested I use them as scrap paper for her shopping lists, which is a sensible use of resources, although it means every shopping list in our house now has Britain Is Not A Revolving Door printed on the back. This morning’s list said milk, eggs, bin bags, and underneath, in capital letters, NUMBER SEVEN: DUCHY OF CORNWALL MONEY. I am going to take the rest to the Conservative Club this evening. If the Sussexes do return, they can be assured that one man in Basingstoke will be waiting, with a leaflet. And probably a meal deal. I always get the meal deal.